Chapter 1
Scorpius emerges from the black water, gasping for air. It is impossibly icy, so his breath hitches at the sudden temperature. The Gillyweed must have worn off.
His (no longer webbed) hand jerks clumsily as he struggles to brush away the drenched platinum hair clinging to his face; but with only one hand and non-existent swimming skills, he dunks back underwater. He flails and resurfaces, hacking furiously as he grabs the boathouse wharf.
With stinging but water-free lungs and a desperate grip on a stone ledge enveloped in barnacles and silky algae, Scorpius pushes back the hair obscuring his vision.
The Great Lake is serene, reflecting the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest that encircles the lake. The morning rays trickle through the labyrinth of branches, flickering like a candle flame as a blanket of grey clouds drifts across the sky. Yet, the hazy sky is tinting everything a sickly, yellowish hue—from the lake to the air to the cracked wall beside him.
Something is very wrong.
“Albus,” Scorpius calls, clumsily tucking the Time-Turner underneath his shirt. When the surface doesn't break, he tries to swallow his panic. Albus is a much better swimmer than himself. He will surface any minute now, Scorpius reasons. He swivells his head around. There was not as much of a ripple on the glass surface.
“Albus! ALBUS! WHERE ARE YOU?”
The startled squalling of a crow answered his cry.
Taking laboured breaths, Scorpius strains his eyes to scan the water. The lake is more opaque than before—black and shiny like spilt ink. He can scarcely make out his torso, just inches beneath the surface. Scorpius takes a deep breath of muggy air, preparing to plunge into the water, when a stern voice barks his name.
“Get out of the lake. Get out right now! No students are allowed near the ward,” a shrill voice commands.
He glances upwards. Standing on the dock is a short, squat woman fitted in a stiff, pink pencil dress.
Scorpius releases a breath of relief. “Miss, I need help. Please, my fr–”
“Miss?” Her face splits into an offended glare. She stomps her pink kitten heel on the stone with a crisp snap.
“I am Headmistress. There is no ‘Miss,’” she seethes in a high-pitched voice.
Scorpius gapes at the woman with wide eyes. Headmistress?
Something is very, very wrong.
“Wha—but…”
Her frown deepens. She crosses her arms and interrupts his stupor. “I am the Headmistress, and however important your family may be, it does not give you an excuse to mess about in the lake.”
“But my friend is in this lake. Please. You need to get help; he may have drowned! Mis—Headmaster, one of your students—Albus Potter! Please!” Scorpius pleads, the back of his eyes stinging with the threat of tears. His words are jumbled from his shivering, and his hands are trembling around the ledge, the rough stone biting into his palms.
Yet, the woman just giggles condescendingly, with no urgency. “Potter? There is no such student. In fact,” she stomps again, “There hasn’t been a Potter for years—and that boy didn’t last very long. No, not at all. And thank goodness for that.”
“Harry Potter’s dead?” Scorpius whispers breathlessly, a combination of shock and fear striking him like a stab in the gut. No. No no no no.
The woman’s expression shifts from vexation to confusion, regarding him as if he were a Hydra rearing his many heads. Then, she slowly withdraws her wand.
“Have you taken something? Remove yourself from this lake immediately. I don’t know what game you're playing, but I am not impressed. Our Lord would be appalled by such foolish actions from his brightest student.”
The woman's words are incomprehensible over his pounding heart. Harry Potter is dead. Albus will not be resurfacing from the Great Lake. Ever. Scorpius' mind is reeling too fast to make sense of anything around him. He can't breathe. He eyes her wand before ineptly swimming over to shallower water and hauling himself into the stone dock, his skin stinging when it scraped against the coarse stone. His soaked robes cling to his frame like a heavy second skin. She watches him impatiently. Once he is on his feet, she promptly spins on her heel, clucking for him to follow her.
The woman—no, Headmistress—led him towards the Great Hall Entrance. As Scorpius trails behind her, a nagging feeling of recognition for this frog-like woman makes him frown. From where though, he just can't place. The Headmistress flicks her wand and swings open the gothic doors with unnecessary splendour. When Scorpius moves to step through the doorway, the Headmistress holds up a chubby, polished hand for him to halt.
She tucks a mousy curl behind her ear and clears her throat. Scorpius hovers on the first step, regarding her tentatively.
“Mr. Malfoy, I must do a quick check to look for any spells, curses, infections and etcetera. I only worry because you have been acting out of character the entirety of our interaction. Now,” she points her wand at Scorpius, who stumbles backwards in surprise, “Hold still, it will only take a second.”
Scorpius doesn't know what else to do, so he lets the prim woman cast a series of unknown spells on him until the tip of her wand flares, emitting a green light. Her lips purse, but she nods and moves aside, freeing the entrance.
“You appear to be fine,” she says, voice sickeningly sweet. Though her bulging eyes still glint with mistrust. “Go straight to your dorm and rest.”
Scorpius nods and rushes past her, letting his feet guide him in any direction. He’s not sure the Headmistress would appreciate him asking where the dorm he has been supposedly sleeping in for the last four years is. So instead, he walks. The dull clicks from his shoes bounced eerily in the empty corridor. His hand involuntarily tightens around his wand.
Now that he is alone, his mind turns over everything he's discovered in the last fifteen minutes. As he rounds a corner, his strides grow quicker, and his breathing turns more erratic with every inhale. With a restless hand, he tugs his tie loose - the fabric a noose cutting off his oxygen supply. But it isn't enough. He gasps for air, his eyes blurry and his ears ringing. He shoves open the nearest door, almost falling into the dark broom closet. Slamming the door shut, sealing off any light trickling from the trembling sconces, Scorpius falls against the splintering wood as he hastily chokes a Silencing spell. With a sob, he slides to the floor and curls his knees to his chest.
Scorpius sits on the dusty floor and weeps for the loss of his best friend. His grief gives way to anger. For a fleeting moment, Scorpius wants to smash an innocent broom into shards.
Why did he let Albus talk him into this stupid plan? Scorpius knew it was a bad idea the moment Albus told him to jump off a fucking train. Yet, he did it anyway. Only Dumbledore knows why. Well, maybe Scorpius does...
But his anger dissipates, and he succumbs to another round of crying until his eyes are swollen and heavy. Numbly, his head falls against the door with a thud as he stares at the cracked wall.
How did he mess up so badly that he somehow killed Harry Potter? Voldemort couldn’t even manage that! He is exhausted from crying, and his head is pounding. His eyelids flutter close. He misses Albus. Before, when Harry Potter forced them apart, and they still snuck back to each other, and Scorpius had allowed the scent that was distinctly Albus and the warm weight of his calloused hand curled around his own to soothe him, a kindling of hope that things would all work out as long as they are together. But now…
Scorpius wakes with a start. He lay curled on the ground, his cheek pressed against the grimy floor as the cold seeps through his clothes. Groggily, he props up on his elbow and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm until stars stipple his eyelids.
After staggering to a stand, shoulder and hip aching dully, he pushes into the still-deserted corridor. Dim light is streaming from the gothic windows, but now it is an evening glow instead of the dawn from earlier. Dark, swollen clouds hover in the sky with the threat of rain. It must be tea time by now, Scorpius reckons.
Scorpius wavers in the corridor, contemplating what to do next. What he needs to do is compose himself enough to find out what is going on. Something they'd done killed off Harry Potter, and his death seemed appreciated by the Headmistress. Scorpius assumes he is still a Slytherin since it hasn't changed in the other worlds either. He starts towards the dungeons.
The empty hallways are unbelievably unnerving, which is odd because the presence of other students—mainly Gryffindors—usually meant a degree of torment for him. Yet, right now, Scorpius would gladly take the slew of stupid insults to this eerie solitude.
After a few turns, the corridor opens to the Grand Staircase. At first glance, the only difference is the paintings littering the walls; most creepy-looking portraits, similar to the ones in the Manor. His father had tried to remove them, but despite his best efforts, they wouldn’t budge. His mother had covered them with pretty curtains or other paintings instead. Scorpius continues down the stairs until he notices something from the corner of his eye and freezes. Emerald green banners hang from the ceiling. Woven onto them is a hissing snake arched into a V behind a white skull.
Scorpius is not an idiot.
A wave of nausea makes him bend over. He grasps the railing as he squeezes his eyes shut. This cannot be true. He has to be wrong. Managing to control his breathing, Scorpius rights himself and rakes a hand through his hair in an Albus-y fashion that makes his chest ache.
His heart is pounding in fear. He needs to go to the library. Surely, it will contain some explanation for what has gone wrong. With a deep breath and a mental kick, Scorpius reroutes his path for the library. When he arrives, he opens the door with trembling hands. The library is scarce, besides a boy hunched over copious amounts of paper in the corner.
He easily locates the history section. Lighting a quick Lumos, Scorpius begins raking through the titles, his thin fingers gliding over the spines. The books are covered in a thin sheen of dust, turning the tips of his fingers grey. He releases a quiet gasp of triumph when he skims over Hogwarts: A History, Edition XIV—the same edition as the most recent one in his world. Pulling down the leather-bound book, Scorpius leans against the shelves, placing his lite wand between his teeth as he leaves through the pages for an explanation. After a couple of minutes, Scorpius huffs in surprise, almost dropping his wand. He brushes the loose strand of platinum hair from his face as he reads the page more thoroughly.
Cedric Diggory. Scorpius almost laughs. Cedric Diggory killed Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, who were on the run with Seamus Finnigan and Ginny Weasely. He keeps reading. Nigini never died. A Horcrux still exists, and thus, so does Voldemort. Harry remained dead. Voldemort apparently remained not dead.
Scorpius snaps the book shut, sliding it back on the shelf. He leaves the dusty aisle to approach the boy writing furiously, his books and paper strewn about the table.
“Excuse me,” Scorpius says quietly. The boy's quill stills, his body going rigid. The boy—Craig Bowker Jr.—turns, face ashen. Ink stains his cheek. His clothes are dishevelled and worn, fading at the elbows and fraying at the cuffs. In his world, Bowker is never anything but refined.
“Yes?” Craig mutters meekly, gaze trained on his paper, not meeting Scorpius’ eyes.
Startled by Craig’s behaviour, Scorpius tries to shake off his unease by calmly asking, “How did Cedric Diggory become a Death Eater?” He hopes his tone is calm enough to soothe Craig.
Apparently, it was not because Craig croaks, “Why are you here?” His hand clenches around his quill, causing his knuckles to go white.
Scorpius’ brows furrow at the unexpected question. “Why can’t I be here?”
“It’s not ready yet,” Craig says hastily, shuffling through his papers. The library is deathly quiet, and the soft hush from the parchment fills the room. “I’m working as fast as I can. But Professor Snape sets so much of it, and writing the essay in two different ways—I’m not complaining or anything—is just time-consuming.”
Scorpius blinkes. “Start again. What’s not ready?”
“Your Potions homework,” Craig says, strained. His face contorts into worry. “And I’m happy to do it, I know how much you hate homework, and I’d never let you down, you know that.”
“I hate homework?” Scorpius mutters, confused.
Craig seems to be confused, too. “I mean, yeah, you’re the Scorpion King.”
“Scorpion King,” Scorpius repeats in a daze.
Craig shifts uncomfortably in his seat, bowing his head, letting the curtain of sandy hair veil his eyes. Scorpius opens his mouth to repeat his previous question about Cedric when something Craig had said hits him.
Did he say Professor Snape?
~*~
Scorpius runs into the Potions classroom, skidding to a stop before throwing the door closed with his weight. The Potions classroom is impossibly dark but not dissimilar to the one in his world. Murky vials and jars of various plant and animal parts crowd the shelves, and on the workbenches, cauldrons bubble ominously, the hazy smoke twisting like ribbons.
From behind a steaming workbench, Severus Snape looks up at Scorpius with an unimpressed scowl. He is shrouded in black robes, and his hair is slicked back, sans a few loose strands curling at his temple.
“Did no one teach you to knock? Or is that above your statues?” Snape sneers.
Scorpius can't help but gasp. It is THE Severus Snape! The one Albus is named after! Dumbledore's right-hand man! The godfather of his father—his great-godfather?
“This is an honour,” Scorpius says breathlessly.
Whatever snide comment Snape had prepared to sling at him died in his throat. Instead, he regards Scorpius with a look of utter confusion similar to the one the Headmistress had previously worn.
Scorpius clears his throat, a little embarrassed by his blunt outburst, and approaches the workbench. He had planned to keep his cool. “I need your help.”
Snape rolls his eyes, stirring his cauldron clockwise before removing the stirring rod and lazily casting a Statis charm. “And I exist to serve. Luckily, I have a few,” Snape glares at him, "spare moments to offer before I prepare for my morning class. Unless it is about taking the mark, of which I have already instructed you to go directly to Umbridge.”
Umbridge? Scorpius shakes his head. Focus. “I don’t know what help I need. Are you still undercover? Like working for Dumbledore?”
Something flashes behind Snape’s eyes, but his expression remains icy. “Dumbledore is dead. And yes, I worked for him; I taught at this school,” he responds evenly.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Scorpius huffs frustratedly. He curses himself for thinking this would go smoothly. “You were on his side—Dumbledore’s—watching the Death Eaters for him. Everyone thought you’d murdered him, but it was all a part of his plan to defeat Voldemort.”
Snape withdraws his wand from his billowing robes and casts a wordless spell on the door. But he doesn't pocket his wand. Instead, he raises it at Scorpius.
Scorpius’ eyes widen.
“These are some dangerous allegations, Malfoy,” Snape growls.
“No! I’m not trying to trick you,” Scorpius squeaks, stumbling backwards. His heart hammers in his chest as he tries to think of anything else to prove his genuineness. “There’s another world—another universe where Voldemort was defeated in the Battle of Hogwarts. My universe.”
Snape doesn't lower his wand, but he does take a step back.
“Are you infected?”
Scorpius’ face twists with confusion. Snape’s tone is scaring him. “Infected?" Scorpius stutters. "No, I don’t understand what you mean. We stole a Time-Turner.” Scorpius removes the Time-Turner from underneath his shirt and holds it up, the chain still wrapped around his neck. The gold glints in the faint candlelight. “We tried to save Cedric from dying. But by saving his life, we ruined the whole timeline and turned him evil. I still don’t know how—”
“We?” Snape interrupts, his gaze darting around the room.
Scorpius’ heart drops and his eyes grow misty. The last thing he wants to do is cry in front of Severus Snape. His voice wavers as he says, “Yes, my best friend, Albus Potter. We did it together; it was his idea, really. He’s named after you! Sorted in Slytherin, too. But,” Scorpius looked down at the green and navy friendship bracelet plaited around his wrist, “he doesn’t exist in this world.”
“Potter. As in–”
“Yes. I know Voldemort exists in this world. I need your help to undo everything,” Scorpius pleads. Snape eyes him, clearly turning over the information Scorpius has just blurted. But after a moment, Snape scowls.
“You have clearly gone mad, or worse, are infected and are slowly losing your mind. Get out before I am forced to remove you. Permanently,” Snape barks.
Scorpius gasps, searching frantically for something to throw at Snape. He was out of ideas and was preparing to chuck the bottle of crimson potion sitting on the closest desk when he rememberd-
“You loved his mother. Lily. Harry’s mother, Lily. That's why you were on Dumbledore’s side. How would I know this if I’m not from another world?”
They both pause. Snape doesn't say anything. Yet, he slowly lowers his wand.
Scorpius lets out a shaky breath. “I know you’re a good man. That’s why I’m trusting you to help me get home. Please—for Lily’s sake, help me.”
After a tense beat of silence, Snape looks away from Scorpius. “Did Potter really name his child after me?”
“Albus Severus Potter.”
Snape nods, looking slightly touched. But the flicker of emotion is quickly replaced by a grim visage. His eyes wrinkle at the corners, and a perpetual crease is engraved between the bridge of his eyebrows. His face is one that has experienced hardship.
“Do you have infected in your world?” Snape asks cautiously. Scorpius frowns, eyes searching the other's face for an explanation. Snape nods to himself as though the silence is an answer enough. “So no then.”
Snape seems to waver before he sits down on his potions bench, gesturing for Scorpius to do the same. Scorpius hesitates for a moment. Snape did threaten to kill him. But Snape’s anger seems to have dissipated, so Scorpius sits too. Snape begins. “After the Battle of Hogwarts, when Voldemort won, dark magic was abundant, like nothing Magical Kind had seen before. Magic is very strange. It is an energy that ebbs and flows through anything, not just wizards. That is why we have magical plants and creatures. You know this much, I assume?”
Scorpius nods mutely, enraptured by the potions professor. Snape’s voice is deep and raspy, like the monotonous crunch of a boot against gravel. “Since Voldemort used Hogwarts as the starting point of his empire while his followers cleansed,” Snape glowers at the word as if it tastes of filth, “the wizarding cities, the Death Eater’s dark magic seeped into the Forbidden Forest; it is a natural hub for magic. There was a reason Merlin was drawn to this area. And Voldemort brought anyone who opposed him to the forest, where they would run around wandless until they died in some way or another.”
Snape falters as Scorpius swallows thickly, his stomach churning at the information. Despite everything, Scorpius finds himself eager to learn more, enticed by the flow of Snape’s words. The way he phrases his sentences, it was clear he is a good professor, someone made to teach. Scorpius is a professional nerd, especially for history, so he can't help himself from feeling fascinated.
“Well, one day, when Greyback was out in the forest, he was attacked. We assume a starved muggleborn ate fungus infected with dark magic, we now call it cordyceps, and it spread to the muggleborn, which is why we call them ‘infected.’”
“But how does the fungus make them dangerous? You said the magic was strange, but wouldn’t the dark magic just make them sick? Like bloodroot,” Scorpius interrupts.
The ghost of a pleased smile crosses Snape’s face. “Cordyceps is similar to bloodroot since they both are tainted by dark magic, yes. But fungus, both magical and sans, have one purpose: to take over a host and keep them alive. So with magical fungus, that property remains, which is why the infected don’t die, unlike bloodroot.”
Scorpius worries his bottom lip between his teeth before asking slowly, “So to be infected, you have to eat the Cordyceps?”
Snape shakes his head. “Fungus like to spread. Magical fungus wants to spread to magical individuals. So, the infected infects through their tendrils. The tendrils have to enter the host’s bloodstream to spread. So, most commonly, one is infected by being bitten.”
Snape’s dark eyes do not betray his emotions, as Scorpius slumps into one of the desk chairs, pale and insensate. What has he done? He’s killed off his best friend, the most important person to him. He’s also revived a sadistic wizard. He's also apparently created, from the sounds of it, a zombie fungus monster.
Scorpius shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. If Albus was here, he would probably say something completely inappropriate for this situation, and it would make Scorpius laugh. Merlin, it is much easier to ruin the world with your best friend by your side.
Turning the information over in his head, Scorpius looks up at Snape and mutters softly, “If you turn into this infected monster, is it still you inside? Or do you lose everything?”
Clearly, this question was not what Snape was anticipating because a mask of surprise shifts across his face before he hesitantly says, “You are aware of everything.”
Well, fuck. Scorpius glares at his polished shoes, scuffing them against the beige stone floor as his mind raced.
“How do you stop the fungus from spreading?”
Snape turns his gaze to the boarded window. Not meeting Scorpius’ eye, he bluntly answers, “You kill them.” Scorpius’ breath hitches, pewter eyes widening and face dropping. Snape quickly adds, “or wait for the host to die.”
“I know this sounds horrible, but why haven’t you tried using a killing curse?” Scorpius asks quietly.
For a moment, Snape’s mask cracks with distress, but he quickly sculpts his features back into indifference. “They cannot be killed with magic, they are magic.”
Scorpius has had enough. Every new piece of information sounds even worse than the last. He is five seconds from jumping into the lake and letting himself drown.
“Why do I need to know this exactly,” Scorpius snaps. His fingers twist painfully in his robes. “It’s grand that there are evil plant-humans and that Voldemort has taken over, but how does this help me get home? All it’s doing is scaring me to death!” As soon as the rush of words leaves his mouth, his eyes go wide. Scorpius snaps his mouth shut. His face is burning with shame and embarrassment. He did not just yell at a dead man!
“I’m sorry,” Scorpius squeaks.
Snape regards him before sighing and shaking his head. “Just like your father.”
Snape walks to the back of the classroom and, with a wave of his wand, opens a wooden hatch hidden amongst the stone. He glances up at Scorpius for a beat before motioning to the gaping hole in the ground.
“Well come on, then.”
“Oh. Er, where are we going?” Scorpius inquires hesitantly, inching towards the trap door. He did just fling unsaid accusations at this man who could easily lead him to Dumbledore knows where as a punishment. But if Harry Potter is right, Snape is a good man.
“This room takes up to a room hidden in the roots of the Whomping Willow. I will explain when we get down there, but for now, you have to trust me.”
Scorpius swallows but steels his nerves and nods. Albus would be proud.