The nature of Time
Harry is trying to determine if it’s just him, or if time really does works differently in Little Whinging. Because it feels to him like it’s taken on the consistency of syrup ever since he woke up here on his first morning with the Dursley’s and a week on, it’s yet to show any sign of speeding up.
He’s thought about Malfoy’s offer a lot. Not that he’d ever consider taking him up on the offer of staying at Manor, but he’s thought about just writing him — and Granger — just for something to help pass the time but also to keep him sane amongst the doilies and muggle TV quiz shows, by reminding him that this is not your life.
He misses Draco’s letters. And Draco, for course. But even when they couldn’t see each other, like when Narcissa would take Draco travelling all summer, his letters kept Harry sane. And entertained, because they’re always funny. Draco is funny, and Harry is sure that that’s something he probably shares with this world’s Draco Malfoy, that dry sense of humour.
Harry has thought about writing him every day for a week, but something has held him back every time. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he has a feeling that it would be a bad idea.
A sudden, insistent tapping alerts Harry to the presence of a tawny owl outside his window. He quickly scrambles out of bed and opens the latch. The owl swoops inside the room with a grateful hoot and Harry smiles, even as he hears a muffled bang from down the hall and lumbering footsteps approaching his room.
”Hey there”, he says, holding his arm out for the owl to perch. ”You have a message for me?”
The door handle rattles and the door flies open.
”What are you doing in here?” Vernon Dursley hisses furiously, squinting at him through his sleep-swollen eyes.
Harry ignores him, smiling at the owl giving his fingers a gentle nuzzle.
”I SAID—!”
”Shut up”, Harry cuts him off. ”Go back to bed.”
”How dare —”
”Are we really going to go through this again?” Harry says coldly. ”Yes, I dare. Yes, I will defend myself if I have. Yes, with magic.”
The muggle man splutters something unintelligible, his jowls trembling with rage.
”I will probably be out of your hair…” Harry says, giving an almost imperceptible pause as he glances at the man’s receding hairline with a smirk. ”…in the morning and that will be the end of it. Now, please go back to bed.”
As soon as Mr Dursley has slammed the bedroom door shut again, Harry detaches the small roll of parchment from the owl’s leg and gets her a treat from the box marked ’Hedwig’. She gobbles it up happily and gives him another nuzzle and a genle nip, then pushes off his arm again and soars out of the open window.
Harry watches her retreating form silhouetted against the early morning sky for a moment, then gently shuts the window again and throws himself down on his bed to read the note.
As he’d suspected — and hoped — the message is from Professor Snape. He knows this, not because the man has bothered to sign it, but because there is no mistaking that swirly yet somehow sharp handwriting. Harry smirks. It’s a date and a time.
In less than twelve hours, he gets to leave this horribly dull place forever.
He spends most of the day walking around Little Winging aimlessly, too excited and restless to stay still.
He stumbles on a wide, shallow sand pit with weird contraptions secured to the ground and it looks vaguely familiar. He knows he’s never been in Little Whinging before, so it can’t be this exact place that is familiar to him. But he’s sure he’s seen these types of contraptions before.
Harry walks closer to one of them. It’s a metal frame with a couple of muggle car tires hanging off it in metal chains. He reaches out and grabs a hold of one of the chains and gives it an idle pull. The tire begins to swing slowly back and forth. A memory flickers to the front of his mind. It’s disjointed and vague, but he remembers there was sunshine, Sirius was chasing him through tunnels and in-between frames like this one, he remembers choking on laughter and hiding behind Remus’ legs. He smiles, giving the chain another pull and then grabs the tire and makes it stop moving again.
Sitting on one of these, he thinks and gingerly sits down on it now, warily pushing his feet into the sand and moving back, then letting the tire swing forward.
Hold on tight, Harry, his dad had said whilst holding onto the tire he was sitting on and pullling it, him, up up up and then letting go.
That’s it, keep going, keep going, swing your legs
I’m doing it!
That’s it, you’ve got it, you’re doing it!
I’m doing it! Dad, look! Look at me, dad, I’m doing it by myself!
I know you are, runt! Look at you go!
I can almost touch the sky from here!
Just hold on, Harry!
Harry lets out a tiny chuckle. How did he forget? It used to be his favourite place in the world… Dads called it the park. They would take him every day, even when it was raining.
Until suddenly one day, they just stopped going. Harry frowns. He can’t remember why now…
”Hey, Big D — isn’t that your weird cousin over there?”
Harry blinks the memories away and turns his head to see Dudley Dursley and a handful of muggle boys all wearing the same sort of clothes as him, all shiny fabric and words and none of it seems to be the right size for any of them either.
Ironically, he hears one of the boys snicker and ask Dudley under his breath what is he wearing?
Dudley just gives the boy a noncommittal grunt. He’s still eyeing Harry warily.
”Can I help you?” Harry mutters.
A chorus of snickers erupt from the small gang of boys, but Dudley is still frowning. He takes a few steps closer to Harry and one of the other muggles hisses, ”Yeah get him, Big D…”
Studying the approaching boy’s body language warily, Harry tenses, getting ready to defend himself. But Dudley stops at a safe distance from him, his eyes flitting nervously over Harry’s crotch. What the Hell, Harry thinks, feeling oddly naked.
”You have your… thing?” Dudley grunts warily.
”Excuse me?”
”Your stick-thing — you have it on you?”
”My sti—?” Harry splutters and then realises what he means. ”Oh my wand—”
”SHHHH!” Dudley hisses furiously and starts throwing his head around doggedly, as if expecting something bad to happen.
”Yeah, of course I do”, Harry frowns.
”Well, you’re not allowed to use it outside school!” Dudley says in a rush.
”I am, in self-defence”, Harry counters.
”You are not! Last time you — you — you got expelled and — and they were going to snap your — your — your thing!”
Harry frowns in confusion as the other boy continues telling him about the two of them fighting in this same spot almost exactly a year ago, when Harry had got his wand out and made everything go dark, like it was night-time in the middle of the afternoon.
I don’t know any spells like that, Harry thinks. But maybe the other Harry does…
”It was like it was in the middle of the night and winter, because it got really cold as well, and — and —” Dudley gives a violent shiver. ”And I felt like — like — everything was really horrible, like nothing would be good again, like — like —”
Harry’s confusion disperses then. He knows that feeling.
”Like all the happiness had just drained from the world?” he supplies. ”Sounds like a Dementor attack…”
”Horse shit”, Dudley snarls. ”You tried to pull that one last time, as well. But no-one believed you then and I don’t believe you now! It was you! You did that to me!”
”First of all”, Harry says flatly. ”I wasn’t even here. You and I have never met before—”
”It was you — him, whatever — that did that to me! Even your lot thought so, even they said—!”
”Second of all”, Harry continues sharply. ”There is no spell—”
”SSSHHHH”, Dudley hisses desperately, killing the distance between them and waving a finger in his direction.
”—that can do what you just described — get your hands out of my face — a Dementor is a creature that feeds on human’s spirits and happiness, they literally suck the soul out of you, not immediately, but they can. I’ve had one attack me once, it was the worst I’ve ever felt. Just like you said, it just went dark and cold and I felt like I’d never happy again.”
”Creature”, Dudley grumbles uncertainly. ”There was no… I didn’t see any… anything like a creature, it was just me and—”
”Muggles can’t see them, I don’t think. They can feel them, but not see them… Anyway, it sounds like that’s what happened. How did you get away?”
”You… He… used his… his thing again and there as a big light, and then…” the boy says slowly and Harry nods to himself. A patronus. He remembers Lupin telling him the other Harry also knew how to conjure a Patronus and that it took the form of a stag, like James Potter’s animagus. ”It got lighter again after that, but I still felt…”
”Yeah”, Harry says, remembering the lingering effects of his own Dementor attack, how it didn’t really go away until his daddy made him eat lots of chocolate. ”Well, it sounds like he saved your life.”
”I don’t believe you…” Dudley says in a small, petulant voice but the look in his eyes tells Harry that he does.
”I’m bored”, one of the other muggles complain. ”Come on, Big D… Let’s go…”
Harry shrugs, ”Believe what you want, doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be out of here in a couple of hours.”
***
Harry makes his way back to number twelve when the sun begins to set. His stomach is too knotted for him to get much dinner down, so he excuses himself from the table almost as soon as he’s sat down, much to the Dursley’s relief.
Inside the bedroom, he grabs the old alarm clock from the nightstand and drags the rickety desk chair over to the window. He puts the clock on the window sill and then sits down to wait, staring between the street and the clock, trying not to count the seconds or his own heartbeats.
As soon as the minute hand reaches number twelve and it’s seven o’clock, the streetlamp outside the window goes out. Harry sits up straight and gasps in excitement. He can see a hooded figure emerge from the shadows and approach the front door.
Just as the doorbell rings, Harry jumps to his feet with such force that he knocks the chair over and accidentally trips over it in his haste to bolt out of the room. He lands on the floor with an oof, bumping the side of his hip which begins to throb in protest.
”Good evening”, a very familiar voice filters up from downstairs.
Harry scrambles to his feet and wrenches the bedroom door open. He thunders down the stairs, disproportionately happy to see his Potions Master framed in the doorway and scowling darkly at Vernon Dursley, who’s yet to invite him in.
”Professor!” Harry exclaims happily, skipping the last three steps and landing on the hallway floor with thud. ”It’s so good to see you!”
The scowl on Severus Snape’s face smooths out and is replaced by a multitude of emotions in quick succession, before morphing into a stoic mask.
”Mister Potter”, he greets. ”Are you ready to go?”
”Yeah, I just need to get my trunk — it’s upstairs”, Harry says, doubling back.
”Upstairs. where you just came from?” Snape calls after him snarkily.
When Harry returns to the top of the steps, he can tell Professor Snape is itching to throw a Locomotor Spell on his trunk as he awkwardly and loudly manoeuvres it down the stairs, his fingers literally twitching at his sides before he resolutely pull them into fists and the slits of his dark eyes flit over to Dursley in annoyance. The trunk gains momentum and thunders down the last few steps and then falls over onto the hallway floor, narrowly missing Harry foot and he swears.
”Mister Potter…” the Potions Master huffs.
”Sorry, Sir…”
Grabbing a hold of the trunk once more, Harry starts lugging it across the hallway floor, careful not to knock it into the back of his own legs and particularly careful not to ram it into the Potions Master once he he reaches the door.
It doesn’t even occur to him to say good bye to the Dursleys. Normally, he would thank someone for their hospitality, even if they hadn’t been particularly happy about offering it to him, like when he spent a few days at Malfoy Manor, because his daddy would be disappointed in him if he wasn’t at least polite.
However, in the case of the Dursley’s, Harry feels fairly confident that, given the choice between an awkwardly polite farewell and him simply getting leaving their lives as quickly and painlessless as possible, the Dursley’s themselves would prefer the latter, as would he — and if Remus Lupin somehow ever were to find out that Harry had left their house without a word, that’s exactly what he’ll tell him. Although, the truth is, Harry just can’t get away from Dursleys, number twelve Privet Drive and Little Whinging fast enough.
”Don’t you own an owl?” Professor Snape says when Harry’s dragged the trunk halfway across the threshold.
Oh shit, Harry thinks and lets go of the trunk with a groan. Hedwig’s cage.
”Be right back”, he mumbles and doubles back for a second time.
When he returns, Harry spends all of three seconds trying to secure the empty bird cage under his arm and haul the trunk out onto the front steps, before Professor Snape lets out a half-strangled noise of annoyance and swats his hands away from the trunk’s handle.
Without another word, the older man grabs a hold of the trunk and drags it swiftly down the path. Harry fumbles with the bird cage and stumbles down the steps after him, jogging to catch up. They reach the end of the street and with a furtive glance around, Professor Snape takes out his wand and shrinks both the trunk and the cage, allowing Harry to pocket them.
He then holds the wand out in front of him, but pauses and gives Harry a hesitant look.
”Oh, I can’t Apparate yet”, Harry tells him.
”Have you ever Side-Apparated with anyone before?”
”Yeah, of course. Loads of times.”
The Potions Master gives him a curt nod and holds his arm out. Harry immediately links his own arm with him and gives him an expectant smile.
”I do wish you would stop doing that…” the older man grumbles, but there is a hint of sparkle in his eyes.
”What, Sir?” Harry grins.
”That”, the man says pointedly. ”It’s very disconcerting… All right. Are you ready?”
Harry lets his teasing grin soften and nods, bracing himself for Apparation. A sudden, nauseating sensation of being hauled through space overcomes him; everything goes dark all around them and Harry can feel Snape’s arm slipping in his grip and start to twist away from him; Harry instinctively hugs him closer, clutching the arm desperately as he feels himself being pressed very hard from all directions; he can’t breathe; there are iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs are being forced back into his head and his eardrums pushed deeper into his skull and —
Harry gulps down great lungfuls of cold night air and opens his sstreaming eyes to see see an unfamiliar field split in two by a narrow river, hugged by overgrown banks.
Still gasping for breath, Harry blinks some of the blurriness away from his eyes and vaguely register the chill on his cheeks as the warm tears quickly cool. There is an immense chimney in the near distance, a relic from a disused mill or factory that now stands shadowy and ominous in the gloomy dark, dispersed only by a couple of streetlamps.
”Are you all right?”
Harry startles and whips his head around to meet the Professor’s gaze. He feels his face flush slightly when he realises that he’s still clutching the man’s arm as though his life depends on it, and quickly lets go and takes a step back.
”Sorry”, he mumbles. ”That was… I swear I’ve Side-Alonged with my dad plenty of times, but it’s never been that bad before.”
I don’t normally cry, he wants to add, but stops himself. He doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to it.
The older man just nods, looking anything but surprised.
”I doubt your dad ever takes you this far”, he says by ways of explanation and starts walking across the field in the direction of the shimney. ”Apparation gets more difficult, and more painful, the farther you travel… There is a reason we travel by train or floo for longer distances.”
That makes sense, Harry thinks, hurrying to keep up.
Entering into a seemingly deserted labyrinth of brick houses, Harry finds himself instinctively moving a little closer to the older man. If Professor Snape notices, he doesn’t let on. He just continues to walk briskly onto a street called Spinner’s End, according to a weather-worn street sign next to one of few functioning streetlamps.
Their footsteps echo on the cobbles, Harry’s in particular for some reason. He wonders anxiously whether the neighbourhood really is deserted or if he’ll wake up half the street when he suddenly stumbles over his own feet and nearly falls face first to the ground. Snape’s arm shoots out instinctively to catch him and Harry mumbles a thanks that goes completely ignored, however Snape does slow down his pace slightly.
They reach the very last house on Spinner’s End and Snape stops and mutters something under his breath, flicking his wand in a decisive manner back and forth a couple of times. Harry waits curiously for something to happen, but nothing does. He gives the Potions Master a sidelong glance. But the man seems oddly satisfied at the nothing at all that’s happened, and continues to walk up to the front door briskly.
“So this is where you live?” Harry asks excitedly, trailing after him, eager to see inside.
It’s weird to think of the teachers as having lives outside of Hogwarts, but Harry knows better than anyone that they do. His daddy was a Hogwarts professor for a whole year and there was a subtle but distinct difference between his teaching persona and what he’s like at home. Harry wonders what Professor Snape is like at home, and what his home is like…
There are various rumours amongst the students. Some fervently believe that the man lives in a draughty old castle filled with dangerous potions bottles and dusty old books, and that he sleeps like a bat, hanging upside-down from the rafters in the ceiling. Others, Daphne and Pansy being amongst them, have been insisting for ages that the dark and brooding thing is just an act, and that his home is filled with frilly fabric and flowers.
Professor Snape gives him an arched look, but holds the door open for him. Harry eagerly crosses the threshold and looks around curiously. So far, no potions bottles or frills.
Snape shuts the door and strides passed him. Harry follows into what appears to be a rather normal-looking sitting room and watches as the older man lights a few candles and a big fire in the cracked old fireplace.
Well, at least there are books, Harry thinks, eyeing the walls that are all covered in bookshelves.
The Potions Master disappears into an adjoining room and Harry can hear him tinker with something. He follows, but hesitates in the doorway. It’s a kitchen. A very normal kitchen. Snape is even filling up a kettle with water. In a way, Harry thinks the normalcy is even more bizarre than discovering that the man sleeps in a coffin or hanging from rafters.
“I’m making tea”, Snape announces unnecessarily, brandishing the kettle in Harry’s general direction. “I have already prepared a room for you…”
He flicks his wand and Harry can hear a creaking sound from the sitting room behind him and assumes a door has been opened.
“You may retire if you wish”, he continues. “Or, if you would prefer, you can join me for tea before bed. It’s entirely up to you.”
Harry isn’t sure why, but he gets the feeling that the professor is being defensive.
“Or…” Snape adds quietly, peering carefully at a point halfway up Harry’s arm by the looks of it. “If you’d rather, you’re also more than welcome to take a cup of tea with you… to your… room.”
”That’s okay”, Harry says lightly. ”I’d rather join you — if you don’t mind the company?”
They have tea in companionable silence. Harry is even invited to browse the older man’s collection of books and choose one for himself to take to bed with him. But even after this, Professor Snape is not entirely relaxed around Harry.
Not that Harry has ever seen Professor Snape entirely relaxed… But there is still a massive difference between the Snape that he knows from back home and the man he’s now sharing a space with. This one is more like Professor Snape whenever he’s forced to be in the general vicinity of Harry’s dad, tense and guarded.
Harry would feel hurt, but he figures this Severus Snape must have a very different relationship to Harry Potter, which makes sense if the other Harry was Sorted into Gryffindor.
Harry remembers Professor Snape being really sceptical of him back in First Year as well. The fact that he was Harry’s Head of House was the only reason he ever gave Harry the benefit of a doubt: he had to.
Between countless trips to the Hospital Wing, career guidance, dealing with nightmares and days of feeling poorly or homesick, all the usual First Year stuff, ithe relationship between a student and their Head of House is entirely different to that between a student and any other teacher, even favourite ones. Although some of that stuff is dealt with by Prefects, you still end up thinking of your Head of House as the person to go to with your problems. In situations when you would normally go to a parent, while you were at Hogwarts away from them, you would go to your Head of House.
But with the other Harry Sorted into Gryffindor, Harry thinks, bringing his thoughts back to the point. This Professor Snape would have had no reason to deal with him in that way when he was a boy. He would have docked house points and given him detentions, but any conversation or councilling would have been passed on to his Head of House, which in this world would be Professor McGonagall.
It’s still a lot less tense than Privet Drive, thinks as he retires for the night.
The bed in Professor Snape’s spare bedroom is marginally bigger than the one supplied by the muggles and a lot more comfortable, Harry discovers, gratefully stretching out on top of it before snuggling down under the duvet. He wakes up feeling fully rested for the first time since he left Hogwarts and makes his way into the kitchen with an actual spring in his step. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the Potions Master, who gives him an arched look over his shoulder before turning back to the stove.
”Did you sleep well?” he murmurs.
”I slept great”, Harry says earnestly and sinks down in one of the chairs at the table.
He thinks he hears the older man mumble a good, but he can’t be sure.
They’re halfway through breakfast — also had in comfortable-ish silence — when Professor Dumbledore shows up for a visit. It’s impossible to tell whether Professor Snape had been expecting him or not, because his face gives nothing away. But he does get up to retrieve a third teacup from the cupboard, so Harry figures he can’t have been expecting him right this minute anyway.
It might be one of the most bizarre experiences Harry has ever sat through, having tea and crumpets with Dumbledore and Snape in the Potions Master’s kitchen. Especially considering the two older wizards spend the first ten minutes making pleasant small talk. Dumbledore mentions some bush or other with discolouring that would indicate disease in some of ithe leaves and Snape gives him some gardening tip about containing it to the one branch and not allowing it to spread and kill the whole bush, Harry isn’t really paying attention.
Finally, the Headmaster seems to take pity on Harry’s growing impatience, because he puts his teacup down and twinkles at him.
”Now, shall we discuss the matter at hand…” he suggests kindly. ”I have discussed the matter at length with various experts and we are all in agreement that by falling through the doorway between the Space Room and the Time Room… at the exact same time… as the other Harry… a portal was created and the two of you landed in the other’s dimension.”
”You mean we swapped places”, Harry says. ”But I woke up in the Hospital Wing?”
Dumbledore nods thoughtfully, while Professor Snape speaks up softly and tells him for the first time that he’d actually been found by Hagrid on the lawn outside the castle and had been brought unconscious to the Hospital Wing.
”Yes…” Dumbledore says softly. ”And the last time I saw our Harry, I’d just created a Portkey for him that would take him to my office. There are discrepancies and this is the reason I have been reluctant to divulge my theory before now. Clearly, it’s not a just matter of the two of you simply swapping places… or you would have woken up in the Space Room… But… I do believe, it is the best theory we’ve got.”
Harry nods, his stomach churning at the possibility that they might not know what’s happened after all, or how to set it right again.
As if reading his mind, the Headmaster nods a little sadly and says, ”I know it’s not the reassuring news you were maybe hoping for. But I suspect that you rather test the theory out… than keep digging for answers for a question no-one has ever encountered before?”
”Yeah”, Harry mumbles. ”Yeah, I want to try.”
The Headmaster gives him a solemn nod.
”I have made arrangements with a couple of Unspeakables. We will have access to Time Room and Space Room for half an hour next Friday. We should pick an exact time within that half hour when you and the other Harry both cross that threshold. I believe that to be essential for the portal to open and the switch to be made. Since there does seem to be a connection between the two of you, at least between your respective subconscious, you should be able to get a message across to him in your sleep… I take it, Professor Snape has already started tutoring you in Legilimency?”
The old man twinkles at the Potions Master, who gives him a curt nod, ”He has shown apptitude already.”
”It was a bit difficult at first”, Harry mumbles modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. ”I’ve been practising closing my mind for so long now, it’s weird to be doing the opposite, but…”
”Yes, Legilimency can be tricky in the beginning… I’m sure Professor Snape will tell you, for most Legilimens it takes years…” Professor Dumbledore says, a smile twitching in his beard. ”And you’ve been practising it for a whole day now?”
Harry ducks his head to hide his blush, ”Well, I don’t have years…”
”No…” Dumbledore says slowly, most of the amusement gone from his voice again. ”That you do not… You have until Friday morning…”
***
By his second afternoon at Spinner’s End, Harry can tell that the Potions Master looks at him differently and that there is a distinct lack of tension in his shoulders which changes his whole posture and the way he moves.
”You’ve made excellent progress already”, he tells Harry as they stop for a lunch break and Harry beams at the compliment. ”I believe you’re ready to start trying to put your skills to the test.”
”Really?” Harry says excitedly. ”You think I can do it? You think I can reach him?”
Professor Snape hums in a less than encouraging manner, but he also nods so Harry chooses to focus on that.
He gives a subtle eye roll when, at five o’clock in the evening, Harry announces that he’s tired.
In fact, Harry is anything but tired. His whole body is thrumming with nerves and excitement and he worries that he might be so wired that he won’t be able to get a wink of sleep at all. But he needs to sleep in order to try and reach out to the other Harry.
”You don’t need my permission to go to bed, Harry”, the Potions Master murmurs.
He retrieves his book of choice for the evening and makes himself comfortable in his favoured armchair, opening the book slowly to the first page and sipping his tea.
”I know”, Harry mumbles, fidgeting.
Professor Snape shoots him a knowing look, smirking over the rim of the tea mug.
”If you want, I can give you something to help you sleep…”
He’s moving through liquid darkness; Where are you?
Shadows exploding into light, bending, curving; Draco is getting on the Hogwarts Express, not turning back; it starts to drizzle; Where are you?
Light spills into his head; time curves around his back, gets tangled up in his legs, arms, he can hear bir sogn; His Daddy is handing him a mug of hot chocolate; the universe bends around him, twists over his head; Sirius opening the Prophet, eyes flitting up to meet his, no smile; I need to talk to you!
A blurry lake spreads out in front of his face, he puts his glasses on, the world comes into focus; I see you—space bends, turns, twists away—No, wait
Harry startles awake, his hands twisted in the sheets and a frustrated growl stuck in his throat. He punches the mattress next to him and fists his hair.
When he tells Professor Snape at breakfast, the man doesn’t appear concerned at all. He just reminds Harry that it was his first attempt and that he can’t be a prodigy in everything he sets his mind to.
Harry shoots him a glare, ”You’re not hearing me! I did it, I established the connection, Sir! But that — that — weasel kept running away from me!”
Professor Snape eyes him uncertainly, then simply tells him to keep trying.
Harry sits back in his chair with a huff.
”But first, finish your breakfast.”
As the days pass, Harry grows increasingly desperate. Friday is looming ever closer and he’s yet to get any kind of confirmation from Potter. If anything, he now feels confident that the other boy is actively darting away from him whenever he tries to reach out.
He keeps voicing his concerns to Professor Snape and, although the man keeps reassuring him, he is looking more and more troubled as time passes.
Finally, on his sixth night in Spinner’s End, Harry manages to track Potter down in his dream and for the first time since he started trying to connect with him, it doesn’t turn into a cat and mouse game.
Instead, the other Harry seems to waiting for him when he finds him and without actually speaking, they stare into each others’ eyes and somehow the whole world, the whole universe which is now swirling around them both, seems to throb and vibrate.
It’s you
The air continues to vibrate between them; Harry feels his veins and nerve-endings thrumming with it.
It’s you
In heart beat, it’s all gone again and Harry is wide awake in his.
For a split second, he feels dismayed. But then he realises that he just knows that Potter got the message, that he knows what to do… Although nothing was actually said between them in the dream, something was communicated.
He springs to his feet, excitement running through his body like a hex.
This is it.
I’m going home.
He rifles through the contents of his trunk with trembing hands until he finds a quill, some ink and a bit of parchment and he hurriedly sprawls out on his front on the floor, jotting down a hurried message to Granger as he’d promised, before jumping back up and wrenching the window open and letting out a loud whistle.
As he’s waiting, scanning the sky eagerly for any sign of Hedwig, he thinks maybe he should write a message to Malfoy as well… He hears the professor begin to stir on the other side of the wall and footsteps approaching the bedroom door.
”Harry?” he calls out warily.
Hedwig comes swooping in through the window and lands deftly on Harry’s arm. He strides across the room and opens the bedroom door, grinning up at the older man whose worried frown immediately smooths out again.
”Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, Sir…”
”What happened?” the man asks, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Harry can’t contain his grin and doesn’t even bother trying. He eagerly tells the Potions Master everything, whilst tying the message to Hedwig’s leg. Before sending her on her way, he gently strokes the feathers at the back of her neck.
”I don’t know how far you’ll have to go deliver this, so there’s a chance I won’t be here when you get back… but hopefully your Harry will back in my place”, he smiles at her. ”It was nice to meet you, Hedwig.”
The owl gives an affectionate hoot and then takes off through the window. Feeling too excited to go back to sleep, Harry eagerly accepts Professor Snape’s offer of a cup of tea.
”I’ve really enjoyed these moments with you, professor”, he tells the older man a while later as they’re sharing another comfortable silence in the sitting room.
The Potions Master shoots him a warning look. Harry simply shrugs and smiles down at his book.
”Professor, will you come with me?” he asks him suddenly.
Professor Snape gives him a questioning look.
”To the Department of Mysteries?”
”Professor Dumbledore will accompany you—”
”I know”, Harry interrupts. ”I know that, Sir. But I was wondering if you were coming too…”
Professor Snape doesn’t reply immediately. He simply turns the page in the book he’s reading with an almost pensive movement, then flits his eyes up from the page to meet Harry’s own.
”I would like it if you did”, Harry clarifies.
”I hadn’t planned on it”, the man murmurs slowly. ”But I suppose… I could…”
”I would like that…” Harry mumbles again.
”Potter won’t be too pleased to see me there, if the swap succeeds”, the other man mutters after a moment’s silence and Harry snorts.
”Don’t really give a hippogriff’s tail about what pleases him”, he says without thinking, startling a bark of a laugh out of the Potions Master that sends a thrill through him.
That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Professor Snape laugh — in any world, he thinks giddily. I can’t wait to tell Draco!
Harry thinks about asking Professor Snape to lend him his owl so that he can send the Malfoy of this world a good bye note, or even hand him the note himself the next time he sees him. But in the end, he decides against it.
He likes the other boy and wishes him well, and genuinely hopes he’ll making friends with Potter. He figures that if he leaves him a message, it will only complicate things for the other boy.
***
Walking down the street, bookended by Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape, towards the muggle fone box and then awkwardly squeezing inside it, makes Harry feel like he’s still dreaming. He watches Dumbledore lift the clunky contraption and begins turning the dial to various numbers, just like Sirius had done. After the dial has rolled back to zero with a whirr for the last time, a familiar female voice greets them and Dumbledore calmly states all three of their names, speaking directly into the contraption.
”Thank you”, the woman’s voice says coolly. ”Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes…”
With a rattle and dink, three shiny things drops out of the contraption and into a small chute at the bottom. Professor Snape reaches in and takes the three badges, handing one each to Dumbledore and Harry, then attacheing the third one to his own robes with methodical movements.
Harry doesn’t bother looking at his badge, just quickly sticks it to his robes and then stands bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as the female voice continues droning on tonelessly. He’s antsy to keep moving.
Finally, the floor begins to sink through the ground with a shudder. Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The fone-box sinks further and further until it’s completely submerged in darkness. He’s acutely aware of his proximity to the two older wizards, cramped together as they are. He tries to focus on not breathing too quickly, or move too much.
A small sliver of golden light appears at their feet. It grows steadily until the whole box is blasted with light. Harry blinks. The box comes to a shuddering stop on the gleaming hardwood floor and the sense of deja vú is so strong, Harry keeps glancing at the two professors on either side of him, just to remind himself that he’s not with his dad.
”The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day”, the woman’s voice says and the door slides open.
The last time Harry was here, he’d been almost stunned at the sight of the Atrium. But now, he barely looks up. He vaguely registers the tinkling sound of running water as they walk passed the fountain, but Harry’s gaze doesn’t waver from the golden gates in front of them.
Professor Snape stands off to the side, as if holding the gate open and lets Harry and Dumbledore walk inside the lift first. As they begin to move downwards, Harry is more or less bouncing up and down at this point. Even after Professor Snape sends him a sidelong look. He tries to contain the nervous energy for a moment after that, but it’s impossible.
”Level nine: Department of Mysteries —”
”Oh Merlin…” Harry murmurs and lurches forward to lean his hands on his knees.
It is quite possible that he’ll just pass out, he thinks and but also tells himself sternly that if he faints and misses the window for the switch, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s aware of a warm hand splayed on his shoulder. He focuses on the feeling of it, allows it to steady his racing pulse. With a deep breath, Harry pushes himself up to standing again.
”Are you all right…?” Professor Snape murmurs quietly.
Harry just nods.
Professor Dumbledore leads the way into the black-tiled corridor. By the now, the deja vú is so strong that Harry’s mind is reeling from it.
He’s vaguely aware of a witch and wizard waiting for them by the very door he was dreaming about for the last year, the door he knows will lead them into the spinning, circular room with all the doors.
”Saul… Regina…” Dumbledore says solemnly, inclining his head towards each of them in greeting. ”Thank you so much for having us. This is, as I’m sure you can tell, mister Harry Potter…”
The witch and wizard eagerly turn to look at Harry and smile at him.
”Mister Potter, it’s very nice to meet you”, the wizard says and thrusts his hand out for Harry to shake. ”Saul Croaker.”
”Oh yeah…” Harry says, shaking his hand. ”I think I recognize you… you work with my dad…”
Mister Croaker lets out a strangled noise of excitement and the witch by his side sighs, muttering that Greengrass will never forgive him. Harry frowns in confusion. She turns to give him another smile.
”Mister Potter, I’m Regina Mimtumble”, she says and holds her hand out as well. ”I’m the Head of Department.”
”Nice to meet you”, Harry mumbles, looking between all the adults uncertainly.
”I apologise”, Mister Croaker says. ”But we don’t often get a breakthrough like this… I’ve spent my whole career studying time, and—”
Madam Mimtumble clears her throat pointedly.
”Oh, I say that”, the wizard says. ”They know about the Time Room.”
”Yes…” the witch mutters, looking none too pleased about it. ”I have been lead to understand you’ve been inside the Department already, mister Potter.”
She gives him a disapporiving look.
”Yeah…” Harry croaks. ”Sorry…”
”Yes, well… Nevertheless, there are protocols to adhere to. You will need to blindfolded until we get to the Time Room. At no point are you allowed to see any other room that then the Time Room and Space Room, as per our agreement…” she adds, giving Dumbledore a pointed look.
The Headmaster inclines his head in understanding.
”Very well, then”, the witch says and flicks her wand.
In the next moment, everything goes dark and Harry is aware of what feels like very smooth fabric resting lightly against the top half of his face.
”If you’ll allow me…” the witch says and Harry feels a hand cup his elbow and give it a gentle nudge.
He’s lead forwards and then directed to stop. I images they must all be standing in the centre of the circular room. At least he won’t have to see the doors and torches spin around him and make him even dizzier than he already feels.
The hand on his elbow give him another nudge and he starts walking again.
He’s immediately aware of stepping inside the Time Room, recognising the sound of whirring and clicking from all the clocks. This time, when he’s directed to stop, the blindfold disappears from his face again and he blinks in the sudden brightness.
As soon as his eyes have adjusted, he can make out the familiar sparkling walls and his stomach flips with excitement. He follows the speckles of light to the giant bell jar at the far end of the room, remembering Draco’s fascination with the egg and the bird. Maybe it’s not excitement, he thinks then, as his stomach continues to knot itself. Maybe it’s dread.
What if it doesn’t work?
What if the other Potter didn’t bother coming here after all?
What if I throw myself through that doorway and absolutely nothing happens?
”Harry…” Professor Snape murmurs softly next to him.
Harry whips his head around and stares up at him helplessly. He hadn’t even been aware of wringing his hands, until the Potions Master gently covers them with one of his own and gives him a meaningful look. Harry exhales slowly, grateful to feel some of his worry deflating as he does. He nods silently. The Potions Master nods too, giving his hands a gentle squeeze before letting them go.
Seconds are trickling by. Harry would find that funny, considering what room they’re all standing in. But he’s too nervous and his stomach is too knotted up for him to really find anything funny right now. He begins to pace, letting his mind wander.
He tries to avoid thinking about the plan failing and never seeing his dads or Draco ever again, by focusing on Quidditch tactics and potions ingredients. He even spends several minutes reciting the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards that he couldn’t for the life of him remember when he was sitting his History of Magic O.W.L.s…
”Almost time…” Dumbledore’s voice breaks through Harry’s reverie.
Harry spins around to look at him and Professor Snape.
What, already? he thinks in panic.
The Headmaster gives him a meaningful look over the rim of his glasses.
”Harry, my boy, get ready…”