Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and you want to know why? J.K. Rowling does! Yeah, that rich lady in England. Do not come after me with those lawyers, as lawsuits are bad for my health. Doctor's orders!
WARNING: This will be slash. Yes, my narrow-minded friends, that means boy on boy action. Are you illiterate? Because that's the only excuse for flaming me (about slash or pairing) after reading my warning. Oh, and by the way? Since I have to put these bloody things up, why doesn't someone warn me about those damned H/G fics? I can't imagine… *glare* Slashers: Enjoy!
Pairing: Harry/Sirius and James/Lily are the main pairings. Others will not influence the plot. I think.
Spoilers: All the first 4 books, then parts of the 5th book. Mostly AU, because Sirius isn't dead. And because I doubt Harry will be going back in time in his 6th year…
Summery/Overview: This is AU, summer before 6th year. Voldemort, in Harry's 5th year, stayed quiet, gathering power and his allies back, so without any 'proof' that the Dark Lord is back, Dumbledore and Harry are ridiculed (rather like the 5th book). Harry had an uneventful year (Shocking, I know). He also went cold on Ron & Hermione for about two weeks, but he got cornered and gave up. Everything else, you will figure out along the way.
Timeline: Look, if it's inaccurate, umm… artistic license? I might adjust it later on, but if you have some canon evidence that things happened differently, tell me, and I'll change it. Maybe.
1960- MWPP/L are born.
1970- Voldemort starts to gather power.
1971- MWPP/L's first year at Hogwarts.
1976/78- Harry comes to the past (6th and 7th year).
1978- MWPP/L/H graduate. Harry leaves.
1980- Harry is born.
1981- Lily and James die.
1991/92- Harry's first year at Hogwarts
Summer of 1996- Harry goes nineteen years in the past.
Ouroboros~ Chapter One
One would think that having an uneventful year would be a relief. But when a newly resurrected Dark Lord happened to be after you for sending him into 13 years of purgatory, then the idea of your nemesis watching and waiting to strike like a snake in the grass will be distinctly frightening. Actually, the idea of the said Dark Lord waiting to kill you was not really a new one, as the Dark Lord had been trying to kill you since you were a baby for reasons that you had only found out about after finding out a certain prophecy. A prophecy that said a baby born at the end of July who was marked by the Dark Lord would be able to kill him. Kill or be killed. Evolution.
It had become something of a ritual, Harry thought. Waiting for my birthday gifts, and counting down the minutes… out with the old year, and in with the new. New dangers, as well. His gaze darkened as he thought over the previous year, and his nemesis's actions, or the lack thereof. It was ironic that when, in his fourth year Dumbledore told Sirius to 'lay low' at Lupin's, the Dark Lord seemed to have followed his godfather's example. No one had heard a peep out of him, which further convinced Fudge that Harry and Dumbledore were making the whole story up. However, it only served to heighten Harry's suspicions. He glanced toward Dudley's old digital alarm clock to check the time. 11:53. I wonder if it is some sort of bizarre wizarding custom to send one's best friend their birthday gift in the dead of night? He stifled a snort of laughter at the outraged look snobs like Draco Malfoy would wear if it were true. No, it was most likely just him, and his certifiably insane relations. Oh, joy. Harry thought sarcastically.
He glanced toward the clock again. 11:55. He really didn't think it was a good idea to fall asleep. Wake up, Potter! No time to be napping! Finally, Harry resorted to forcing the mental picture of Snape in a tutu as a caffeine substitute. Merlin…! Holy…. There is no God…Finally, after several more traumatizing images, Harry gave up and crawled out of his bed to grab the photo album Hagrid gave him in first year. Harry loved how wizarding photos always moved, like a stolen instant, more tangible then any Muggle photo. I must have been the most awful child… then again, son of a Marauder, what can you expect? He turned the page to come upon a picture he hadn't noticed before. It was a photograph of his father, mother, Lupin, and Sirius, but there was another person there who Harry didn't recognize. He was a small, slender boy with clear, delicate features and a passing resemblance to James Potter. Do I have an uncle I don't know about? Harry wondered. The boy was standing next to Harry's godfather, and Sirius kept looking over at the boy and smiling oddly. The picture was taken in front of the sparkling lake, at what looked like the end of sixth year. Sirius, before the photo was taken, seemed to have carefully slipped an arm around the mysterious boy's waist who didn't seem to have noticed, distracted as he was with teasing Lupin on his other side. Sirius and James were entrenched in a deep conversation and James kept throwing glances at Lily. Harry shook his head and wondered Why on Earth is Sirius looking at him that way? Huh, if Sirius shares my preferences, then that just made my life a whole lot easier.
Harry had always known that he wanted love in any form, be the recipient male or female. His childhood with the Dursley's only cemented that longing for affection. Luckily, his relative's were rabidly homophobic, and Harry's rule of thumb was that the Dursley's were always wrong. So far, it hadn't failed him. Fortunately, his friends had been nothing but supportive. Ironically, it was only the childlike concerns that he could confide in his friends with, but not anything about Voldemort. Harry looked back at the photo and decided that he couldn't blame Sirius for his taste in men.
The unknown boy was slight and fragile-looking, but the way he carried himself made you not want to mess with him. His hair was jet black, and looked like someone had taken a jar of ink and splashed it on his head. The boy's face was fine-boned, delicate but with a spark of humor seen in the depths of his eyes. His skin was extremely pale, giving him an androgynous beauty. Harry wondered why he had never heard from or about the mysterious person, because by the looks of it, he and Harry's family were very close. Maybe he was one of the people who died in Voldemort's first rise… Harry thought with a pang of sadness. Harry shook his head and decided that he wouldn't find anything about the boy tonight and so resolved to ask Sirius or Lupin about him next opportunity. Harry turned the page, immersing himself in pictures of happier times.
Finally, Harry noticed a lopsided shape outside the window, and scrambled out of his creaky bed as stealthily as he could. He snatched the elderly bird out of the sky, and relieved Errol of his unusually large parcel. Harry noticed Hermione's handwriting on some of the envelopes included. Harry had already received Sirius' and Hagrid's presents, a two-way mirror from Sirius and some delicate French food from Hagrid (Apparently, 'Olympe' taught him how to cook. A true miracle worker…). Harry had been ecstatic about the mirror; this way he and Sirius could talk without being worried about Ministry capture. Stupid Ministry. However, it had been late when Hedwig had swooped in with his godfather's gift and he had to wait to use it, especially to find out about That Boy, as Harry had dubbed him... Hagrid's present he devoured, but made sure to leave some, as the Dursley's hadn't gotten any more open-minded over the school year. Good thing too, what with Voldemort being quieter then a pagan mouse in a Muggle church instead of going all DarkLordish-crazy-murdering-rampage like Harry had expected him to, and if any other villains in his life acted out of character, Harry might go mad. Who'd have thought that having enemies not bothering you would be so weird? Well, Hermione might, but she doesn't count, bloody genius that she was.
Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts and started ripping open his gifts. Ron's was, as usual, Chocolate Frogs, Berties Botts Beans, but he had also sent a subscription to Quidditch Quarterly that made Harry want to whoop in excitement. He didn't, of course, because that would wake up the Dursley's. Hermione's gift was odd, a necklace of a golden snake biting its tail strung on a slender chain. Hermione would never usually send something that had an allusion or connection to Slytherin House, as she knew how touchy the memory of his second year at Hogwarts was. Harry picked up the parchment that had fluttered out of the confusing package.
Dear Harry,
I haven't heard from you all summer; are you all right? I'm worried about you. Please, talk to Ron and I. Don't try to shut us out again. God, scream at us for all we care, just don't push us away again! You don't know how much that scared me. I meant what I said in first year; that you're a great wizard; but your greatest strength lays in your heart, and please! Use it!
Harry could see tear stains on the parchment. He felt a twinge of guilt for making er worry. Dear Hermione. She really doesn't deserve most of what I throw at her.
Anyway. I bought your necklace in Hogsmeade, before we left school (Have you opened your gift yet?). I gave it to Ron to send to you, so I wouldn't have to worry about getting it to you on time. Now, the serpent has nothing to do with Slytherin! The snake biting its own tail is called Ouroboros, a symbol of time, continuity, completion, perfection and totality, the endless round of existence, or the cyclic Nature of the Universe (creation out of destruction, Life out of Death). Rather morbid, but it seemed to fit you for some reason. I'm sure you can put protection charms on it, also. I bet there are some really fantastic ones in the Hogwarts library!
Harry smiled; he could just imagine her eyes shining as she imagined the 'fantastic' protection charms on the gift.
My parents are going to a dentist's convention, which ought to be fascinating, but I'm too young to go, so I'll be staying at Ron's for part of the summer. We're planning on owling Professor Dumbledore and seeing if you can come too. Oh, and there might be a certain dog here to see you also….
Take care of yourself, Harry, or I'll come over and do it for you!
I miss you.
Love from Hermione.
Ouroboros. Interesting, especially from Hermione who usually made logical and analytical purchases. Impulse buying was not her thing. That was more his and Ron's domain. Harry shrugged, and thought Well, I guess Hermione had to be a kid once in a while! He picked up all of his gifts and hid them under the floorboard under his bed. It would be fantastic for Dudley to eat a jumping piece of chocolate. But it might make him get some exercise by running away from it! Now there's an idea…. Harry put the Ouroboros pendant on, why, he could not understand. My Divination may be more then a bit dodgy, but it doesn't matter whether it's on or off. No harm done, I suppose. Harry sighed, and crawled under his covers after turning off his light. Please, let it be a peaceful rest… was Harry's last thought before he slipped into oblivion.
Harry found himself in a decrepit old room, similar to those in the Shrieking Shack, although Harry was pretty sure that the destruction done to this room as due to neglect and old age, rather then an uncontrollable child-werewolf. A roaring purple flame burned in the fireplace, with the two best armchairs pulled close to the heat. A pure silver cauldron was to the side of the fire, waiting to be used. A bald and snakelike head could be seen sitting in the chair to the left, resembling a brooding hero as he stared into the flames. However, this man was as far from a hero as it was possible to be.
"Wormtail," A high voice beckoned.
"Yes, Master?" Harry recognized Wormtail's voice with a surge of hatred.
"Has Malfoy delivered the ingredients yet?" asked the Dark Lord in a tone that brooked no refusal.
"Y-yes, Master," Wormtail stuttered, sounding slightly less confident, Harry noted viciously. But…ingredients?
"Then, why, exactly, haven't you added them to the cauldron yet?" Voldemort asked with more then a hint of impatience. "Never mind, I am in no mood to deal with your incompetence tonight."
Wormtail, who had been cowering behind the other chair out of Harry's sight, nervously jumped up and ran (well, as much as you can run in front of an irritated Voldemort) out of the room. He returned huffing and puffing, carrying a harmless looking black satchel bearing the Malfoy insignia, a silver M with emerald snakes twined around the letter. Stuttering his apologies, the pitiful traitor dropped the bag into his Master's waiting lap. Voldemort picked up the bag and opened it, casting a disdainful glance on the quivering wreck on the rug. Harry could see a vaguely familiar shimmering silver powder encased in a glass vial, and what seemed to be a Life's Weapon.
A Life's Weapon was, in Professor Sprout's words, a rather paradoxical plant that was used to stabilize certain illegal potions but promotes change and life in others. It's an extremely rare and valuable plant, as it's almost impossible to grow. However, once it takes its root, it takes nothing short of an Apocalypse to kill it. Hogwarts has had a priceless amount growing since the Founder's age. A Life's Weapon has large, graceful leaves, with firm roots and a slender silver trunk similar to a willow. The leaves have a silky sheen to them, making the whole picture nothing short of ethereal. With the size of the plant in the bag, it made sense that Malfoy would have to buy it, bloody rich bugger that he was.
The Dark Lord was poring over the bag's contents; triumph and greed catching his eyes alight. "Perfect…" he whispered as he beckoned Wormtail closer. Voldemort grabbed the clumsy man by the left forearm, ignoring his squeak of fear. The Dark Mark shone a dull black on the pale and flabby arm of Wormtail, but flared a bright red when the Dark Lord pressed a long, spider like finger onto it. Several moments later, Severus Snape Apparated with a quiet pop into the doorway of the snake's den.
"How may I serve you, my Lord?" Snape asked smoothly, gliding forward gracefully to kneel in front of the Voldemort.
"The potion is ready," the Dark Lord replied cryptically. Harry found himself wincing at the overly dramatic tone. Snape paled, as if the news had greatly shocked him.
"The ingredients?" Snape asked, his voice slightly choked, although it would only be evident to someone who had spent five years listening (or not listening, as the case may be) to him.
"All here," Voldemort said with the tone of someone patiently explaining something to a child. "Are you… afraid to brew this potion? Or is it beyond your skill?" The potions master did not rise to the bait. He knew when his sometimes master was testing him.
"I will do my best to serve you, Lord." Snape spoke in a humble tone, or as humble as he could get, anyway.
"See that you do," Voldemort's voice had hardened, and the flames snapped menacingly, warning Snape against treachery.
"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied softly. He withdrew from the Dark Lord's presence to go to the fire and started to make the mysterious potion. It was the most complicated potion Harry had ever seen, or heard of, with both Light and Dark elements. Snape was using his wand more on this one potion then Harry had seen in five years at Hogwarts. The question was why would Voldemort want anything to do with the Light, and yet here Snape was using Unicorn tail and horn, phoenix feather, and powdered Griffin claw, all from supremely Light creatures. Harry fell into a reverie pondering this strange turn of events, and was brought out of it abruptly by his potions professor's voice announcing "It is completed, Master. Shall I bottle it for you?"
"No, you may not. You are dismissed." Voldemort said curtly, staring at the cauldron containing a now-golden mixture hungrily.
"Thank you, Master." Snape bowed elegantly and stepped back, disappearing in mid-step. Voldemort watched his servant vanish, and muttered something scathing about Severus and his dramatics. He turned and strode to the fireplace and the silver cauldron. Voldemort removed an empty vial from a robe pocket, and swiftly scooped some of the odd liquid into it and bottled it. After impatiently waiting five minutes, he added the shimmering silver powder to the vial, and meticulously swirling the colors so they mixed together nicely. Triumphantly, Voldemort lifted the potion to his mouth and drank. Suddenly, great fiery explosions of silver danced across his vision. Voldemort was screaming, frothing at the mouth, his eyes spitting more fire then a riled dragon, yet Harry couldn't hear a thing, like someone had pressed their hands to his head and refused to let go. His body was being pulled in all directions, ripped apart by invisible forces, worse than the Cruciatus curse in it's most dire form. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move, he was terrifyingly paralyzed. Harry couldn't even think, his mind was a blur of pain and animal instincts. Harry could feel his mind slipping away form him in the cruel embrace of this pain. This had to be worse then death, how could he not be insane after all this, whywhywhy….
Finally, darkness descended like a veil over his burning eyes.
~*~
He was lying on something hard. All sorts of bumpy things were digging into his back, and if this was Death, then it was as bad as life. Then again, pain is just your body's way of telling you you're still alive. Damn. Harry groaned. He really didn't want to get up, let alone function properly, but who knew where he was, and if he was about to be attacked like a pig for slaughter, he'd rather have a fighting chance. Even if he did feel like a troll had used his body for ballet practice.
Harry summoned all his remaining Gryffindor courage and cracked open one eye. He groaned again as bright sunlight hit his pupils painfully, like a blind man seeing for the first time ever. Harry glimpsed a bright blue sky and wondered how that happened, when the sun had come up, and where the hell was he, anyway? Harry hauled himself up by propping his protesting elbows on the ground, and sitting up, although his body was very, very angry about that. His eyes met a shocking sight. How had he managed to get onto Hogwarts grounds? It was supposed to be impossible during the summertime for an uninvited visitor, which Harry definitively was. Harry looked at his surroundings more carefully; he had been lying on the stone front steps of Hogwarts, but a twinkling Albus Dumbledore sat nearby, seemingly for Harry to wake up. The man seemed carefree, but if one looked close enough, one could see a cautious light in his eyes. Harry was could detect a subtle difference from the last time he saw the Headmaster, but couldn't figure out exactly what was off.
Dumbledore was waging his usual crimes against fashion with metallic blue robes and madly twitching butterflies in rainbow colors neatly sewn into the fabric. One hand was kept casually near his pocket, ready to pull out his wand at the slightest provocation. Harry was rather confused, that kind of watchful paranoia was more akin to Mad-Eye Moody then the powerful Headmaster, especially in front of him.
Opening his mouth, and fighting his throat to work, Harry rasped, "Pr- professor? How did I get here?"
Dumbledore smiled blankly. "I'm quite sure I don't know, child. Now, would you care to tell me your name?"
Harry blinked. Had Dumbledore done what he had been threatening to do for years and finally gone round the bend? "Sir, I don't understand. You know me, I'm Harry Potter."
One of Dumbledore's bushy white eyebrows rose slightly. "Mr. James Potter has not siblings, and his father is an only child as well. Are you quite sure?" he asked with a hint of steel.
Harry blinked again. Bad habit, that. What did his father have to do with anything? Did the Headmaster have amnesia? Could wizards even get amnesia? "Excuse me sir, but what does my father have to do with me being here? Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked worriedly. Should he get McGonagall?
The other bushy white eyebrow joined its brother. After all, not many had the audacity to speak to Albus Dumbledore like Harry had. "James Potter is my student. If you are claiming to be a relative of his, then if most assuredly involves him, and me as well."
Harry felt a niggling suspicion grown in his mind. But… it was impossible to go that far back, wasn't it? Then again, it's also impossible to survive the Killing Curse. "What is the date?" Harry asked abruptly.
"July 31st," Dumbledore looked like he was questioning Harry's sanity now.
"No, I mean, what year?" Harry was desperate. Please, say 1997!
"1976. Now, if you'll…" Dumbledore never finished his sentence, for Harry had slumped back into a dead faint at the man's words. The old wizard sighed in confusion. This boy was becoming more of a mystery every minute. Dumbledore got up and took out his wand, levitating the unconscious boy into the hospital wing. Maybe he'd get some answers there, after putting up some wards to make sure the boy wasn't a spy. Tom would have liked the spirit in this one,
Albus could tell. But why had he fainted?
~*~
Harry jerked awake, wondering why he had had such a strange dream. Honestly, going back in time? Harry opened his eyes expecting to see the bland ceiling of his bedroom at the Dursley's but was greeted with a sea of starched linen and faded white paint. It had to be a record, in the hospital wing before school started! Wait. School. Infirmary. Dumbledore. It hadn't been a dream...Harry groaned, leaning back into his crisp white pillows. This year just got a whole lot more complicated….
"You're awake, finally. I was beginning to think you hit your head," Dumbledore had strode into the infirmary, still wearing the blue monstrosity, so it hadn't been long since he had…
"What happened?" Harry asked carefully, looking anywhere other than at the Headmaster, since it didn't do to snigger at the Headmaster when said Headmaster didn't know who the hell he was, and was likely to get a tad miffed.
"You fainted," Dumbledore stated crisply, settling himself down into a plushy chair beside Harry's bed, robes swirling cheerfully. Oh. Well, let's not have that one get back to Malfoy, hmm? But Harry was pulled out of his paranoid thoughts by Dumbledore's voice, benign as ever.
"Now, it seems I have two choices. I can ask you who you are, and why you upset the wards, or I can give you Veritaserum. Would you like to choose?" Even after threatening a potential unknown, Dumbledore's eyes never stopped twinkling.
"Well, I'll tell you the truth, what I know of it, but it's so unbelievable that you might dose me with a truth potion anyways," Harry said heavily.
"Why don't you try, child?" Dumbledore said pleasantly. What was this boy hiding? There were Dark traces on his body, but none seemed self-inflicted. Had he been tortured? That was not so unbelievable in these Dark times since Tom had started to gather power six years ago.
Harry had been thinking fast since the Headmaster had closed his mouth. How did you tell someone your life story, especially one as complicated as his? And if he really had gone back in time, he couldn't tell Dumbledore anything. Yet if he didn't, he'd be locked up in the dungeons as a spy or sent to the Ministry of Magic, which would be havoc to the timeline. Did he have a choice in telling Dumbledore? If Harry told him nothing, he'd just be forced Veritaserum. Harry considered lying to Dumbledore about whom he was, but he quickly dismissed it. Every time he had tried to lie to the Headmaster in the past had merely backfired upon him. He doubted it would work in a time where Dumbledore was already suspicious of him. He needed Dumbledore to trust him, which would be achieved by telling the truth willingly. Harry took a deep breath and looked straight into Dumbledore's cerulean blue eyes.
"My name is Harry James Potter. No, please don't interrupt, sir," Harry said quickly, seeing Dumbledore about to object. "My history is really very complicated, and might take a while." Harry exhaled and tried to order his mind enough to recite what was common knowledge in his time. Finally, his words spilled out of him like a waterfall, telling Dumbledore about the things really depressing fairy tales are made of. His parent's death, his years with the Dursley's, going to Hogwarts and the subsequent attacks by the Dark Lord. He spoke of the connection between himself and Tom Riddle, forged by the failed curse of Halloween 1981, and the strange vision that had preceded his time travel. He spoke until his throat was dry as paper, until Dumbledore had the full story of his life.
The Headmaster sat heavily down onto the bed next to Harry's, and now looked glad for the support. Harry had never seen Dumbledore look so shell-shocked, but then again, his future students had probably never suddenly appeared on Hogwarts grounds before. At least, Harry hoped so. Dumbledore looked like he was struggling for something to say. Harry saved him the trouble of thinking up something suitably calm and collected.
"Sir, I think that until I find a way back home, I'm going to have to stay here at Hogwarts. At least Voldemort won't have such a keen interest in me here." Harry said hopefully, biting his lip. Dumbledore sighed and smiled.
"You would be correct in assuming that you will be more protected here in the anonymity of a Hogwarts student… but you must be tired. However you ended up here is a total mystery, but I'm sure you had something to do with it. Everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it?" Harry ducked his head, ruefully agreeing to the Headmaster's amused statement. "I suppose you may stay in one of Hogwart's guest rooms until term starts."
"Guest rooms?" Harry blurted out, unable to curb his confusion. He had never heard of Hogwart's having any sort of accommodations for visitors.
"Of course. This is a rather large castle for only classrooms and living quarters. During wartimes, Hogwart's was and is used as a sanctuary for the Light side. Those days have come again, I'm afraid." Dumbledore sighed, looking older then his years. The Headmaster abruptly came out of his thoughts, and smiled. He stood up, and Harry jumped up as well, eager to leave the hospital wing. The odd pair walked out of the infirmary, even if Harry had to take longer steps to keep up with the venerable Headmaster. The unfamiliar walk to Harry's new room was quiet, both parties lost in thought.
Harry looked around and marveled at how little things would change by the time he himself would attend Hogwarts. No new portraits had been added, the tapestries depicted their scenes just as brightly, and the suits of armor were still shone dully. 'Probably due to all the detentions the Marauders have received,' Harry decided with a small smile. Harry had thought Dumbledore had been going somewhere near his office but he had bypassed it for a few hallways down stopping in front of a oak door with a golden handle. Dumbledore reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand.
"Password?" He asked, looking sideways at Harry after placing his wand on the doorknob. Harry thought for a minute then smiled mischievously.
"Voldemort." Dumbledore looked surprised for a minute, then laughed merrily.
"Very clever, young Potter." He said, still chuckling.
"Well, it will cut down on intruders..." Harry said cheerfully. He turned the golden knob to enter his new room. He had never known that Hogwarts had guest rooms, of all things. Dumbledore bid Harry goodbye, and walked quietly off, pondering the unexpected events that had happened that day.
Harry walked into his private room and stopped dead. He thought the rest of Hogwarts was beautiful... it looked exactly like a room he had dreamed up at the Dursley's when he was younger. A gorgeous four-poster bed with a green silk duvet and golden sheets faced the largest window Harry had ever seen. It took up the entire opposite wall. Harry gulped, and hoped there was some sort of shield so no one walking by could peek in. He blushed at the thought as the window innocently shimmered in the July sun. The bathroom was as large as the prefect's bathroom, and definitely as sumptuous. There was a shower as well as the large tub, and emeralds glittered slyly on the golden faucets. Harry grabbed onto the mahogany headboard for support, utterly speechless, but then he smiled. 'I wonder if the bed is as comfortable as it looks...'
A few minutes later, Harry had just cocooned himself into the soft green covers and started to daydream about what he could do in this time. Harry had just started to plot how he would get Snape back for five years of embarressment when he sat straight up, covers falling swiftly. "My wand…" he whispered in a shocked tone.
~~~~