To Save The Future

WingedHybrid

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. This story was adopted by me – the original idea came from Rainbow Stripes.

A/N: Hey! It's been ages since I last updated this! I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully I'll be updating at least more often! But, on the plus side, I have the following chapters figured out and some ideas for the future of this story so one will hope my muse will keep giving me the inspiration to write this story. Please read and review! :3

Chapter 6

So this was the start of it all…Severus mused to himself.

They had all been prepared for it, knew what was going to happen, but still, now that it was happening…it was difficult to know how they were supposed to react. Only the three of them knew what was to come, knew who would be lost, and whose duty it now was to stop it from happening again. Not very many people could be trusted with such delicate knowledge, not yet anyway.

Leaving Dumbledore's office, he was oddly surprised at how easy it was to convince the Headmaster to keep the 14-year-old Harry in the competition. Not that there was any choice in the matter, but he would have expected some kind of fight with Barty Crouch over the final decision. He was right in his decision though – at the time, no one knew the true reasoning behind the placement of Harry into the Triwizard Tournament, and it was the safest option. Somebody had planned this and neither one person or the other could tell what would happen if someone interfered with their plan. Barty Crouch Jr. was insane, but not stupid. He would find a way, a new way that no one could change, whether they wanted to or not, to get Harry to that graveyard. No, the best thing to do would be an ambush. Play the game; let them think they've won, like conning your opponent in a poker match…

Entering his chambers, he didn't even glance at his surroundings and heading towards the fireplace. The rooms that he had spent so many years of his life in, now remained unused and empty – probably would gather dust if it wasn't for the cleaning spell that had lasted centuries over the private area – because he had better places to be.

Standing in the ash, Severus allowed a small smile to cross his face. Oh, yes, much better places to be. He threw the flew powder into the hearth and, in a loud, clear voice, called out the one place he wanted to be.

"Lupin Cottage!"

"So what other animals can you turn into then?" Ron questioned eagerly.

Harry smiled to himself. He was glad it had gone so well. After all that had happened to him, he was glad that Ron had believed him, trusted him with the delicate information of the future. He knew without a doubt that Ron would have questions – more than the ones that had been proposed in Sirius' portable home at least – although he had thought he would wait a little bit longer. They had been walking towards the Gryffindor common room in silence when he had blurted out the question. He was only too happy to answer.

"Three at the moment: a panther – as you saw; a hawk and a sea-serpent." He responded easily, "I've been working on transformations into a dragon and a wolf, but I haven't quite got the hang of it yet. Severus said he would keep teaching me when we returned to the past, but we haven't exactly had a lot of time to practise since the year began."

"Yeah, I suppose it would be strange. I mean, you two hate each other – or, at least, you did hate each other," Ron paused, "So what changed there? How did Professor Lupin and Snape ever, well, you know…"

"Hmm, that's a little more complicated to explain." Harry started slowly, "It's not really my story, so I can't give you too many details, but Severus was there for Remus at the time when we needed comfort the most. It was strange at first, I didn't really understand to be honest, but I don't really care, as long as they're happy together."

"Fair enough mate," Ron conceded. He went silent for a moment, thinking of another question. "You said a dragon and a wolf. I get the wolf – I mean, obviously you've grown close to Professor Lupin over the years – but why a dragon?"

Harry struggled to fight down the blush that was beginning to make its way up his neck from his chest. He refused to meet his friend's gaze, instead staring determinedly ahead. "I like dragons. I thought it would be cool to fly…"

Ron could easily tell he was lying, he knew his best friend that much, but it was obviously something that Harry didn't want to talk about, so he brushed that thought aside for the moment. He changed the subject purposely. "Can you tell us the future? Like will that change the world if you do?"

Harry snorted grinning. "Probably, but I've already changed a lot. What's the point in stopping now? What do you want to know?"

"What happens to me? And to my family? Oh, what about Hermione?" Ron listed off, almost greedy for answers.

"Ron…" he began unsurely.

"I've kind of guessed we died mate," Ron continued weakly, "I mean, you said it yourself. Only three people survived that last attack – and you said Hermione was captured…"

"Yeah, it was pretty bad…" Harry hummed to himself for a moment thoughtfully, "You were training to become an Auror, would have passed too if the war hadn't started and then we had other things to worry about…You get married, pretty much as soon as school ends, a lot a people did…"

Ron perked up. "Married? I get married? To who?"

Harry smiled slyly. "Now that would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"Fine…" he grumbled, "Did you marry?"

A distant looked crossed his face, almost wistful. The longing and pain was so clear in his emerald eyes that Ron instantly regretted asking the question. Yes, he wasn't to know, but it was clear – whoever this man was – that he had really loved him. He opened his mouth to quickly take back the question, but Harry began talking before he could.

"Yes, I did, one of the first actually," he spoke softly, "it was a little unorthodox really – the age difference between us made a lot of people judge and categories our relationship as something strange and uncomfortable – but neither of us cared all that much. We had people to support us, and we loved each other, what else did we need? It was great, even during the dark times, I enjoyed every second of it…but he died, and I couldn't save him."

But I will this time, I have to, he vowed.

Harry winced, shielding away from the bright flash of the camera. His vision cleared and the smug face of Rita Skeeter appeared in front of them. Once again, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret. He had always despised that woman, a feeling from the very moment he had seen her that had never gone away. She was just a horrible woman, disgusting and uncaring of anyone's problems but her own. She exposes people's secrets, their fears and weaknesses, to the world and the public thank her for it because it's considered a "great service". No one cares or understands the damage she causes to each person she takes an interest to. It had only gotten worse during war times. People were hard to track in those days and Harry was almost certain she was the reason behind so much information being leaked to Voldemort. There was no evidence, of course, but then again, not many people knew of her Animagus form, neither now nor then.

Still, that didn't change the fact; he had no time for people like her.

"What a charismatic quartet," she commented, stepping through the smoke left behind by the flash. There was an awkward silence where no one was really sure what to say in reply. She smiled and her voice sweetened. She approached the four Triward Champions and forcibly shook each ones hand. "Hello. I'm Rita Skeeter. I write for the Daily Prophet – but of course you know that, don't you? It's you, we don't know. Hah, it's you we don't know. You're the new juicy news. What quirks lurk behind those rosy cheeks; what mysterious to the muscles mask; does courage lie beneath those curls? In short, what makes a champion tick? Me, myself and I want to know, not to mention my rapid readers."

Harry suppressed a snort of amusement. Rabid is more like it…

"So who feeling up to sharing?" she offered. When no one replied, just like how he remembered, the pleasant features dropped and she sucked on her tongue. "Should we start with the youngest? Lovely."

Harry was jerked roughly away from the centre of the group and dragged towards the broom cupboard within which the interview would be held. He heard her say something about hoping it was okay, but he wasn't really listening. His hands in his trouser pockets, he plodded his way down the stairs, the perfect image of a 'couldn't careless' teenager. At the bottom of the staircase, she swung onto a stall, automatically setting up her quill and notepad. Harry waited with a blank expression on the last step until she gestured him forward with much enthusiasm. She leant forward on her knees and smiled warmly, using everything in her disposal to encourage him to slip up and reveal something that she could twist into something else entirely.

He wouldn't allow it this time.

"So tell me Harry, here you sit a mere boy of twelve-"she started.

"Fourteen. I'm fourteen," he interrupted firmly.

She didn't flatter. "-about to compete against three students not only vastly more emotionally mature than your self but have mastered spells that you wouldn't have even attempted in your dizziest daydreams. Concerned?"

Harry smirked cockily. "Trust me, my 'dizziest daydreams' have never been filled with performing spells, although I do have a penchant for playing with wands…"

Rita looked surprised for a moment, although it was schooled quickly. Inwardly, he was taking great thrill in making her lose her professional image. She continued with her questioning as if he had said nothing, "But of course you're not ordinary boy of twelve, are you?"

"Fourteen," he corrected once more, narrowing his eyes.

"Your story's legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament?"

"One, I didn't enter myself. Two, you'd have to be a complete idiot to want to enter a war zone," he commented.

"Of course you didn't enter Harry," she mocked, winking slyly at him. "Everyone loves a rebel Harry."

He grinned. "Oh yeah, dangerous is sexy, and getting caught is definitely a thrill."

Rite laughed and instructed her quill that the last be cut, before continuing. "Speaking of your parents, were they alive, how do you think they'll feel? Proud or concerned that your actions show at best a pathological need for attention, at worse a psychotic death wish?"

Harry leant forward on his knees, mimicking her position and smiled in an overly honeyed way. "I can't speak for my parents; I didn't exactly get the time to know them did I? And beside that, how can you talk about them when you don't even know how long it's been since they died?"

Rita sat back, blinking in shock and looking a little affronted.

Harry stood up straight, towering above her, and continued, "Thirteen years ago. I'm fourteen. And my eyes are glistening with the ghosts of my past. In fact, if anything, I've been told you can see our fucked up future in them. Why don't you print that for your fucking idiotic readers that are too dependent on the shit you publish to think about things themselves?" When Rita didn't reply, he nodded towards her. "Goodbye, Rita Skeeter. If we met again, it will be too bloody soon."

And with that, he swept from the small confines of the cupboard. He received arched eyebrows and questioning looks from his three other competitors but he ignored them, simply smiling widely and returned to his place between Cedric and Viktor. When Rita emerged from the room, ready to grab the next champion for interview, she refused to meet his eye.

Already, he was looking forward to what she would print about him.