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Chapter Text

Harry pulled himself out of the pensieve with more force than necessary, barely keeping himself from going sprawling to the floor. With shaking hands, he used his wand to retrieve the memories from the large dish and put them back in the little glass vial they'd originally been stored in and clumsily slipped the vial into his pocket. Then he stepped backwards away from the desk, accusatory eyes fixed on the memory viewing device. His back collided with a shelf on the wall behind him. His legs trembled, before they finally gave out and he sunk to the floor.

There was a war going on inside of Harry. Warring feelings of confusion, anger, regret, disbelief, hopelessness, respect, gratitude, fear, and determination all battled it out in Harry's mind and heart, trying to make themselves known and influence his decision. But he didn't really have much of a decision to make. What he'd just seen left him with only two options: accept what he saw and walk to his death, or deny what he saw and runaway leaving the world to fend for itself. Option one was terrifying to even think about. Option two was selfish and he felt shame just considering it. But why? Why couldn't he be selfish just this once? He'd lived his life for everyone else up until this point, and where had it left him. Trembling on the floor of the headmaster's office, all alone, with a death sentence looming in his immediate future, already knowing which option he was going to choose.

It wasn't fair. He'd fought so hard to stay alive this long, and now he knew it was all for naught. He'd thought Dumbledore was on his side. He'd thought the former headmaster cared about him more than this. Had Dumbledore only fought so hard to keep him alive only so he could die in the right way at the right time?

It hurt.

It hurt to think that Dumbledore saw him as nothing more than a sacrifice for the greater good. It hurt knowing that he was nothing but a pawn on Dumbledore's chessboard, a puppet dancing as the headmaster pulled the strings. That's all he was. A pawn. A puppet. Absolutely nothing to anyone. He'd thought Dumbledore cared. Harry had cared about Dumbledore. He saw the old man as something akin to a grandfather to him. And he wouldn't be lying if he said he'd thought of the old man as his savior. After all, it was Dumbledore that had sent Hagrid to get him when his relatives tried to hide him away. It was at Dumbledore's orders that he had be whisked away to this truly magical world.

Had that just been part of Dumbledore's manipulations? Were these acts contrived with the goal in mind to make Harry a complacent little fool willing to give anything for the safety of this magical world? And Harry had played right into his hands. He had been willing to give anything, do anything, no questions asked to save everyone else. If Dumbledore willed it, Harry would have done it. And now, Dumbledore willed his death.

Angry tears burned their paths down Harry's cheeks. It wasn't fair! He was only seventeen! His life was just beginning. He hadn't even truly lived yet! Why had it come to this? Why was this his only option? Why couldn't he have a chance at living? He'd had so many plans! There was so much he'd wanted to do with his life. He was young. There had been so much laid out before him. And now it was over.

Had Dumbledore even thought for a second that he was asking too much of Harry, of a child? Harry wasn't Jesus! He didn't walk on water! It wasn't his job to die for the rest of the world. Was his death at least worth more than thirty pieces of silver?

Harry sobbed.

He didn't want to die. No one wanted to die really, but Harry particularly felt a strong desire to keep living. Just knowing he had so little time left alive made him desperate for the chance to live his life. He could almost sympathize with Voldemort's insane desire to live forever.

Dumbledore had said death was nothing but the next great adventure, but Dumbledore was a self serving, manipulative, hypocritical, old fool. Dumbledore had lived for over a century, Harry hadn't even made it to two decades yet. Dumbledore had gotten to choose when he was going to die, Harry wasn't allowed that option.

Harry's magic whipped around him furiously as the self pity he felt slowly shifted to anger and resentment. The miscellaneous items on the shelves and desk around him began to shake and rattle under the onslaught of his furious power. He wasn't going to spend his last moments sitting here feeling sorry for himself. He jumped to his feet controlled by his rage. He angrily knocked all the items on one of the shelves to the floor with one furious swipe of his arm. He repeated the action with the next shelf. And the next. Then he went over to the desk and froze in his tracks.

The pensieve sat atop it looking so innocent, it's liquid contents gentle rolling within it's confines. A hatred like no other boiled up inside of Harry. He placed a hand on either side of the dish and lifted it. It was surprisingly light for a fluid filled container, but Harry knew it was heavy with a weight not at all physical. Carefully he raised the dish over his head and threw it to the floor with all his might.

He was almost disappointed when the pensieve didn't break in half and splash it's contents across the floor. The magic within the damn thing must keep it from being able to break or spill. Glaring at the memory viewing dish with distaste, Harry stepped around it and continued his destruction of the office. All the papers on the desk went up in flames that extinguished shortly after there was no more fuel on top of the wooden desk (it wouldn't do to burn down the office while he was still inside of it, after all.) He wasted no thought about whether or not he was going overboard when he began pulling drawers open and emptying them on the floor. He was filled with an anger that knew no limits. He emptied every drawer until he got down to the last. It was locked.

"Alohamora," Harry spat. A soft clicking sound told him the simple charm had worked. He slid the drawer open, determined to continue his destruction, but once more found himself frozen in place.

Inside the drawer, sitting on top of what looked to be a tan colored messenger bag, was a folded piece of paper with Harry's name on it, a potion's vial with a purplish colored potion in it, and a simple gold ring like what one would wear as a wedding band. He slowly, almost hesitantly, reached into the drawer and picked up the ring and paper. His name was written in a familiar scraggly scrawl he'd become accustomed to seeing in the margins of his returned potion's essays tearing his efforts to shreds.

All his anger evaporated.

"Snape," he said soft, his fingers lightly caressing the letters of his name. While the memories in the pensieve had nurtured in him anger and resentment towards Dumbledore, they had caused a deep feeling of respect and gratitude towards Snape to nestle into his heart.

Snape was just like him.

He was another pawn in Dumbledore's game. Another puppet dangling from the strings in Dumbledore's hands.

And Snape had died. Right in front of Harry, the man had died before Harry even knew of the good he'd done. Snape had loved Harry's mother so much he was willing to do anything for her. He had died to protect Lily's son. He, even at his last breath, had loved Lilly so much.

"Look at me."

Snape had gone to Dumbledore looking for help and redemption and had found only a life of subterfuge and manipulation until eventually he met his end. Snape would have died with his purpose unfulfilled had Harry not been in the right place at the right time. Harry would have never known any of Dumbledore's machinations had it not been for Snape. And Harry felt no anger towards Snape. He did not blame the potion's master for giving him this information. Instead, he saw Snape as a kindred soul, trapped in Dumbledore's web.

Harry placed the gold ring on the floor next to him and unfolded the paper.

Mr. Potter,

If you're reading this, you've probably destroyed my entire office by now or are just being a nosy little idiot snooping through things that are not yours (as you are known for sticking you nose in other people's business.) For some reason, I cannot bring myself to be angry over that prospect.

I will not waste your time or mine right now with long winded explanations. For once in your life, follow my directions. Take the potion, put the ring on your finger, and grab the bag in the drawer.

Two paths diverged in a yellowed woods, and neither looked more promising than the other. In fact, both paths looked rather bleak. So, instead of picking blindly and justifying the choice with a lie saying it was the road less traveled by, why not turn around and find a new way to go. You'll be surprised by the difference it'll make, because it is truly the road not taken.

Ce n'est jamais vraiment fini,

Severus Snape

Harry placed the letter down and frowned. He wasn't sure what Snape was up to, but he'd already wasted a world of opportunity by not trusting the man. He picked the ring up from the floor and slid the cold metal onto his left ring finger. Then he grabbed potion and the tan colored satchel from the drawer and pulled the strap over his head. He slowly uncapped the potion, staring curiously at the dark purple mixture. He raised it to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled as horrid as Harry was sure it would taste. He moved it slowly to his lips. It wasn't poison, he knew that. Snape might have despised him for the last seven years and perhaps even longer, but Harry finally accepted that that man did not want him dead. He trusted Severus Snape with his life.

He downed the potion in one gulp, not letting it sit on his tongue long enough to get a full dose of just how badly it tasted. He closed his eyes and waited for to sit what it would do. A full minute passed and nothing happened. Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he was slightly disappointed.

Now what? Was the ring a Portkey? Then it must be activated by a password. He picked the letter up from the floor and read it again. As far as passwords went, the closing salutation looked the most promising. Was it French? Was he supposed to translate it in order to activate the Portkey? Since Snape had spent six years insulting Harry's intelligence, Harry was sure he didn't expect him to be able to translate a foreign language. Maybe he just needed to read it aloud. He tried, and even knowing nothing of the language he knew he'd managed to butcher the short sentence beyond recognition. Maybe it wasn't the password.

He reread the letter. The last paragraph confused him. It sounded vaguely familiar…oh, he remember. It was referencing a poem one of his teachers in grammar school loved. She'd read it to the class and had a framed copy of it hanging from the wall in the classroom right by the door. Harry remember walking passed it every day, his eyes drifting over the words. The poem was called The Road Not Taken. That teacher had also had a banner with the last line of the poem written on it hanging over the blackboard. Harry would often stare up at it at random times during the class. "I took the road less traveled by, and that made all the difference." But who had written the poem, Harry couldn't remember.

Harry frowned, his brow crinkling in deep concentration. Who was it… Something cold…like ice…winter…snow…

"Oh!" He exclaimed, snapping his fingers at the sudden spark of memory. "Robert Frost."

He felt a familiar tug behind his navel, and he was gone.

---

 

Harry felt like he was going to be sick. He'd never been very fond of Portkey travel, but this time seemed exceptionally bad. Not only had he gone twisting and spinning helter-skelter through space causing his stomach to stage a revolt and try to escape through his mouth, but it felt like his body was being torn apart and stitched back together with a fishhook and no anesthetics while a quartet of monkeys banged pots and pans inside his skull. By the time his feet once again connected with solid ground, Harry felt queasy and dizzy and achy and confused. He stumbled over to a wall and instantly began to retch, not even taking the time to observe his surroundings.

Once he was done spilling the meager contents of his stomach across the ground, Harry leaned his back against the wall and squeezed his eyes closed trying to regain his senses. The Wizarding World really needed to come up with less...jolting methods of transportation. Everything except broom travel was enough to make people sick, and some people got sick on brooms too, so...

Harry took a deep, grounding breath and opened his eyes. He was leaning against the side of a building in what seemed to be an alleyway just out of sight of pedestrian traffic on what seemed to be a Muggle street. Except it seemed more like Wizards pretending to be Muggles, because all the passersby were wearing very outdated clothes, some of which were quite outrageous.

Harry stepped closer to the entrance of the alley and peered out at the street, trying to find a hint as to where exactly he was. The street looked both familiar and completely unknown to him. In the way he imagined a place would look after being away for a long period of time. Like leaving your hometown and returning years later only to find that progress had changed all that you knew. He was in London, but it was a London unknown to him. 

A noise from overhead drew his attention away from the baffling sight of the London street. An owl circled above him, hooting out a call, before swooping down to land on the arm he outstretched for it. The bird was small, not much taller than Harry's hand was long. Harry stared at his hand. Something was strange about it. Something was off. His hand seemed...smaller. The bird hooted, once more drawing Harry's attention to it. It blinked it's large eyes, before nipping Harry's ears softly, as if chastising him for allowing his attention to wander.

“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled. “Do you have a letter for me?”

The bird nodded and raised it's leg. Harry quickly retrieved the parchment tied to it's foot. “Do you need payment or a reply?” The bird tilted it's head to the side and Harry almost swore it rolled it's eyes, before shifting it's position and resting comfortably on Harry's shoulder. Harry looked out the corner of his eyes at the little bird, before shrugging (earning a protest from both the owl and his own body as remnants of pain shot through him) and unrolled the letter.

He was once more greeted by familiar scraggly writing:

Harry,

If you're reading this letter you should have arrived on the 31st day of August in the year 1973. You may be wondering how and why I've sent you so far back in time. Allow me to explain. The gold ring on your finger is a powerful magic artifact called a Cronus Key. The easiest way I can think of describing it is by calling it a cross between a Time Turner and a Portkey. Like a Portkey, a Cronus Key can transport you to any location set to it, and like a Time Turner it allows you to move through time. But compared to a Cronus Key, a Time Turner is little more than a child's plaything.

Cronus Keys are powerful bits of magic and they only work with equally powerful wizards (or witches). They are also highly illegal. The reason they are illegal is because it’s impossible to use one without changing time. And, as everyone knows, tampering with time is risky business. But there’s a reason I have given you this object. To put it simply: I want you to change time.

As I am unsure whether you and I talked before you received the Key, I think I should inform you that I am aware that Dumbledore left you with a task to complete and I know the details of the task. I also have information concerning that task that is crucial for you to know.

On that Halloween night in 1981, when the Dark Lord tried to kill you, only to meet his own untimely defeat, he left a piece of himself behind in you. You are a Horcrux, Harry, one that even the Dark Lord is not aware of existing. Dumbledore was aware of this, and he left me to inform you of it. If you and I have not had the chance to talk, I know there's no reason for you to trust me. But I swear that I am not lying to you.

I held nothing but the greatest respect for Dumbledore, but I shall admit to you that I did not approve of some of his actions. One of the actions is that he left you such a mission. That is why I have taken some actions of my own. I used the Cronus Key to set some things in place.

In the bag I left for you, you should find enough money to rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron for one night, as well as a key to a Gringott's vault made under the name Henry Frost (and some pain potions, as I know you'll need them). You'll also find in the bag most everything you'll need for a year of schooling at Hogwarts. Tomorrow, a thirteen year old boy by the name of Henry Frost will board the Hogwarts Express for the first time. He will travel to Hogwarts School and be introduced as a transfer student from a private magic academy located somewhere near Cardiff. The headmaster is already expecting him.

Henry is the orphan son of a pureblood wizard and a Muggle-born witch. They died when he was fifteen months old, and until he was eleven he lived with his Muggle aunt and uncle.

Now, I know this has left you with one very big question. You were most definitely not thirteen years old when you departed from 1998, so how is it possible for you to be now? The answer is quite simple, the potion that you hopefully took before activating the Cronus Key in combination with the traveling through time and space acted as a deaging drought. If you paid attention in my class, you would know that there is supposedly no such thing as a Deaging Drought. But, supposedly, there is no way to travel back in time more than a couple of hours either, nor is is possible to survive the killing curse. And yet hear you stand, seventeen years old, in a thirteen year old body, twenty-four years in the past. You are quite the remarkable boy, but don't let this go to that over large head of yours, it was my doing that enabled some of these things. I created the potion special and it only works in combination with the Cronus Key. It is my gift to you.

You have been sent back in time for a very important reason. I need you to destroy the Horcruxes and prevent the Dark Lord from making you into one. But before you do this, I want you to spend a few years a just another child. I am well aware of the sacrifices you've made in your life and of the pain you've gone through and I feel you deserve a chance to relax, as well as a chance to know your parents. Age thirteen is the youngest you could be deaged and still retain your seventeen year old mind, otherwise I would have sent you farther back as an eleven year old to give you the entire Hogwarts lifetime with your parents. But I am sure you will cherish the time you are given.

Now, this was not entirely selflessness on my part. The esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore did an atrocious job of choosing capable professors during your attendance of Hogwarts. I believe you only had one good teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts in your entire six years there. And that is not at all comforting, considering the future rests on your overburdened shoulders. So, I implore you, please continue your Hogwarts education. I’m sure you are eager to get this war over with, but your education is very important. I know you have the luck of the devil, but I'll feel better knowing that we're pitting a fully qualified wizard against the Dark Lord and not just a glorified school boy.

Do not worry, you have more than enough time to complete your education and your mission. If you take a look at the Cronus Key you’ll see three sets of numbers wrapping around the band. These numbers countdown the years, months, and days until the Key will activate again and bring you back to the present. Essentially, I have given you eight years. More precisely, if you are reading this on the day you first arrived, I have given you eight years and fifteen days. Why this amount of time, you may ask? Well, that’s partially to get you as close to Halloween of 1981 as possible, without you actually being there. (Events like what takes place on that night creates a lasting impression on the universe if you’re there to interfere, who knows what the consequences may be.) But some of those years must go to re-doing your third through sixth years and attending your seventh year at Hogwarts, the rest of the time is for you to hunt down and destroy the Horcruxes. Your school years and summer vacations are a vacation. You are not a soldier here, not yet. Enjoy your rest, then fight when you're ready.

Don’t worry about trying to hide the Key from others, people who see it will assume it is a Betrothal Band counting down the time until your wedding. Such rings are quite common among purebloods.

By this point, I’m sure you know where most of the Horcruxes are located, but as you are now in the year 1973 none of the ones you've found have been destroyed yet. There is no guarantee all the Horcruxes have even been hidden yet. I know for a fact that at least two of them aren't hidden until after 1977. As I said, you have been given the power to alter the past and change your future.

Now, as I said, tampering with time is very risky, and using a Cronus Key to tamper with time is even riskier. You face the chance of undoing the actions that made you travel back in time in the first place, which can cause time itself to unravel trying to undo the great paradox. I need you to write a letter to yourself along with a copy of all your memories, and leave them at Gringott's. Ask for a Time Capsule vault and the goblins will make sure you receive the letter and memories on whatever day you set. This is essential. Do Not Forget. Also, it is very important that you avoid making contact with Lily Evans after she falls pregnant and even more important that you never meet your infant self. Be careful.

Harry, I must press on you that it is very important for you not to run headlong into this by yourself like the foolish Gryffindor you've played a being all these years, as we both know you were meant to be Slytherin. You have five years of schooling; use that time to gather allies to help you. Here's a hint, if Henry Frost boards the train and travel back to the farthest compartment he will meet someone that would make great a great ally with a little pressing.

I'm giving you the chance to alter the course of time itself and in doing so save yourself and many others, do not waste this chance. Do not ask me why, but I have faith in you.

Ce n'est jamais vraiment fini,

Severus Snape

P.S. The owl's name is Widgit. He is yours to keep.

“Widgit,” Harry said as if testing the word on his tongue. The owl on his shoulder hooted, before taking a lock of Harry's hair into it's beak and tugging softly. Harry frowned. He wasn't sure if he wanted a new owl with Hedwig's death so fresh in his heart. Hedwig truly had been Harry Potter's first friend. But he wasn't Harry Potter anymore, was he? He was now Henry Frost. Most definitely going to be nicknamed Harry Frost, but still not a Potter. Perhaps Widgit could be Henry Frost's first friend.

Harry glanced at the letter in his hand and frowned again. There was so many questions he wanted to ask. The biggest one being why. Why had Snape done this? For him? Was this really a gift? A second chance at life? But why? What did Severus gain from doing this? Did he expect repayment? Maybe in the form of Harry saving his life? But Severus had drafted the letter in a way that showed ignorance of his own death at the time it was to be read. Snape didn't know he would be dead when he'd prepared all of this.

And then there was the tone of the letter. Severus had sounded...kind. Less harsh than normal. Not as much vitriol and bitter sarcasm. He'd sounded caring. Almost fond.

It was confusing.

Harry read the letter one more time, then drew his wand—Malfoy's wand, a wand that worked but wasn't his perfect match—and cast a simple spell. He spared on absent thought to the fact that he was now physically only thirteen years old so he might get cited for underage magic, but let the thought slip from his mind as he watch the paper go up in flames.

“Come, Widgit,” he said softly, “Let's see what he's left for us.”

Widgit hooted, and Harry stepped out onto the street.

Chapter Text

While the Muggle world outside had looked almost foreign to him, Harry felt a comfortable familiarity when he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. There was something about the Wizarding World that was...timeless—which may have just been a nice way of saying outdated. No matter how the world changed outside, the Wizarding World remained unchanged. Even it's far extremities, like the barrier between it and Muggle London, remained the same. It was dependable.

Harry gained a few curious looks when he stepped into the pub, but that was because he was a child entering alone and not at all because he was Harry Potter. Though the fact that his clothes were a bit big for him now and he was covered and dirt and grime from having walked off a battlefield also made him something to gawk at. Still, almost all of the people who stared at him upon entering lost interest almost immediately and went back to what they were doing, much to his relief. Still, it was odd being in a place where he was not recognized upon sight. Odd, but a relief.

Harry stepped up to the bar and waited for Tom the barkeep to grace him with his attention. As he waited, Harry frowned. The bar came up to the middle of his chest. He'd almost forgotten how small his thirteen year old self had been. Years of malnutrition and being stuck in a cramped space had stunted his growth. He'd hit a late growth spurt when he was fifteen and again when he was seventeen, but that had only added a couple centimeters. He most definitely was not towering over anyone, but being as small as he was now was a bit frustrating.

“What can I do you for, lad?” The person who spoke was not Tom the barkeep. It was a woman who looked like she couldn't have been long out of Hogwarts. She had thick curly hair had hung to her waist of a color that resembled melted chocolate. Her eyes were a darker brown. Her smile was large and genuine. “I haven't seen you around here before,” she commented. “I'm Carrie. I'll be working here in my spare time for the next few years with Uncle Tom while I do my unpaid residency at St. Mungo's. You are?”

“Henry Frost. Hogwarts' student.”

“I guessed that student bit. First or second year?”

“It's technically my first year there,” Harry lied easily, “but I'm thirteen years old.”

“Well that bit did surprise me. You're such a wee lad, but I'm sure you get that way too often. So, you know what you need or are you gonna wait for your parents before you ask for anything?”

“I need a room, just for the night,” Harry said. “Just for me. My parent's won't be coming.”

“You're not a runaway are you?” Carrie asked, raising one eyebrow and setting her fists on her hips in a pose that made it quite clear what she thought of runaways. She gave a pointed look at Harry's clothes as if that justified the assumption that he was a runaway. It probably did. His clothes were too big for this thirteen year old frame, and they were covered in the miscellaneous dirt and grime that came from being on a battlefield. It seemed the potion that had deaged him had also healed his injuries, thankfully, but he still looked like a street rat.

“My parent's died when I was a baby,” Harry stated, his face blank. “I live with Muggle relatives that think poorly of the magical world. Until recently, I was on scholarship at a private magic academy. Due to some crackpot embezzling funds, I lost my scholarship. With the money I inherited from my parents, I can afford a Hogwarts tuition, but my relatives can't be arsed to care enough about getting me to the train in the morning. My best bet was to stay in London tonight and make my own way to King's Cross. It works in my favor, because I need a trip to Diagon Alley anyway for some last minute purchases. Unfortunately, I had to walk most of the way here and had a run in with some big jerks that thought it fun to chase me and push me down multiple times, once in a dumpster.” The lie spilled so easily from his lips that it surprised even Harry.

Carrie frowned. “I'm sorry. About your parents, your scholarship, the bullies, and those prats you call relatives. You're in luck, room four is open and it's undoubtedly one of our best. You'll get a special student discount, of course,” she winked at him in a way that implied that she'd created the special discount just for him. “You get settled in the room and take care of what you need to in the alley, and be back in five hours for your student discounted supper. In the morning you'll get a free wake up call just in time for our courtesy student back to school breakfast, and I'll apparate you to Kings Cross myself.”

Harry's eye's widened more and more with every word she spoke. “You really don't have to do all of that,” he said quickly.

“I insist on it. I'd be offended if you turned it done, and you really don't want to offend a lady, Henry.”

“She's right, lad,” Tom the barkeep said, coming up beside his niece. “Just say thank you like a good boy.” Widgit let out a peep and nipped his ear to add his opinion to the matter.

Harry blushed and hung his head slight. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Good lad,” Tom said. “Now, exactly how much of my merchandise did you give away this time, Carrie?”

“Half-priced room, half-priced supper, and a free breakfast.”

Tom let out a loud sigh. “If your mother wasn't my favorite baby sister, I'd have words with you child.”

“Uncle Tom, my mother is your only baby sister.”

“Aye, and that too. Come, lad, I'll show you to your room.” Tom walked down the bar and Harry rushed to follow him, calling a 'bye' and 'thank you again' to Carrie as he did so. Tom led him upstairs and showed him to room four, before bidding him a gruff farewell.

Harry stepped into the room and looked around. It was medium sized and a bit dingy, but slightly cleaner than the room he'd stayed in the summer before his third year the first time around. It had a double bed draped in a bedspread that seemed to have been a some a shade or blue, but now looked more grey. There was a desk on the wall at the foot of the bed and window that was charmed to overlook a place Harry was sure might have been in Australia somewhere.

Widgit let out a hoot and hopped off of Harry's shoulder. He flew over to the desk and landed on the back of the chair, blinking slowly at Harry who was still standing by the doorway as if to say 'why aren't you making yourself at home yet.'

“Right,” Harry mumbled, walking over to the bed. He raised one arm to the strap of the satchel resting on his shoulder and raised it over his head, wincing in pain as he did so. “First things first, find the pain potions Snape said were in this bag, then look through what all else he put into it.” The bag was not very heavy, nor was it bulging with contents, so Harry wasn't sure exactly how 'most everything he would need' could be in there along with a full term's worth of textbooks.

He set the satchel on the bed. The flap had a zippered pocket on it, so Harry thought that would be a good place to start looking. He unzipped the pocket and stuck his hand inside, surprised to find more space in there than he'd expected. Harry rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course the bag must have had an expansion charm on it; Hermione couldn't have been the only person in the world to come up with such a thing. Harry was slightly relieved that his pocket only had a simple expansion charm and not a full wizard's space charm, or else he'd be digging in there for ever.

As it was, his hand fitted inside up to his elbow and his fingers brushed against what felt like a potion's rack. He stuck his other arm inside and carefully pulled the rack out. He'd been correct, it was potions. A rack of sixteen full potion vials, all clearly labeled. There seemed to be four pain potions, four calming droughts, two bone mending elixirs, two generic antidotes, two nutrient potions, and four sleeping potions. Harry uncapped one of the pain potions and drank it quickly. He felt almost instantaneous relief. He let out a pleased moan once all the pain in his annoyingly small body had abated.

Widgit hooted at him.

Harry shot a look at the small bird. “Patience, Dodo,” he said, though his tone could be called fond.

Widgit snapped his beak at him in a manner that said 'call me Dodo again and we'll have some problems.'

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the bag. “Let's do this then,” he mumbled. He began emptying the contents of the bag (the inside pocket of did contain a full wizard's space charm) across the bed. A half hour later, he stood back and took a full inventory of the contents. Inside the pocket where he'd found the potions' rack, he found a small pouch of galleons, and a Gringott's key.

In the main pocket he found a set of coursebooks (all the basics, as well a Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but no divination), the required Hogwarts' potion's kit, a rack of forty potions, quills, ink, parchment, quidditch gloves, a trunk, and most surprisingly a Silver Star broom (the newest model on the market in this time period).

“Look's like we'll have to go to the Alley for robes,” Harry stated, “As well as a cage and treats for you. We'll stop by Gringott's first to make that Time Capsule vault Snape said we need and to take stock of our budget. See if we can splurge for a new wand. Malfoy's wand works, but I'd feel better with a wand that chose me from the beginning.” He knew he wouldn't be allowed to buy his phoenix feather wand, the broken pieces of which were still nestled inside the moleskin pouch around his neck, but there may be another wand that that would choose him. He opened that pouch and stuffed the vial of Snape memories he had inside of it.

He repacked everything he had inside of the messenger bag and pulled the strap back over his shoulder. He gabbed the money pouch and Gringott's key and stuffed them into his pocket. “You coming?” He asked Widgit as he stepped towards the door. The owl gave him a hard hard look, before tucking his head under his wing. “Suit yourself then,” Harry said, stepping out of the room and pulling up the door behind him.

He headed down the stairs and back into the pub proper. Harry saw Carrie over at the bar chatting with someone. He waited for her to finish her conversation, before waving to get her attention. “Henry!” Carrie said loudly, with a large smile, as she was greeting an old friend.

“Call me Harry, please,” Harry said.

“Alright, what can I do you for, Harry?” Carrie asked, large smile still in place.

“I never paid for the room,” he stated, raising his money pouch slightly.

“AH!” Carrie said, throwing her hands up in a gesture of faux exasperation. “I knew there was something I forgot. Here I am stuffing my head with all these medical terms, making the simplest things just melt out my ears. You deserve a discount for your honesty; I know some people who would have just kept the room and never mention not paying.”

“Handing out discounts again, Carrie?” Tom yelled from down the bar. “Why not just give the lad the room for free?”

“I tried; he's too honest to take it.”

“Good, lad,” Tom called back. “Maybe I'll be able to stay in business after all. With this niece of mine giving stuff away in exchange for a smile every time I turn around, I thought I might have to close shop.”

“I've never given anything away for a smile, Uncle,” Carrie stated.

“I'm missing two fingers of some of my best fire-whiskey and there's no galleons in my pocket to back up that purchase. What they pay with then, a kiss?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “You probably drank that yourself, you coot. Come on, Harry, I'll write up the bill for you stay. You're gonna pay what I say and not a knut more. No arguments.”

“Everyone knows better than to argue with you, Carrie,” one of the pub's patrons called out.

“And if they don't, they'll learn soon enough,” another patron added on.

“Alright you lot, enough chattering before I pull out your tabs and make you pay it in full.”

There were some laughs, but no one said another word.

Harry followed Carrie over to the bar and watched as she wrote up his bill. “A room for one night, three galleons, supper one galleon, wake up call and breakfast a courtesy. That will be four galleons total, and I'll accept payments in increments. One galleon now, the rest whenever.”

“I think I'll pay the full total,” Harry stated, reaching into the bag of coins and pulling out seven galleons. “And a tip for being so kind. So you're gonna take what I pay you, not a knut less. No arguments.”

“Cheeky boy,” Carrie said, taking the proffered coins. “Get out of my sight before I tie you down and force some food down your throat. You need some meat on your bones anyway.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Ma'am? I'm only twenty-one! Get ye gone before I hex your eyes straight! And don't forget to come back for supper!”

Harry laughed and waved at Carrie as he headed over to the entrance to Diagon Alley. He pulled out Malfoy's wand and tapped the bricks in the correct combination. He stepped through the opening and was once more surrounded by familiarity. Diagon Alley proper never changed. The sub-alleys that branched off from it may adjust to the times, but Diagon would always be home to Ollivander's, Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, Eyelops Owls, Fortescues' Ice Cream, Gringott's, and the numerous other stores and venues that had stood proudly in their spots since the Alley had first been built. Harry smiled and set his path to Gringott's.

The alley was slightly crowded. There were a few other people dragging around young witches and wizards for last minute school shopping, as well people who seemed to have come on this day for the purpose of avoiding the school crowds, and what looked to be housewives simply trying to get out of the house some with their small children in tow.

Harry moved quickly through the small crowd and ascended the steps of the wizarding bank. He slipped through the large doors and made his way over to one of the goblin tellers. “How may I help you?” The goblin asked gruffly.

Harry smiled. This was a familiar face. “Hello, Griphook isn't it? My name is Harry... er... Henry Frost.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Frost, how may I be of aid?” His tone was less gruff. Harry had learned that goblins showed greater respect and courtesy towards wizards who showed respect towards them. The simplest courtesy Harry could show was to think of them as individuals instead of just faceless, nameless servants.

“I need to view my vault as well as set up a time capsule vault,” Harry stated.

Griphook nodded. “I'll have someone take you down to your vault while I get the paperwork needed for the time capsule. Do you have your key?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, pulling the little silver key from his pocket.

“Dodgefin here will take you down and bring you back to me once you're done.” Griphook waved another goblin over to them as he spoke. Dodgefin nodded upon hearing the instructions and motioned for Harry to follow him.

“Vault number?” Dodgefin asked. Harry read him in the number written on the tag hanging from the key, before ripping the tag off and stuffing it into his pocket. They got into the carts and raced through the tunnels down to the vault Snape had set up for him. “Key,” Dodgefin demanded. Harry handed to him and stepped back as the goblin opened the vault.

Harry stepped inside and froze in place. There was a lot more gold in there than he'd expected. Of course, he didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't nearly this much. Then again, the vault had to last him through five years of schooling and an additional three years of being out on his own, so...

“Dodgefin, sir, is there a way to check exactly how much gold is here?” Harry asked the goblin standing just beyond the door of the vault.

“Contents' checker is on the wall, there.” Dodgefin pointed to a small plaque on the wall by the door that Harry hadn't noticed. He vaguely remembered seeing a similar plaque in his vault back in his own time, but had never taken the time to examine it.

Harry stepped over to the wall and read the little piece of bolted metal. His eyes widened at what he read. Surely this wasn't accurate. There was half a million galleons here! How could Snape have possibly left him so much money? The man had a teacher's salary! Harry doubted he'd seen half a million galleons in his life. Before his eyes, the number on the plaque changed. “What just happened?” Harry asked Dodgefin. “Why'd the number change.”

“You just received a deposit from one of the businesses you're share-holder to.”

“Businesses?” Harry asked.

“Yes, sir. I was here when your vault was set up the vault for you. Some very good investments were made in your name, Mr. Potter. You were left very well off.”

“I'll say,” Harry mumbled, his mind running in circles. Snape had said he'd used the Cronus Key to make arrangements for Harry's stay. One of those arrangements must have been investing in businesses that he knew was going to be profitable in the future so that Harry wouldn't have had to worry too much about money. “Wait, did you just call me Potter?”

“Very little of your wizard magic can fool goblins, Mr. Potter. Goblins are timeless beings; we can recognize all we've met in the past, present, and future. Just as we knew Severus Snape when he walked through these doors, displaced from time, we recognized you. But we shall respect your wishes to be known as Henry Frost in this time.

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Dodgefin,” he mumbled. He took the coin pouch from his pocket and grabbed a few handfuls of galleons to put in it. He glanced at the contents' checker plaque and saw that the numbers had changed again, showing the amount he'd withdrawn. What a useful thing to have gone so long without knowing existed. He stepped out of the vault. “I'm done here.”

“Come, then. Griphook should be ready for you now.”

The trip back up to the surface seemed faster than the trip down to the vault. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever get used the the roller-coaster ride that was the goblins' carts. “Mr. Frost,” Griphook called once Harry had reentered the bank lobby. “If you would step this way.” He gestured towards a door leading to offices where wizards and goblins had private dealings. Harry nodded and followed him. They entered a small room and the door closed behind him, Harry felt a flare of magic in the air and new that privacy charms had activated when the door closed.

“Now, Mr. Potter,” Griphook said, taking a seat behind the desk in the room. “I assume the time capsule vault will be addressed to your future self?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said.

Griphook picked up a quill and made some marks on the parchment in front him. He must have gathered what he'd need and placed it in the room while Harry had still been down in the vault. “There are a few guidelines for time capsule vaults as well as some general rules wizards displaced from time are required to follow. For example, you're not allowed to leave money in a time capsule and a displaced wizard is not allowed to set up a vault that would lead to their future selves' monetary gain if the money comes from investments alone and no actual work on their part.”

Harry nodded. The rules were simple and understandable. It wouldn't be fair for a wizard to use time travel as a way to fatten their own pocketbook.

“Wizards displaced in time are also not allowed to set up time capsule vaults containing harmful artifacts with it's intended recipient being a future enemy.”

Harry nodded again. That also made sense. He hadn't even thought of setting up a time capsule vault with Voldemort as the intended recipient containing, say, a cursed magical artifact that would kill him as soon as he entered the vault. That would have been an easy way to end the war, though. Unfortunately the idea had been squashed before it could even be entertained.

“Once sealed, a time capsule vault cannot be opened until the date set on it. But you are under no obligations to seal the vault the day you set it up. Say, you set up the vault today, you don't have to sign for it's sealing until years down the line if you so wish it. As long as the vault remains unsealed, you're free to add and remove things from it as you please. But, there must always be at least one item in the vault or it will cancel itself. You are also allowed to write a letter addressed to the future recipient of the vault, or you can leave the contact completely up to us. Also, if the contents of the vault is small enough, there is the options of having it Owled to the recipient instead of having them come and retrieve it themselves. You do not need to make decisions on this matter until you seal the vault. All you need to do today is fill out this form and place an item in the vault. The vault will seal once you add your signature to it. In the meantime, you can access the time capsule just as you would access any other vault: by talking to a bank teller. There are, however, no keys for time capsule vaults. Instead, you'll need a secret phrase. The phrase can be written or spoken.”

Griphook handed Harry the document he'd been marking on, along with a quill. Harry took the paper and read through it. It basically said the Henry Frost, on this thirty-first day of August in the year 1973, would be opening a time capsule vault that, once sealed, would not be opened again until...the date line here was blank and Harry thought about when would be a good time for his future self to receive access to the vault. With a mental shrug, Harry decided that his seventeenth birthday would be as good as any day, and quickly wrote down that date. The form went on to say that the vault was to be given to the first born son of James Potter. Harry wondered why it didn't mention him by name, and then realized that if he screwed up the time line too much, Harry Potter might not be born, but James Potter might still have a son.

Harry read on until he got to the second to last blank line on the parchment. This was the line for his security phrase. Harry briefly considered using 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good' or 'mischief managed', but neither of those seemed appropriate. He tried to think of a phrase that was important to him, or referenced Ron and Hermione in some kind of way, but he came up blank. Harry frowned. What could he use? A sentence flashed in the front of his mind and his frown deepened. He couldn't use that. He couldn't even pronounce that. But Griphook had said the secret phrase could be written. And he surely could spell it, having already seen it twice in Snape's scraggly writing. But why would he want to use a phrase he'd learned from Snape? Especially one that he didn't even know the meaning of? Still...

Harry picked up the quill and wrote down the chosen phrase before he changed his mind. Ce n'est jamais vraiment fini.

He handed the paper back to Griphook without signing it. The goblin read over what he'd written and cracked what for a goblin could be considered a smile. “'Ce n'est jamais vraiment fini,'” he read, and then translated, “It's never really the end. A most appropriate phrase for a time capsule vault, Mr. Potter.”

Harry just gave a ghost of a smile, not wanting to admit that he hadn't known what the words meant. He tried to lock into his mind exactly how the goblin had pronounced the words.

“All I need now is an item to place into the vault,” Griphook said.

Harry nodded. “One moment please.” He reached into the outside zippered pocket of his messenger's bag and pulled out the empty potion's vial he'd placed in there for this very purpose. He then raised his wand to his head and concentrated. He slowly began to draw the wand away from his head and let the silvery stream of memory flow into the vial. Every single memory he had, every second of his life as Harry Potter, was copied and placed into the little glass container. It was amazing it all fit, but the memories were condensed and there was magic at work here. Finally the memories stopped flowing and Harry capped the vial. He handed it over to Griphook.

“Alright,” the goblin said. “I will place this in the vault myself. We are all done here. Just one little reminder, don't share you secret phrase with anyone you do not trust. Anyone who comes in here asking to access your time capsule vault that happens to know the phrase will be granted access and will be able to add but not remove items from the vault.”

“What?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised to hear this. If he'd known that, he wouldn't have chosen a phrase that Snape obviously knew. Though, he was trying his hand at the trusting Snape thing so he really shouldn't have been too worried.

“Time capsule vaults are traditionally used as a way to leave items for future generations of a family or to give coming of age gifts to young wizards. Limiting the access of the vault to one person made it difficult for people to add their contribution. So, it was made so everyone with the phrase could access and add to the vault, but only the primary account holder could remove items from the vault. That is why such vaults don't have keys.”

Harry nodded slowly. That did make sense.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Frost?” Griphook asked, leading Harry back into the main part of the bank.

Harry shook his head. “No sir, but thank you very much for all of your help today.”

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Frost. Please come again.”

Harry shook the goblin's hand, and with a few more parting words, departed the bank. Now he had shopping to do.

Chapter Text

Harry stepped down the steps of Gringott's and looked out over the Alley. It was slightly busier than when he'd first gone into the bank, but still not as busy as he'd seen it before when the Wizarding World was at a time of peace. In the year 1973, Voldemort's first war had been officially raging for about three years. People were already scared to venture out for long periods of time, they'd whether stay behind the perceived safety of the wards surrounding their homes. The war was going to go on for another nine years and things weren't nearly as bad as they would become.

Deciding now was not the time to dwell on such matters, Harry forced himself to think about the here and now and decide where he should go first. He needed robes and supplies for Widgit. Also, with the amount of galleons he'd found in his vault, a new wand wasn't much of a splurge at all.

Ollivander's was on Diagon Alley's south side, the opposite direction of the other shops he would be visiting. Harry decided that would be smarter to go there first and then work his way back towards the Alley entrance. Mind made up, Harry turned himself in the direction of the wand shop and set on his way. He moved the crowd as quickly as possible, with his head down out of habit. No one was going to recognize him in this time, seeing as he'd yet to be born, but he was used to standing out in a crowd due to his celebrity status.

Harry almost stumbled over his own feet when he was struck by the sudden realization that in this time he could easily be mistaken for his father. Everyone always told him that he was the man's splitting image. And now he was the same age as his father in a time where the other could be easily recognized. If no one noticed the resemblance here in Diagon Alley, someone undoubtedly would when he reached Hogwarts. He wondered if there was a way to permanently alter his appearance. Nothing too drastic. Maybe just doing something to make his hair not stand up so badly. He'd seen in Snape's memories that his father's hair had been as unruly as his own and that his father like to mess it up even further to make him look cool. Maybe if his hair laid down, the likeness he shared with the older Potter wouldn't be so obvious.

He would have to see to it after he left Ollivander's, as he'd arrived at the wand shop by this point and there was no reason for him to turn around and go see to that right this second. No, he could buy a new wand now and worry about his looks while doing the rest of his shopping.

"Hello?" Harry called, pushing open the door to Ollivander's and stepping inside.

Ollivander immediately stepped out from between the rows of shelves and up to the counter. "Hello, lad, how may I help you? First wand?"

"Er...no," Harry said hesitantly, pulling out and setting it on the counter in front of the wand maker. Ollivander picked it up and examined it.

"Hawthorn. Unicorn hair. 10 inches. Reasonably pliant." A brief look of confusion flashed across his face, before he put the wand back on the counter and set Harry with a piercing gaze. "Nice quality wand. Is there a problem with it?"

"Well, it's not really my wand. You see, my wand broke and then I accidentally won this one. It works well enough, but it's not as good as my original."

"Yes, that would be the case. The core, unicorn, makes the most faithful wands. The remain firmly attached to their first owner whether or not they become an accomplished wizard. The wood, Hawthorn, is most at home with wizards that are conflicted. It's good for both healing and curses, and the wizard who wield it would have to be equally dual sided."

Harry frowned slightly. He didn't know a wand could say so much about a wizard. Draco Malfoy had proven to be one of the most conflicted wizard's Harry had met. He was caught in an internal struggle between doing what he felt was right in his heart and what he'd learned was right from his parents.

"It is not an easy wand to wield had it not chosen you itself," Ollivander continued. "We will have to measure you for a new one." He pulled out a familiar tape measure with silver markings. "Which his your wand hand?"

Harry held up his right arm and Ollivander immediately began to measure him. "I didn't know a wand could say so much about it's wizard," Harry stated as Ollivander measured him from shoulder to finger.

"Yes, every aspect of a wand tells you about the type of wizard it's likely to choose. Take these measurements for example. It used to be wand length was determined by the size of the wizard. A longer wand for a taller wizard. But I've learned longer wands tend to be drawn to bigger personalities and those with a more spacious and dramatic type of magic. While shorter wands favor a more refined type of spell casting. Mind you, no individual characteristic should be taken into consideration in isolation to the other. They wood and core could counteract the traits of the length. But even the flexibility of a wand tells you a lot about the man who holds it."

Ollivander dropped his tape measure in headed quickly to the shelves stacked with wand boxes. Harry could see him picking up boxes and putting them back down, before returning to the counter with a selection of four wands. He took the first wand out of the box and handed it to Harry. "Sycamore. Unicorn hair. 10 ¾ inches. Surprisingly swishy. Good for Charms." Harry took the wand and was about to wave it when it was suddenly snatched out of his hand. "That would have been a disaster," Ollivander stated, putting the wand away and handing Harry a different one. "Give this one a wave. Ebony. Dual core unicorn and dragon. 9 inches. One of my finest, without doubt, but a bit finicky for those with weak resolve."

Harry waved the wand and it gave a burst of dull orange sparks.

"Close, but not quite," Ollivander mused. "And these here won't do at all." He gathered the wands and disappeared back into the rows of shelves.

"Um..." Harry said, raising his voice to be heard from the back. "My first wand, the one that chose me, was holly and phoenix feather." Snape had said Harry had the power to change time, buying his wand before his future self was just a small change all things considered. "Maybe you have something similar to that?"

"Here's the thing about wands, lad," Ollivander called back to him, "As you know, they choose the wizard, but they choose based on potential. A wand responds to a wizard's magic as it is now and what it would become under ideal conditions. Rarely does a wizard live in those ideal conditions and their magic ends up taking on a completely different shape. And when the magic changes, the wand changes with it. It grows with the wizard, adapts so that it always suits them. This is why wizards don't have to buy a new wand after every life changing event. Your first wand always works with you because it grows as you grow. Lives as you live."

Ollivander returned to the front with a few more boxes. "Now, say a wizard puts down their wand and doesn't use it for years. They continue to grow and change, but their wand remains as it was when it was set down. When the wand is picked back up, it would not work as well for them as it once did. Or, say a wizard breaks their wand, but then are given the chance to hypothetically go back in time to a time before they initially purchased that wand and they intend to buy it all over again. With the way their magic has grown and changed, they might as well be a completely different person stepping through those doors. The likelihood that the same wand would choose them again is very slim indeed. Unless you think you're the exact same person you were when you first bought that holly and phoenix feather wand, do you believe it'll choose you again?"

Harry closed his eyes and was assaulted by images of the life he'd lived, how much he had grown and changed over the years. He doubted being on the front-lines of a war was the ideal conditions his wand had predicted would shape him. He was so different from the awestruck eleven year old that had first stepped into Ollivander's, Harry barely recognized that boy and he doubted his wand would either.

"No," Harry admitted. "I'm not the same person I was."

"Of course you're not. You're barely the same person you were ten minutes ago. How could you be the same person you were years ago? Now, try this one."

It took almost half an hour, but eventually Harry was paired with a wand. "English oak. Phoenix feather. 11 inches. Slightly springy. A very good wand. English oak accepts only wizards of great strength, courage, and fidelity. It also has a propensity for wizard of powerful intuition and, often, an affinity for magic of the natural world. This wand is one for good times and bad times. It's a friend as loyal as the wizard who deserves. It's said that Merlin's own wand was English oak. It's a very good wand indeed."

Harry was content with his new wand. Despite having not gone through the same trials with it as he had his holly wand, Harry felt a connection with it. And he felt much about it the way he felt about Widgit. The holly wand was Harry Potter's. This oak wand was Henry Frost's. Harry Potter's journey had ended and the holly wand was broken. Henry Frost's journey was just beginning and the oak wand was starting with him."

After paying for his new wand, Harry dropped Malfoy's wand into the depths of his messenger's bag and stepped out of the shop.

Not much had changed in the Alley since he'd first entered the shop. Not many people hung around near Ollivander's shop since it was so close to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. Harry rejoined the crowd of pedestrians and made his way towards Madam Malkin's. A few doors down from Ollivander's, someone jostled Harry and he ended up stumbling into the doorway of a nearby shop. The person who bumped him called out a halfhearted apology and continued on their way.

Harry was about to continued on his way, when he happened to glance into the window of the doorway he'd stumbled into. It was a shop he'd never seen before, most likely it no longer existed in his own time. It seemed to have just opened recently in this time, there was a banner hanging up on the back wall inside the shop that proclaimed their grand opening. It was an optometrist and eyeglasses shop.

Harry had only been to an optometrist a few times in his life. After a vision screening in primary school, he'd been told he needed glasses. His aunt had taken him to the eye doctor and gotten his prescription. She'd bought him to cheapest frames offered and that was that for years, until another vision screening at school said he needed a new prescription and she'd had to take him back. She'd always chosen his frames based on their price, caring nothing at all for their aesthetic appeal.

Harry didn't really hate his glasses. He had at first, because kids picked on him about them. But now, they were just a tool. They served a purpose and he wore them with little thought. He was literally lost without them, and over time they'd become part of his image. The big round frames were associated with Harry Potter.

That being said, Harry seemed to be trying to distinguish Henry Frost separately from Harry Potter. Perhaps Henry Frost shouldn't wear Harry Potter's glasses. Harry stepped into the shop.

The shopkeeper, a small woman with wild red hair, was perched on a stool behind the counter, her feet up and the stool balancing on just two legs as she leaned back. There was a book open in her lap, holding her rapt attention. She didn't even glance up when she heard the bell over the door ring at Harry's entrance. "We do not sell looking glasses here, nor spyglasses, nor drinking glasses. Please try Wiseacres on the Alley proper."

"I'm actually looking for eyeglasses," Harry said.

She looked up from her book in surprise at the words. "Really?" She asked, sounding a bit excited. "Actual eyeglasses? I haven't had a customer looking for eyeglasses since we opened."

"Well, I need actual eyeglasses. Well, actually just a different set of frames."

The shopkeeper squealed in delight. "You'd think the Wizarding World had a cure for nearsightedness based on how few people come here looking for actual glasses. But their only a step above the Muggle world really. They have treatments, all of which are extremely risky and likely to leave you blind. Not worth it if you ask me. I've seen Wizards in glasses, but apparently they call them spectacles or eye lens. Opening a shop with the word 'glasses' on the door has brought all types here, but no one looking for eyeglasses."

She talked quickly and moved her hands in broad, clumsy gestures. Harry could barely keep up with all she was saying, but he she smiled and nodded pretending to be following her words. "Do you have your prescription?" She asked.

Harry frowned. He hadn't thought about needing a prescription. He opened his mouth to reply, but the shopkeeper spoke before him.

"Stupid question. Of course you do. It's right there on your face." She grabbed Harry's glasses and pulled them from his face before he think to stop her.

Harry was practically blind without his glasses. Everything around him became and unpleasant blur and he had to fight the urge to put his hands up and try to feel his way around. He felt like Velma in the Scooby-Doo show. I can't see a thing without my glasses.

Before he could make a protest, he heard the woman casting a charm on his glasses and then they were thrust back into his hands. "You're quite blind, aren't you?" She said. Harry settled his glasses back on his face, just in time for the woman to grab his arm and drag him across the store. "These are my selection of frames. Choose the ones you think best suit you and it should take just about an hour to have them fixed to your prescription and with any extra charms you might require."

The selection was small but very diverse. It ranged from simple rectangular frames to gaudy frames in the shape of wings. There was a whole spectrum of colors and some had atrocious gems stones attached to them. Harry disregarded half of the frames right off the back.

"I think you'd look lovely in these," the shopkeeper said, picking up a pair of red horn-rimmed frames. "Or these," she added, grabbing a pair of large, oval, copper colored wire rimmed glasses.

"Er..." Harry tried to think of a nice way to say he didn't like either of those. He glance around and saw a pair of simple black rectangular frames and grabbed them quickly. "I like these," he said.

"Oh, those are nice, too." Harry could hear the disapproval in her voice, but didn't let it bother him. He really did like these frames best. They were simple and stylish and would make people notice his eyes instead of just noticing his glasses. "Would you like any special charms on them?"

"Charms?"

"We offer a large variety of eyeglasses care charms. Unbreakable. Impermeable. Anti-Summoning. Scratch resistant. Glare resistant. Dirt repellant. Transitional lens that darken in brighter lighting. We can even charm them invisible, though I would recommend that in combination with anti-summoning or else you'll never be able to find them."

Harry had to admit, most of those charms sounded quite useful. "I would like some charms."

It took five minutes to work out what all charms needed to be added and to calculate a price. "It'll take about an hour to get this done. I could owl them to you afterward or you can come back and pick them up."

"Please owl them to the Leaky Cauldron," Harry answered without thought. He feared that if he stepped into this shop again, this too lively woman would never let him escape.

"Alrighty, then, thank you for you service. Please visit again."

Harry left the shop quickly and made in to Madam Malkin's without further issue.

Even twenty years in the past, Madam Malkin was the same straight-laced, business minded woman Harry was used to. He was the only customer in the shop she had him up on a stool being measured after two quick questions. She focused entirely on her task without any extra conversation. It was a relaxing change after being explained things by goblins, dealing with Ollivander's tendency to ramble, and being set upon by the woman in the glasses shop.

Harry ordered both a set of Hogwarts' robes and some everyday clothes from her. She had him measured and out the door in under ten minutes, promising to have his clothes ready and sent to the Leaky by the evening. Harry then asked her if she knew of somewhere he could go to see about his hair and after asking exactly what he wanted done to his hair, she directed him to a nearby cosmetics store that sold hair lengthening potions.

Harry found the cosmetics store with little difficulty and bought the potion without anything noteworthy happening.

His last stop of the day was Eeylops' Owls, where he was suddenly faced with the fact that he didn't know what type of owl Widgit was so he didn't know what types of treats he'd favor or whether or not he'd need a specialty cage. Harry stood there, staring at the array of owl supplies, lost.

"Can I 'elp you with somefin?" A voice called from behind him.

Harry turned around, startled and a bit shocked at being caught off guard. He blushed. "I friend just bought we an owl, but I don't know what type it is or what type of supplies to get it."

"Well, dat's an easy un." Harry didn't know what type of accent the man was speaking with, but it was thick and a bit hard to decipher. "'ow big is zit?"

"Er...about thirteen-ish centimeters."

"Real easy un. S'only t'ree type of owls dat small. Dere's yo Elf Owl. Long Whiskered Owlet. And de Tamaulipas Pygmy Owl. C'mon."

He led Harry across the store to where the smaller owls were kept. After looking at the three types of owls the man listed, Harry figured out Widgit was an Elf Owl. This led to the man talking Harry into buying a cactus, because Elf Owls were indigenous to the southwestern United States and in their natural habitat lived in old woodpecker holes in cacti. The type of cactus the bird really lived in was too big to take to Hogwarts, but Eeylop's offered miniature versions of the plant.

Harry bought the cactus, a cage, and insect owl treats. With his shopping finally done, Harry headed back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Chapter Text

Widgit had let out a happy sounding trill when he had seen the treats Harry had brought for him. He'd swallowed down five of the insect treats (nipping at Harry's hand until he'd conceded when Harry had tried to stop him at three), then had climbed into the hollow cactus plant leaving only his large yellow eyes visible as he watched Harry's every little movement.

Harry didn't pay any attention to the owl as he collapsed onto the bed and took a deep breath to relax himself after that eventful trip to Diagon Alley. He closed his eyes, intending to just rest for a moment, the next thing he was aware of was a knocking at his door. Harry went from asleep to awake an instant, without any of that any between grogginess, a habit formed during his travels in search of Voldemort's Horcruxes. They had been in constant danger of being ambushed by Death Eaters or Snatchers and a second wasted blinking the sleep out of eyes could be the difference between life and death.

Harry lay in bed, taking in his surroundings with his hand clasped firmly around his wand and a stunning spell ready on his lips, before he remembered exactly where (and when) he was. There was another knock at his door, this time accompanied by a woman's voice. "Harry, it's Carrie! Open up or I'll open it myself!"

"Coming!" Harry called back, rolling out of bed and smoothing down his clothes in a bid to make them look like he hadn't just slept in them. Judging by the light coming through the window, Harry guessed he'd been sleeping for at least three hours. He stumbled over to the door on awkward feet and yanked the door open with a sheepish smile.

"You missed dinner," Carrie admonished the moment she caught sight of him. "I saved you some shepherd's pie and treacle tart. I also accepted a couple of owls on your behalf." She barged her way into the room with a tray of food and a couple of wrapped parcels floating behind her. She crossed the room and plopped down on Harry's bed, scooting to the middle and crossing her legs. With a flick of her wand, the parcels sat themselves down on the desk and the tray landed on the bed in front of her. She immediately grabbed one of the plates of food and started eating. Harry stood at the door, silently marveling at this woman's boldness.

"What?" Carrie asked with a mouth full of food hidden behind a hand. "I haven't eaten yet."

Harry sighed; it seemed to be his destiny to be surrounded by the most headstrong women in the world. "Make yourself comfortable," he mumbled, heading over to the desk to sift through his packages, ignoring the larger ones baring the Madam Malkin's seal, and grabbed the smallest one that he assumed to be his new glasses. He figured it was best to put them on as soon as possible to get used to the new prescription, as it was likely to cause headaches and a bit of disorientation for at least the first day or so. He unwrapped the parcel and read over the list of spells and charms before replacing the glasses on his face with the new ones.

"Ooh, snazzy frames," Carrie cooed, not bothering to hide her mouth full of food this time. Harry blinked owlishly at her, before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Here, help yourself," Carrie said, passing him the other serving of shepherd's pie from the tray. Right on cue, Harry's stomach grumbled loudly, so he took the plate of food and dug in enthusiastically.

Carrie kept up a steady stream of conversation as they ate; sometimes she even bothered to chew and swallow before opening her mouth. She mostly spoke about the things she was learning during her St. Mungo's residency and about the regular patrons of the Leaky. When they'd finished dinner and dessert, Carrie lounged on Harry's bed and Harry just sat there watching her, not sure what to say. Silence reigned until it was broken, unsurprisingly, by Carrie.

"What's this?" She asked, grabbing the vial of hair lengthening potion Harry had left sitting on the nightstand. Before Harry could answer, Carrie uncorked to vial and wafted the fumes toward her nose with a casual flick of her wrist. "Hair lengthening potion?" She asked with a small frown. "New spectacles and new hair? Trying to remake yourself, Harry?"

"Something like that," Harry mumbled.

"Well then," Carrie said, recapping the phial and tossing it to Harry. "Drink up and I'll help you cut and style."

"What?" Harry asked dumbly, still tired and not quite caught up with Whirlwind Carrie. She smiled and mimed drinking the potion. "Oh," Harry mumbled, uncorking the phial and swallowing it down quickly, not wanting to taste it. His scalp started tingling as soon as the potion hit him stomach. Crossing the room, he stood in front of the wall mounted mirror and watched as his hair began increasing in length and spilling down his back. It stopped growing when it reached just beneath his bum and Harry wasn't sure if the headache he got was from the new glasses or the sudden weight on his head.

"You look nice with long hair," Carrie commented, grabbing a lock of his hair and twirling it around her finger. "You should keep it this long."

Harry shook his head. "Too long. It'll get in the way and require too much work."

"Just a thought," Carrie replied, releasing his hair and raising her wand. "How short do you want it?" Harry was a bit hesitant to allow a woman he'd just met point a wand at his head, but he reminded himself that he was twenty-four years in the past and there was no need to be paranoid because no one here was out to get him. "How about to here?" Carrie offered, pressing her finger between his shoulder blades. "A lot more manageable but still longish and cute. It'll frame your face nicely and if it gets to be too burdensome, it can easily be pulled into a ponytail."

Harry nodded his head in agreement to her assessment. "Alright," he mumbled.

Carrie grinned and lifted her wand. Noting how Harry flinched at the movement, his hand reaching unconsciously for his own wand, her smile faltered for a second. "Don't worry," she placated, "I'm going to use a mild severing charm intended for cosmetic purposes only. It literally cannot be used against living things. It can cut hair and threads, but not skin, see?" She held out her arm and aimed her wand at it, clearly pronouncing the spell. Harry saw it leave her wand and hit her arm, but her skin showed no affect. Harry committed the spell to memory. It might not do much of anything in a fight, but it was sure to have its uses.

After Harry gave his consent, Carrie once more lifted her wand and aimed it at his head. She carder her fingers through his hair, lifting it and clearly intoning the spell each time she said it. Cutting his hair with magic didn't take as long as it would with scissors, but still took longer than Harry had expected it to.

"What's this?" Carrie asked, tracing a finger across Harry's scar, causing him to flinch and move away from her. No one except himself had ever really touched his scar before. Plenty of people had gawked at it as if it was some holy relic, but no one had dared to touch it. "Sorry," Carrie said, holding her hands up in a movement meant to look nonthreatening. "I shouldn't have touched. You may have noticed; I have a bit of a problem with impulse control."

"Its fine," Harry mumbled, covering the scar with his hand. Carrie opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask him something, probably about the origins of the scar, but seemed to decide against.

"I can make it so your fringe hide it, of you want?" she said instead.

Harry gave a small smile and nodded, not knowing what to say. Carrie smiled back and raised her wand again. She cast the severing charm over twenty times before she was satisfied with his hair.

"Well, aren't you the most handsome bloke I've seen in a while," Carrie mused, tapping her wand against her hand with a satisfied smile.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, and was surprised by how much new glasses and longer hair changed his appearance. He still recognized himself, but the difference was noteworthy. The rectangular frames and the fall of his hair made his face seem sharper, not pointy like Malfoy's but less round and babyish in his thirteen year old form. The glasses also made his eyes seem less large and doe like. Their distinct almond shape were subtly accented instead of so strongly emphasized like his old glasses had made them. His hair fell around his shoulders with a pronounced wave to it; it was thick and lush and actually laid sort of flat, save for a few errant locks.

The sweeping fringe she'd given him to hide his scar came off as slightly feminine with his long hair, but it wasn't horribly so and he liked it. Though, Harry did wish that he could remove the scar altogether instead of just hiding it behind his hair. But at the same time, he was glad to hold on to that one thing that made him Harry Potter. He was all for remaking himself and defining Henry Frost as someone entirely different from Harry Potter, but Harry Potter was who he really was and he didn't want to lose himself entirely.

A loud hoot echoed through the room and Widgit flew out of his cactus and over to Harry, landing as a barely felt weight on his shoulder. The owl hooted again and pressed itself against the side of Harry's neck. He was almost completely concealed by Harry's hair and seemed content with the position. Harry smiled softly at the bird's reflection in the mirror.

"Well, Harry, I have to get going," Carrie said suddenly. "I'll be back tomorrow, bright and early, to take you to King's Cross. Make sure you have all your stuff packed and ready. And get some proper rest!"

With a wave of her wand, the plates they'd eaten off stacked themselves on the tray and floated over to the door.

"Thank you, Carrie," Harry said with a genuine smile. Forceful as she was, Carrie was really kind and Harry appreciated her efforts.

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow."

After Carrie was gone, Harry just stood in place for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Widgit let out a soft hoot and nipped Harry's ear, pulling him from this thoughts and prompting him into action. "I going to pack my trunk," Harry stated, "You might want to move or else I'll unbalance you." The over opinionated avian gave Harry's ear another nip before hopping off his shoulder and flying back to his cactus, disappearing inside the hollow.

Harry grabbed his satchel from where he'd dropped it and opened the large flap. "Accio trunk," he said, pointing his English oak wand at the bag. The trunk that Snape had bought for him flew out and landed on the floor in front of him with a loud thump. Harry opened the trunk, before once more pointing his wand at the messenger's bag. "Accio course-books." The books flew out of the bag and Harry directed them into trunk with a wave of his wand. Next he summoned his potion's kit, quills, ink, and parchment, as well as his Quidditch gloves and broom. He didn't summon the two potion's racks, both because he knew that some potions reacted negatively to outside magic and because he'd decided to leave them in the bag. Really, he could have left all of his possessions in the bag, but had decided against it because Snape had purchased the trunk with the intent of Harry actually using it.

Setting his wand on the end table by the bed, Harry crossed to the desk and gathered the large wrapped parcels from Madame Malkin's and began to open them. The first one contained a full supply of Hogwarts' robes, with the school's insignia sewn on the breast; after he was sorted the magic stitched into the insignia would react to the Sorting Hat's magic and turn into his House crest. The tie and scarf in his house colors would be given to him by the school.

Harry took one of the robes and put it in his satchel so that he wouldn't have to open his trunk when it came time to change on the train. The rest he put into the trunk, taking care to make sure they remained neatly folded. He unwrapped the rest of the parcels and found casual clothing for wearing on weekends and to Hogsmeade. He set aside a set to wear the following morning. He'd wear them with the scuffed and ragged trainers he already had, but he'd purchased a new pair of shoes to wear with his school robes.

After everything that needed to go in the trunk was put away, Harry turned to the rest of his scattered belongings on the desk. His old glasses went into the moleskin pouch around his neck. While it was open, he removed his invisibility cloak from inside and moved it to the satchel. Malfoy's wand was moved from the satchel to the pouch, because the pouch only opened for him and if someone decided to go through his things without permission, it wouldn't do for them to find he had two wands. He put Widgit's treats in the messenger bag as well.

"I'm going to move your cactus to inside the cage," Harry warned the bird, before carefully picking up the plant and putting it in the cage. Widgit's large eyes peered out at him from inside the dark hole in the cactus but didn't complain about being moved. Harry situated the cactus in the back of the cage and left the door open in case Widgit wanted to come out during the night.

After double checking that everything was ready for the morning, Harry decided to take a quick shower and then go to bed.

…

Harry was woken again by a knock at his door. "Henry Frost," Carrie yelled through the barrier, "This is your one and only wake up call. If you're not downstairs in half an hour, I will hex you out of the bed and take you to King's Cross in your knickers."

Harry groaned, but dutifully rolled out of bed and called out "I'm up!" He barely stopped himself from calling her Aunt Petunia.

"Breakfast in ten!" Carrie called back, banging her fist against the door one last time.

Widgit let out a hoot that made it clear that he did not appreciate the wake up call. The look in his eyes seemed to say "'owls are nocturnal so if you humans wake me again, I'm going to peck some eyes out."

Harry rolled his eyes at the bird while inwardly question his own sanity. He'd had conversations with Hedwig plenty of times and she'd seem more the capable of understanding him and talking to her seemed normal, associating Widgit's hoots and looks with human derision was not normal at all. But there was something about Widgit that made it impossible not to know what the little owl seemed to be thinking, strong-willed and over opinionated feather duster that he was.

Harry went through his morning rituals on autopilot. Washing his face and brushing his teeth in the small water closet adjoining the room and dressing in the clothes he'd laid out the day before. His hair had become knotted and tangled during the night and Harry didn't know any charms to fix it, and since his short hair had only required fingers running through it to get some resemblance of tamed, he didn't own a comb. Harry carded his fingers through the mess and tried to work out the worst of the tangles. He decided he'd ask Carrie what was required for the proper upkeep of longer hair since the woman's chocolate brown hair hung all the way to her waist.

His clothes fit him well. He'd been accustomed to Dudley's too large castoffs for so long, having properly fitting clothes was new and exciting. It was too bad he was in his malnourished thirteen year old body. He was small and bony with barely a bit of muscle, but the cut of his clothing hid that mostly and he looked more slender than unhealthily thin. He couldn't wait until he reached his coming growth spurt. He hadn't grown properly tall, but at least he'd filled out some. Maybe this time around he could take nutrient potions or something to help fully correct the damage done by his childhood with the Dursleys. His dad had been slightly above average height; surely Harry could be just as tall.

Once fully ready, Harry turned to Widgit. "You ready, Dodo?"

Harry swore the owl rolled his eyes before flying over and landing on Harry's shoulder. Widgit used his beak and wings to pull Harry's hair around him so that he was completely hidden except for his eyes and he snuggled into the side of Harry's neck.

"You like that spot, huh?" A snapping beak was the only response Harry got to the question. "It was rhetorical anyway," Harry mumbled, closing Widgit's cage and placing it on top of his trunk. He hung the strap of his satchel on one shoulder to keep from disturbing Widgit.

Harry opened the door to leave the room and found a man standing outside it with a fist raised, poised to knock. Harry froze in surprise, his body tensing up for a second, before he relaxed and half raised his wand. "Er, sorry," the man mumbled. "Carrie sent me to help bring down your things."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thank you." He'd been prepared to float his trunk downstairs himself, but now remembered that he was technically thirteen here and wasn't suppose to be able to use magic outside of school without being cited by the Ministry. Harry stepped to the side and let the man enter the room and cast a levitation charm on his trunk and Widgit's cage. "Thank you," Harry said again as they made their way down the stairs.

"No problem," the man said.

"Harry!" Carrie called out when she saw him. "Sit over there; I'll bring your food in the moment. Leave his trunk there, Al, I'll handle it from here."

Harry sat at the table Carrie told him to. Widgit let out a soft complaint at being jostled by the movement. Harry had forgotten the bird was even sitting on him, he weighed so little. Elf Owls were the lightest owls in the world apparently and Harry couldn't help but wonder how the little bird would handle carrying large packages.

Speaking of packages, a nondescript box landed on the table in front of him, followed by a plate nearly overflowing with food. Carrie fell in the seat across from him with a smile. "I figured you'd need some help suddenly having all that hair to care for. The box has a few bottles of my favorite shampoos and conditioners and a list of cosmetic charms for untangling and such. A comb and brush and mirror too, because magic makes people lazy and combing your hair manually can be very relaxing."

Harry took the box and peeked inside. It contained exactly what Carrie said. "Thank you," he said with a large smile.

Carrie smiled back. "Hurry up and eat, you don't want to miss the train, do ya?"

He took the box of hair care supplies and put them in his satchel, before sliding the plate of food towards him and digging in.

…

Platform 9 ¾ Quarters was filled with its usual September first crowd when Carrie apparated Harry there. Parents and children were all pressed in together on the little platform, talking loudly and moving quickly while cats, toads, and owls called out from their cages. There were unfamiliar faces all around, but that was fine because the feel of the place was the same, and a familiar sense of giddiness welled up inside Harry. He was going back to Hogwarts.

"Well, Harry, I guess its goodbye for now. You're going to love Hogwarts, I just know it. Feel free to write me if you want. I want at least one letter telling me what house you're in, I have an inkling but I want to know and if I don't get at least that you're going to be dealing with a very unhappy witch the next time you enter the Leaky Cauldron, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry replied with a small smile.

"What'd I say about calling me ma'am. I can still hex you right here and now!"

Harry laughed and Carrie did too.

"Now, for real," the Healer in training said, "Write me whenever you want. I love getting correspondence."

"Alright, promise." Harry said. "Thank you for everything."

"Don't mention it. You take care of yourself at that school and I'm sure we'll see each other again sooner or later."

A few more words passed between them, before Carrie took her leave just as the train whistled a final boarding call and Harry boarded the train. Remembering Snape's words about where he might find allies on the train, Harry headed all the way back to the last compartment.

Chapter Text

Harry frowned. It was locked. Why would Snape direct him to go to a locked train compartment? Well, obviously, the Snape of this time wasn't expecting or wanting company. And the Snape of the future probably trusted Harry's ability to unlock the door himself. He drew his wand and made the familiar motion of the Alohomora charm, whispering the incantation under this breath.

It didn't do anything.

Harry frowned again. Alohomora was the simplest unlocking charm. So simple that it was in the first year spell books. It was too simple. Snape had probably locked the compartment in hopes of keeping Harry's dad and his friends out. They were third years. Anything unlockable by Alohomora would just be a minor annoyance to them. They could get through it easily. But the Anti-Alohomora Charm wasn't taught until sixth year. Harry thought it would be too advanced even for Snape.

There was a locking charm taught at the beginning of fourth year that was resistant to Alohomora, but it could be unlocked with the stronger Alohomora Duo charm that was taught at the end of that same year. The wand movement was the same as for Alohomora, but with and extra flourish at the end. Harry cast the charm and grinned when the compartment door slid open.

"A locked door implies a desire for privacy," a voice said the moment Harry entered the car. Severus Snape was seated on the right side bench, his legs spread out across the seat and his back resting against the window. He looked much the same as Harry's had ever seen him: sallow skin, lank hair, sour expression, far from any definition of handsome. The only noteworthy difference were the bruises. The left side of his face was a sickening shade of yellow and green of a healing bruise overlapped by a fresh, purple bruise. He was already wearing his school robes and had his arms crossed over his chest. The robes fitted him poorly and the loose sleeves were riding up to reveal similar bruising around his wrists and forearms.

Harry pursed his lips to keep back to words threatening to escape his mouth at the sight. He was familiar with bruising. His uncle used to grab his arm to throw him into his cupboard, mindless of his own strength, but he'd never hit Harry. Especially not in the face or hard enough to leave visible evidence for the neighbors to question. There was only so many times the excuse of clumsiness could be used before someone chose not to believe. No, the abuse Harry took was rarely ever physical. But it was bad enough. But now it didn't seem all that bad compared to the sight of Snape. Though, if he knew anything about Severus at all, he knew the teen would not appreciate anyone gushing over him and treating him like an invalid child.

"The train isn't big enough for anyone to have a compartment to themselves," Harry stated, dragging his trunk into the car and lifting onto the rack over the bench opposite Snape. Snape watched the movements, but said nothing. Harry finished storing his trunk and took a seat. He met Snape's gaze with a smile. Snape's glare had long ago ceased to faze him, one too many detentions had rendered with ineffective. "I'm Henry Frost," he introduced himself.

"I did not ask," Snape huffed back, turning away from Harry and glaring at the door instead. He drew his wand and reset the locking charm.

"Common courtesy says you should introduce yourself when making someone's acquaintance for the first time."

"Common courtesy says you leave locked doors locked."

"It seems neither of us is capable of common courtesy."

Severus said nothing.

"You're favoring your left arm," Harry noted, not meaning to speak the words aloud. He could see how much it pained Severus every time his arm was jostled. Harry had thought he'd been keeping his arms crossed over his chest to make obvious his displeasure at Harry's intrusion, but he could see now that he was actually cradling his arm against his chest.

"I am aware," Snape stated.

"Those bruises look pretty bad," Harry ventured on.

"I am aware," Snape repeated.

"I have a healing potion. Just a basic one..." Harry pulled his satchel into his lap and immediately began searching for the potion's rack in the flap pocket.

"No thanks. I'd prefer not risking my life by consuming any potions made by an untried first year."

Harry shot him a look of disbelief. "Surely you don't think a first year could cast the fourth year charm needed to undo your lock."

"I hold out hope that they're not all blundering idiots."

"I'm a third year."

"Now that I do not believe. I am quite familiar with all my year-mates and you are certainly not one."

"I'm a transfer student."

"Hogwarts does not have transfer students."

"Well, she does now."

"And where am I to believe you transferred from. Beauxbatons? Durmstrang?"

"Those aren't the only schools in Magical Europe."

"Once more, you inform me of something that I am well aware of."

"I went to a private magic academy near Cardiff."

"You're not Welsh."

"You're not Scottish. You want the potion or not?"

"I still don't trust your brewing."

"I didn't brew it. The potion's master at my old school made it."

"Teacher's pet, were you?"

"He hated my guts. He made those potions because he'd once been friends with my mother. They were kind of a 'happy to be rid of you' present."

"If I give you something of equal value, could I be rid of you?"

"If you don't want my potions, just say so, but I will not be leaving this compartment no matter how much you whine."

Snape glared, but took the phial Harry had outstretched towards him. He didn't drink the potion right away, instead he took the time to examine the color, smell, and consistency. Apparently satisfied with his findings, Severus swallowed down the concoction quickly. As the yellowed bruises started to fade and the purple ones to yellow, Severus glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eyes and mumbled a soft "thank you."

Harry had barely heard the words, but they surprised him all the same. He hadn't expected Snape to show any gratitude at all. "You welcome," Harry replied with a small smile. "Though I doubt it helped much with whatever is making you favor your arm.'

"It's just a sprain," Snape said quickly. "A basic healing potion will help ease the pain, but the muscle will have to heal in its own time. I'll visit the matron for something stronger when we reach the school."

"Are you sure it's only a sprain? I've had sprains that didn't hurt nearly as much as that looks to hurt. I've also had broken bones that hurt just as much. Though, nothing ever hurt as much as having to regrow all the bones in my arm after they'd been banished."

"Who banished the bones in your arm?"

"Even private magic academies make poor hiring decisions. But what I was getting at is, I do a decent job with the bone-mending charm if you need it."

"No thanks, I don't trust strangers pointing wands at me."

"You trusted me enough to take my potion."

"No, I trusted the potion. General healing potions are second year work. I can easily recognize the combination of scent, color, and consistency that makes it up. It can't be poisoned or botched too badly and still maintain those characteristics."

"You trust potions more than people." It wasn't a question.

"Potions are predictable. People are not."

"I don't know about that. I've been surprised by a few potions in my time." And even more so by the potion brewers, Harry added mentally.

"Potions are straightforward if you follow the directions and use your brain, people on the other hand always have some sort of ulterior motive. Which brings me to the question, what is it that you want from me Mister Frost?"

"What makes you think I want something?"

"Because we both know there's room enough of this train for you to sit anywhere but here, and yet you bullied your way into my compartment regardless."

Harry gave a cloying smile he'd seen on the faces of many Slytherins right before they twisted their tongue. "I swear, of all the compartments I looked into, this was the only one with an available seat."

"And, exactly, how many compartments did you look in?"

"No more than I needed to."

"Which brings us back to the question, what do you want from me?"

"I still don't see why my sitting here implies I want something from you."

"You sitting here could just be due to your own ignorance, but your giving me a healing potion implies a desire for a favor in turn. No one does such a thing out of the kindness their heart, and as I am not one to sit with unpaid debts hovering over my head, I'd prefer if you stated your price now."

"Your friends must be really nice people." Severus just gave him a look, not the scathing glare that could strip skin from bones that his older self would one day employ, but a look that had the potential in it. Harry was largely unfazed by it. "Tell me about Hogwarts," he commanded, as if that was all he really wanted.

"It's a school."

"How very informative, I have no idea how I could have possibly known any of that if you hadn't told me. Do tell me more."

The look the Severus gave this time was quiet and calculating. He pursed his thin lips together as he weighed carefully what he would next say. "Hogwarts is said to be the greatest school in Magical Britain, but that is debatable. It's separated into four houses named after the founders: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Gryffindor is generally the most sought after house. It is often called the House of the Brave, though in my opinion it is comprised mostly of fools and bullies. They're the Headmaster's pets and apparently can do no wrong. Hufflepuff is the House of the Loyal, useless lot they are. They follow behind the Gryffindors like baby ducks and cry at the slightest provocation. Ravenclaw is the House of the Intelligent. Their arrogance knows no bounds and if I'm to believe that they're the smartest the school as to offer, I does not bode well for the future."

"And Slytherin?"

"The House of the Cunning. While, it is undoubtedly the greatest of the Hogwarts' four, it does not carry much regard in most circles. Everyone loves pissing on the snakes."

"Well, I don't have to ask which house you're in."

Severus gave that same cloying smile Harry had employed against him only minutes before. "I'll offer you this one last tidbit of information, and then we'll call us even on the potion's thing: never trust the word of a Slytherin, we are quite adept at twisting our tongues." The look of calculation returned to Severus' eyes. "But you already know that, don't you?"

Before Harry had a chance to reply, there was a knock on the compartment door. "Sev, it's me, Regulus, let me in."

"Oh joy, more unwanted company," Severus muttered, his expression going deadpan as he lifted his wand and unlocking the door anyway.

Regulus Black looked remarkably similar to his older brother: same dark hair and light eyes, similar bone structure as well. They also looked remarkably dissimilar in the set of their jaw and the way they carried themselves.

"You'd best reset the lock. I passed my brother on the way back. They look bored enough; it's only a matter of time until they come in search of some entertainment." Severus let out a long suffering sigh that was more for show than anything as he once more raised his wand and aimed it at the door. "Who are you?" Regulus asked, knocking Severus feet off the seat so that he could sit next to him. Probably done in equal desires to annoy Severus and keep the stranger in the room in easy sight.

"Transfer student," Harry replied simply.

"Hogwarts doesn't have transfer students."

"She does now," Severus stated before Harry could. "Why are you here, Regulus?"

Regulus held up one finger in Severus' direction, silencing his words, before turning his attention to Harry. "Does the transfer student have a name?"

"Frost. Now answer my question." Regulus silenced him with another hand gesture.

"Just Frost? No first name?"

"Henry Frost," Harry answered, grinning inwardly at the annoyed look overtaking Severus' face.

"Frost… The Frost family branched from the Potter line about eight generations back. The last known Frost was Jeremy Frost. He married a mudblood and didn't live much longer after. That was about thirteen years ago. He was thought to be the last of his line."

"He was my father," Harry lied. Obviously the Snape of the future had put some care into creating Harry's alias. It was both very similar to Harry's real life, so the lie would be easy to stick to, but it also made it so no 'family members' could come by and negate the story and would explain any resemblance he had to the Potter family. "After my parents died, my mother's sister took me in. They were Muggles."

Regulus gave Harry a look that made it obvious what he thought of his mixed blood and Muggle upbringing. "How tragic." The tragedy to Regulus was not the death of Harry's parents, but his rearing by people presumed to be unsavory. "Speaking of tragedy, how was your summer, Severus?"

"Oh happy day! The great Pureblood Regulus Black's is giving me his attention! I am hardly worthy of speaking to one such as you."

Regulus gave a cocky grin that looked very out of place on his round baby face. "As long as you know that." He turned back to Harry. "Where exactly did you transfer from, Frost?"

"A private academy near Cardiff."

"You're not Welsh."

"And you're not Scottish."

"Touché. Fewer bruises than last summer, it seems, Severus."

Severus glared at Regulus. He obviously had little patience for the younger boy's games. "I have no intention of competing for you attention, Black. Feel free to continue to be distracted by the new and shiny, but I will not play the part of the mindless sycophant waiting obediently for you to deem me worthy. Either talk to him or me, or pretend that you're not so inbred and stupid that you're incapable of walking and chewing bubblegum at the same time."

Regulus physically flinched away from the words and a blush immediately dominated his cheeks, but Severus was not yet done.

"Just because my blood isn't as pure as yours does not give you reason to treat me as beneath you. You are not better than me. Do not forget, Regulus Black, that I am the reason you made in through your first year without your parents flaying your alive. And I am the one who aided you when your spoiled rich boy attitude did not save you from drowning under work and ridicule. So you can take this uppity pureblood attitude and save it for someone who doesn't know you. And, how do you aspire to be a player in any social circle when you fail so momentously at keeping good graces and dancing between players? You do not make your allies feel the fool, but your clumsy fumbling won't win you many allies to begin with."

Regulus looked like a child reprimanded for stealing a biscuit. Harry could only wonder how this Severus, who'd just cut down a friend for acting like an elitist prick, could ever grow to be a Death Eater.

"I'm sorry," Regulus mumbled, chastened.

Severus sighed. "We were both in the wrong. You should not have disregarded me, but it was not my place to give you a dressing down. Especially not in front of a virtual stranger. But, while I am being brutally honest and inappropriate, I have something to say to you as well, Frost. I've already given you the breakdown of the Hogwarts' Houses, now I offer you this: if you wish your stay at Hogwarts to be at all pleasant, it is best you stay as far from me and Regulus as you can get. Nothing good comes from acquaintanceship with me, and your blood status will make you a pariah and Regulus' circles."

"You two don't run in the same circle?"

"Only in the way that we wear the same house colors."

As if summoned by Severus' warning, there was a banging on the carriage door. "Snivellus, we know you're in there."

"There's no way they can dismantle my locking charm," Snape said, though his voice lacked assuredness.

The three of them just stared at the door, listening to the teens on the other side. Someone jangled the handle. Alohomora was cast twice, and then a third time with four voices intoning it at once. Harry was scared that might have done the trick, but Snape's spell held true. There was some curses and mumbles of aggravation, before someone Harry thought might have been Remus spoke just too softly for the words to he heard clearly.

"Fine!" Sirius snarled. "We'll see you at school, Snivellus. Can't hide behind Charms forever." With those last words, the Marauders took their leave.

The three people inside the compartment all let out sighs of relief. "Friends of yours?" Harry asked flippantly.

"The kind of friends that'll leave scorpions in your bed. Don't say I didn't warn you about them."

"You're saying they're the wrong sort?"

"Or that I'm the wrong sort. You're new here, there's still hope for you. But once it becomes known that you've been consorting with snakes and you end up anywhere other than Slytherin house, you'll be the one checking your bed for scorpions."

"And I came name more than a few Slytherins that would make scorpions in your bed seem like the royal treatment if you end up in the dungeons with your tainted blood."

"Well, I've always been able to tell the wrong sort for myself, thank you very much. And I'm pretty adept at defending against pureblood supremacists, too."

"We'll see."

"Speaking of seeing," Regulus said suddenly, "I've been avoiding mentioning it but it's been bothering me since I came in here: why does your hair have eyes, Frost?"

"What?"

"Your hair has eyes!" Regulus repeated, gesturing towards Harry shoulder. "And it's been staring at me this whole while."

"Oh," Harry acknowledged, barely holding in his laughter. He'd forgotten the Widgit was on his shoulder and he hadn't spared a thought for what it must look like to other people. Owls as small as Widgit were quite uncommon and with the bird hiding behind the fall of Harry's hair, it must have pretty strange. "Widgit, say hello."

An annoyed trill and a sharp nip on the ear was the response Harry received, as if Widgit was saying 'I am not a trained pooch who speaks on command.' Harry rolled his eyes and carefully brushed his hair out of the way so that Regulus and Severus could see the owl clearly.

"What kind of owl is that?" Regulus asked curiously.

"An Elf Owl. Native to the Midwestern United States. Funny enough, he's the type of owl that eats scorpions."

They were interrupted by another knock on the car door. "I seem to be quite popular tonight," Severus muttered.

"Is Henry Frost in there?" The person on the other side of the door asked.

"Who's asking?" Regulus shot back.

"Maximillian Wiggins, Head Boy. I have a message for Henry Frost from the Headmaster."

Harry quickly got to his feet and moved in front of the door. The released the locking Charm with a soft mumble and a wave of his wand. "I'm Henry Frost," he said once the door slid open.

"Maximillian Wiggins, Head Boy."

"We gathered as much." Harry would have kept such a comment to a derisive mumble, but Snape stated it loud enough to be heard regardless of what anyone might think of him for doing so.

Maximillian, a tall boy of slight stature with a bad case of acne, glanced passed Harry and his expression made it quite clear what he thought of the boys Harry was sharing a car with. The look he gave Harry afterward carried enough sympathy to say he wasn't judging ignorant transfer student on his poor choice in companions. "Henry Frost, Headmaster Dumbledore sent me to inform you that once we reach the school, you're to ride the boats with the First Years."

"Thank you." Harry smiled.

"He also wanted me to check in on you to see how you're coping with the trip thus far and to make sure you're receiving the warmest welcome Hogwarts can offer. If you'd like, you can join me in my compartment. We have a mixed crowd, so you can meet more of your year mates and get a feel for what the other Hogwarts houses are like." He was quite obviously offering to rescue Harry from unsavory snakes who were currently not even hiding the fact they were listening to every word spoken.

Harry pasted on his best Slytherin smile. "That's very nice of you Max, but I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you. Severus and Regulus have been most welcoming. But I'll be sure to inform the Headmaster, if he asks, that you were equally as accommodating as they are. And that you're quite the nice Head Boy."

Wiggins smiled and preened as if Harry had paid him some big compliment. When Harry sent him on his way with a few more carefully chosen words, Wiggins seemed to have forgotten that he was leaving the apparently defenseless transfer student in the care of a couple of Slytherins.

"Quite adept at twisting your tongue indeed," Severus mused as Harry reclaimed his seat.

---

 

The rest of the trip passed mostly in silence, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Being back on the Hogwarts express brought up memories of the very first time he'd ridden this train. He'd met Ron that day and they'd made fast friends. He'd also met Hermione, though their friendship hadn't been so quick to blossom. He'd only been away from them for a couple of days, but Harry was suddenly struck by how much missed them. They'd, obviously, been apart before, but there had never been so much space between them. Before, it only took an Owl to reconnect. Harry doubted Widgit had to ability to carry letters to the future.

He wondered how Ron and Hermione were doing. He'd left them surrounded by dead friends, at a place that had once been sanctuary to them. How were they coping? How was the battle going to unfold without Harry there to play his part? At the time, he'd been upset, but the truth was he'd been ready and willing to sacrifice himself to Voldemort if it meant safety for everyone else.

But he'd ran away instead. He'd left them to feign from themselves. And the only hope that his sudden burst of cowardice wouldn't be the Wizarding World's undoing was the slim chance that he really could change the past. Change it enough to completely undo the future.

And how was he going to do that? He'd been too emotionally driven the first time he'd read Snape's letters. It all sounded so simple and possible. But was any of it really possible? What was to say Voldemort wouldn't create more Horcruxes once he found his other's destroyed? How was he meant to keep himself from being made into a Horcrux when he couldn't even be present at the event? He might succeed and courting Severus and Regulus good graces, but how was he going to get them to ally with him against the Dark Lord years before they would make the decisions on their own?

And Snape. Eyes clouded with grief and betrayal had painted Snape and a martyr, victim, and hero to Harry when he'd first viewed those penseive memories. But that wasn't the case now that he'd had the chance to think about them. Snape could have avoided becoming the man he was, but the truth was he'd made all the wrong decisions. And loving Harry's mother wasn't enough to fix that nor forgive his actions. James Potter may have been a bully, but he'd loved Lily too. He'd loved Lily enough to sacrifice himself for her. Severus Snape had loved Lily enough to sacrifice James' life for her. And that was a big difference.

Harry glanced at Severus on the other side of the train car. He was reading from a potion's book and ignoring Regulus senseless chatter about his summer break. This Severus had quickly cut down Regulus and his blood purist agenda with a few spoken words. He wasn't the bitter professor he'd one day become, nor the misguided young adult that set him on the path. This Severus hadn't done anything wrong, not yet at least.

And maybe that's why the Snape of the future had sent him to this compartment. Maybe it wasn't just the past Harry was meant to change. Could his interference prevent Snape from making the bad decisions? From getting that mark on his arm that would dictate the course of the rest of his life?

There was a chance to shape Snape into a better man and maybe even save Regulus' life. But it wasn't going to be easy. None of this was going to be easy. And charging headfirst and praying for the best wasn't going to work this time. Snape had said they both knew he was meant to be a Slytherin. Perhaps there was more to those words than he'd initially thought. He'd already won a modicum of Severus' respect by playing the part of the snake. It would be a terrible thing to lose that because he bullied that Hat into letting his wear red and gold again. He'd never been one for the power games of Slytherin house. But maybe he didn't need to engage in them. He could earn himself respect and obscurity. Prove himself enough to not become a target, but not so much that he couldn't fly under the radar.

He could do it. He could be Slytherin. He could woo Severus and Regulus, make allies of them as he was meant to. It wouldn't be too difficult either. After all, Slytherin was where he was meant to be in the first place.

Chapter Text

The train rolled into the Hogsmeade Station and Harry, Severus, and Regulus joined the pushing and shoving crowd of students packing the corridor. He tried to keep close to the boys he’d shared a car with, but with so many people trying to disembark so quickly, he soon lost sight of them. Someone shoved Harry, and he all but fell out of the train. He didn’t bother turning to catch sight of the culprit, because they would be just another face in the crowd. He did, however, look around once more for Severus or Regulus, but didn’t find them. Instead, he caught sight of a familiar form looming tall above the crowd of students.

“Firs’ years!” Hagrid called, holding up a lantern and beckoning the first years towards him with one large hand. “Firs’ years over here. C’mon, follow me.”

Harry spared one glance towards the thestral drawn carriages the upper years were boarding, before quickly moving to follow Hagrid down the steep, narrow path that lead to the Black Lake and the boats. When he rounded the bend, he stopped along with the rest of the students. It was in this very spot during his first year that he’d gotten his first glimpse of Hogwarts. Across the lake, perched atop a mountain, the school loomed: a beacon of sparkling windows, tall towers, and many turrets.

Harry’s heart lodged itself in his throat. The last time he’d seen Hogwarts, she had been falling down around him, filled with the brim with the fallen and injured. There’d been nothing in her walls but pain and cries and mourning. Hogwarts had ceased to be a school and had become a battlefield. But now, here she stood, whole and well. This was Hogwarts as he remembered it. A fortress of knowledge and safety.

Harry was forced from his thoughts by another shove from behind. The first years were scrambling to board the boats, excitement, fear, and anticipation hanging thick in the air. There was sharp nip on his ear and Harry turned his head just in time to see Widgit jump off his shoulder and take to the sky. He flew off toward the school, apparently not willing to risk the chance of wet feathers. Harry climbed into one of the boats silently and remained just as silent as the boat crossed the lake and pulled into the underground harbor. He was really going back to Hogwarts and he just couldn’t wrap his thoughts around it.

He spilled out of the boats with the rest of the students and followed them up to the school proper. Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and rapped it three times against the castle door. The door opened instantly and there stood Professor McGonagall. And it all felt so familiar. The awe and excitement the first years around him was feeling was contagious. Harry felt eleven years old again. Eleven years old and filled with innocence and ignorance.

But he wasn’t eleven years old. He was seventeen years old, living in the body of a thirteen year old, and he hadn’t been either innocent or ignorant for a very long time.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said after she led them all into the antechamber of the Great Hall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.” It sounded exactly like the speech McGonagall had given (or would give?) during Harry’s first year. “The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time in your house common room.”

Harry listened attentively to all she was saying, despite already having heard it before. The rest of the students were hanging on her every word as well. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school.” McGonagall concluded.

Without another word, she turned and departed the room. As soon as she was gone, the students got busy working themselves up over their imminent sorting and what it might entail.

Harry remembered that nervous fear quite well. He also remembered how it wasn’t at all abated by learning that all the sorting required was trying on a hat. He’d been terrified that the Hat wouldn’t find a place he belonged and he’d be forced to get back on the train and return to the Dursley’s. Come to think of it, what if the Hat refused to Sort him this time because he’d already been sorted before? There was no way to hide the truth from a magical artifact designed to look inside your mind and uncover every aspect of you. The Hat would know that he was, as the goblins put it, displaced from time. And what if the Hat told Dumbledore? Harry didn’t want anyone to know the truth about him. Especially not Dumbledore. He’d had enough to the old man’s machinations. Sure, everything Dumbledore had done had been for the Greater Good, but that didn’t mean anything when you take into account how much he’d played with Harry’s life!

Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. There was no reason to get worked up. Surely the magic of the Hat kept it from revealing the secrets found in a student’s mind? And if it didn’t, then Harry would just have to ask him not to tell anyone. The Hat seemed the reasonable sort. He’d listened when Harry had requested not to be put into Slytherin. He’d probably listen if Harry asked it to keep his secrets. And he could only assume that the Hat would place him, otherwise Snape wouldn’t have sent him here.

McGonagall returned and ordered them all into a line. Harry let himself fall to the end of the line, allowing all the eager firsties to scamper in before him. When they were led into the Great Hall, Harry nearly froze in place. The last time he’d stood here, there’d been bodies laid out where the house tables currently stood. Bodies of his friends and classmates and people who only wanted the best out of the world. He would probably carry the image of George Weasley crying over his dead twin for as long as he lived, but right this moment all that grim and melancholy felt like a distant memory because the Great Hall he was currently standing in was filled with as much magic and grandeur as he’d first seen it when he was eleven. From the charmed ceiling to the floating candles, it felt more than ever like coming home.

But even the most distant of memories had a penchant for sneaking in at unwanted time. In his mind, he kept overlapping the images of this grand room with the battlefield he’d last seen. Right there where the two laughing girls were sitting was where Remus and Tonks had been laid out side by side. The whispering couple over there were in the place where Ron had fallen to his knees beside his brother’s corpse. And at the head of the hall… It didn’t take memories of tragedy to bring Harry up short when he looked at the head table. Because right there was Dumbledore.

Harry had thought he would hate Dumbledore if he ever saw him again. But he’d thought wrong. He couldn’t swallow passed the lump in his throat and it took all his self-control to hold back the tears threatening to fall. How could he ever hate Dumbledore after all the man had done for him? Sure, Dumbledore had made his share of mistakes, but he was only human and he’d acted with the best interest of everyone in mind. Harry didn’t need to forgive Dumbledore’s actions, because there was nothing to forgive. In a time of war, the good of the many had outweighed the good of the few and everyone had sacrifices to make. Dumbledore hadn’t asked Harry to give up more than the man had already given up himself.

Harry had to force himself to look away from the headmaster’s sparkling blue eyes as he trailed behind the first years. They all lined up in front of the high table and Professor McGonagall placed the stool and put the Sorting Hat down on it. The hat was as patched and frayed as it would be twenty years in the future. Harry watched it. He’d only witnessed a few Sorting Hat Songs in his time at Hogwarts, and one of them had been a warning of things to come. Harry was curious to hear what it would come up with this time. The split appeared and the hat began to sing:

Just about a thousand years ago
there lived the Founding Four.
They roamed the halls, faces aglow
watching students run through the door.

“I want the smart and eager to learn,”
Dear Ravenclaw did declare.
“The ones who treasure every book they own.
Such a student must be most rare.”

“Well, give me the bravest of the lot!”
Bold Gryffindor did roar,
“The one’s who’ll fight with all they’ve got!
Anything less would be a snore.”

Shrewd Slytherin looked down his nose,
“Cunning more than daring is what I desire,
and ambition enough to keep you on your toes.
With magic in the blood of his sire’s sire.”

Sweet Hufflepuff did smile and say,
“Any student who graces these halls
is as worthy as any to learn our way!
I’ll teach them one and all!”

And so it was then,
and will be for all time
Gryffindor did charm me
to look in every mind.

So place me on your head,
that’s all you have to do,
and there will be no doubt
as to which House you belong to.

Will it be in brave Gryffindor
where you lay your head?
Or maybe humble Hufflepuff
is where you’ll go instead.

All the Wise Ravenclaws
could call you one of their own.
But those cunning Slytherins
could raise you to your throne.

Wherever you may go,
and trust me to let you know,
remember the Four are all One
and Hogwarts is your home.

There was applause after the song concluded and Harry couldn’t help but smile. There was no thinly veiled warnings hidden in that song and it felt like the last line was written just for him. Once the applause died down, McGonagall unrolled her scroll of names and began calling students forward.

“Ashwin, Braxton” became the first new Gryffindor (and “Ashwin, Darlene” the first Slytherin). Harry tuned out the rest of the ceremony, listening with one ear for the sound of his own name. He was a third year. He wouldn’t have many chances to interact with the students he was currently standing with. He used the time, and the vantage point given to him by standing at the front of the hall, to observe the already seated students instead.

He purposely avoided looking at the Gryffindor table first. Instead, he started on the exact opposite side of the room with the Slytherins. The Opening and Leaving Feasts were the only times students sat at their house tables in any resemblance of an order or hierarchy. They arranged themselves by years, with seventh years at the far end by the doors and the second years sitting next to the empty spaces reserved for newly sorted firsties.

“Crouch, Bartemius.”

Harry was surprised by how few faces he actually recognized at the Slytherin table. There was Severus and Regulus, of course. Severus was seated where the third years merged into the second years and Regulus was sitting one seat down and across the table from him. But other than them the only faces he could put with names were Rabastan Lestrange with the third years, Avery with the seventh years, and someone he thought might be Evan Rosier in the fifth years. He’d thought Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black would be there. He’d known they were older than Snape, but he hadn’t been sure by how many years. Apparently they were old enough to be gone by time Snape was thirteen, so how was it that Malfoy had kept Snape on his leash?

When McGonagall called “Frill, Arden” forward and followed him with “Gallantry, Dale,” Harry assumed that he would be sorted last instead of being mixed in with the first years.

There were two familiar faces at the Ravenclaw table, neither of which brought Harry any good memories. That fraud Gilderoy Lockhart was seated in a midst of second years, and Quirinus Quirrell was among the fourth years. Harry noted that Quirrell looked much more at ease without Voldemort possessing the back of his head. Lockhart, on the other hand, looked as pompous as ever, except no one was paying any attention to him. Between them, in the group of third years, was a girl who looked remarkably similar to Susan Bones.

He recognized no one among the Hufflepuffs. Finally, just as McGonagall called forward “Murdoch, Marigold,” Harry allowed his eyes to stray towards the place he’d been dying to look at the whole time.

James Potter and Sirius Black were cheering raucously as a new Gryffindor joined their ranks. James had an arm slung around the shoulder of a smiling Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius was half standing on the bench. Remus Lupin was seated across from them, applauding as well, but not nearly as boisterously. James’ had the same flyaway hair Harry had been cursed with all his life, but he seemed entirely unselfconscious about it. While Harry always attempted to smooth his flat, James looked as if he’d been running his fingers through it just moments ago. His brown eyes shone with mischief visible even from where Harry was standing across the room. Or maybe it was that lazy grin on his face that revealed his nature. A grin quite similar to the one Sirius was showing.

Remus looked more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him. He still looked as if he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders, but years fewer monthly transformations and the dull knife of betrayal not yet sinking into him, had eased the lines around his eyes. He looked happy. An expression Harry had seen on his face far too infrequently.

Pettigrew looked nothing like the rat Harry knew him to be. He didn’t even fit into the role Harry had mentally cast for him: a mindless idiot besotted with James Potter, following him around doe eyed and bushy tailed. No, that was not this Pettigrew at all. He wasn’t a timid and adoring peon and it seemed James didn’t treat him as such. They were friends. Not leader and follower, but friends on equal footing, each bringing something of value to the table. Harry could see this in the way Pettigrew shoved James off of him with words Harry couldn’t hear, but made Sirius laugh so hard he nearly fell over. Pettigrew leveled James with a glare, until James held his hands up in a placating manner and offered some quickly spoken words. Even Remus was laughing. It was a lot like watching Hermione and Ron.

Lily Evans was sitting further down the table, closer to fourth years. Harry only found her because her long copper colored hair was hard to miss. She was sitting in a group of girls, one of which was the future Mrs. Longbottom, all offering perfunctory applause as a student was sorted into Hufflepuff.  Harry couldn’t look away from her as she said something Alice, one elegant hand being used to drive in her point. That same hand was then used to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, letting Harry get a clear view of the eyes that everyone said she’d passed down to him. There was no mistaking the sharp wit in that mossy green gaze. At thirteen, she was only a girl, but Harry could easily see the woman she would become.

There was an ache in his heart that Harry couldn’t quite put a name or cause to. He stood silently staring down at his feet the rest of the sorting.

“This year Hogwarts will be welcoming a transfer student from Ffyniant yn Hud Private Institute of Magic in Wales,” McGonagall said after the applause for “Whitley, Trey” had died down. Harry hadn’t paid enough attention to know which house welcomed him in. “Henry Frost will be joining our third year students. Everyone should make an effort to make him feel welcomed and help him adjust to life at Hogwarts. Mr. Frost, if you would.” She made a gesture towards the stool and Harry hesitated only for a second, suddenly recalling his earlier fears, before stepping forward and taking a seat.

The Hat fell down around his ears, just as large on him as it’d been when he was eleven years old. Harry held his breath as he waited for the Hat to find the information he had no way of hiding. He once more found himself regretting not putting more effort into learning Occlumency.

“While that is a useful skill to have, it would have done little to keep me out,” the hat commented, reading Harry’s thought as it flitted across his mind. “Just like you, Mr. Potter, I am a lot more than what meets the eye. And the future I see in your mind is a lot more than I ever predicted.”

“You should try experiencing it first-hand.”

 “I think I’ll leave the fighting to the young. Sad as that may be. Now, where shall I place you this time? Any suggestions?”

“I think I’m more inclined to trust your judgment this time.”

“You say that, and yet you already have a clear idea of where that judgment will lead me.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re perfectly correct. Though, I think I’ll offer you a little secret in turn for all the ones you just shared with me. There are few people indeed that my first inclination was to put into Gryffindor. Intelligence, cunning, and loyalty are characteristics chosen for you. Traits picked up on the path of life. But bravery… Well, anyone at any time can chose to be brave. Think on that, Mr. Potter. Now, I do believe we’ve kept everyone waiting long enough. Off you go to Slytherin!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly from the Slytherins, as the Hat was pulled off Harry’s head. Regulus was probably clapping the loudest, and Severus was barely clapping at all. Harry forced himself to look calm as he walked right towards him. There was a look of resignation in Severus eyes when there was space made next to him on the bench for Harry to sit. Harry gave him a questioning look. Surely Severus realized Harry was going to choose this spot considering the fact he knew no other Slytherins.

Severus looked as if he wanted to say something, but he pursed his lips and turned away instead. In the front of the Hall, Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat and silenced every conversation in the room.

“Worry not,” the Headmaster said, “I will not keep you much longer from your food. While it warms my heart to see so many bring young faces in these halls, even a maudlin old man like myself knows better than to get between a young lion and its meal.”

“Or it’s unfortunate prey, for that matter,” Severus mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Have at it!” Dumbledore clapped his hands and all the tables immediately covered with so much food, Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if they buckled under the weight. More than one exclamation of joy was heard as the students began filling their plates.

Harry had only taken two bites before his attention was pulled away from his meal, something he’d known would happen sooner or later. “It’s rare for Hogwarts to take a transfer student.”

“Perhaps that’s because most people are satisfied with where they’re attending school and don’t wish to transfer?” Harry deflected delicately.

“So, why did you transfer?” The person questioning him was a third year girl with short cut dark hair and a permanent expression of having something sour on her tongue.

“Obviously because he wasn’t satisfied with where he was attending.” Regulus was seated close enough to the third years that no one seemed surprised by him joining their conversation.

 “Why would anyone in Britain choose to go somewhere other than Hogwarts anyway?” The same girl asked.

“It’s where my mother went to school,” Harry said when he realized the question wasn’t being stated rhetorically.

“So, your mother was a witch, then?” It was a boy who asked this and Harry made note of his face because he had a feeling he would be a problem in the future. Everyone did a good job as disguising their interest in his answer, but Harry knew everyone in hearing range wanted to know what he would say.

“My mother was a Muggle-born witch,” Harry answered, casually taking a bite of his food after doing so. Out the corner of his eye he took note of the reactions he’d garnered. The older students did a better job of hiding their feelings, but a few of them wrinkled their nose and some of the younger students scooted ever-so-slightly away from him.

“What about your father?”

“His father was Jeremy Frost,” Regulus answered before Harry could. “A branch of the Potter family.”

“I thought the Frost line died out.” It was a different boy who spoke this time. He had a slight accent that Harry couldn’t place.

“After my parents died, my mother’s relatives took me in. It’s no surprise no one in the Wizarding world knew about me.”

“A Muggle-raised half-blood is no better than a mudblood.” It was the same boy who’d asked if his mother had been a witch. Apparently, Harry had been right in his assertion that he would cause trouble.

Harry gave him a hard look. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Rabastan Lestrange.

“Smile politely and welcome your new housemate,” Lestrange said, giving a cold look to the boy. “The whole school is watching and we have an image to keep.”

As if a switch had been flipped, everyone around Harry pasted on startlingly convincing smiles and started talking among themselves. Completely ignoring Harry’s presence other than to send him looks that he almost believed were welcoming.

“In front of an audience, Slytherins will always present a united front,” Severus said near inaudibly, speaking for the first time since Harry had sat down. “We do not publically alienate each other, because it won’t do to let outsiders know where our weaknesses lie.”

“So I don’t have to worry about spiders in my food, just scorpions in my bed?”

“I did warn you.”

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Harry mostly just observed his new housemates. He learned that the one who called him a mudblood was called Gibbon. That name sounded vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn’t be sure when or where he’d heard it. The boy with the accent answered to Nico, though it seemed to be a nickname because others also called him Alek. The girl across from him was his twin sister and her name was Ana.

The house had its own hierarchy and power structure, something Harry had always suspected but had never known for certain. From what Harry could see, Rabastan Lestrange seemed to rank the highest among the third years and most of Harry’s year mates were deferential to him. He didn’t know who the leader of the House as a whole was, but he assumed it was an upper-year.

Few people spoke to Severus, but those who did were as kind as one could expect from a Slytherin. Regulus seemed to float outside the hierarchy in a weird way. Harry had thought he’d rank the highest in his year, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He couldn’t fully understand where the Black heir stood, but Harry suddenly recalled Severus’ words on the train about being the one who kept Regulus from drowning under work and ridicule. For what reason would a pureblood like Regulus Black receive ridicule in Slytherin house?

After dessert had been finished and all the dishes vanished from the table, Dumbledore stood up in the front of the hall and everyone turned their attention back to him.

“I just want to welcome back our old students and welcome home our new.” Dumbledore said. “Your Head of House and Prefects will inform you of all the rules and restrictions, but our caretaker has asked me to issue the following reminders: there will be no magic in the corridors, nor is Muggle dueling permitted. Certain items, including but not limited to Fang Frisbees and Dungbombs are not allowed on Hogwarts grounds. A complete list of banned items can be found outside the Hospital Wing, where you’ll inevitably end up if you used one of these items. The Forbidden Forest holds true to its name and remains forbidden.

“Quidditch Trails will take place two weeks from today. All those interested in trying out for their house team should see Madam Hooch. This year we’ll be welcoming a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Benjamin Argent. Professor Argent is on loan to us from the Auror Corps. Please make him feel welcomed.” He said a few more words, stuff Harry had heard before during his own time, and then dismissed the students to their dormitories.

The prefects quickly herded the first years towards them, but Harry stuck close to Severus as they made the trip down to the dungeons.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Differences

The Slytherin common room looked much the same as Henry remembered it from his and Ron’s infiltration back in second year: a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains.  Even the high-backed chairs positioned around the crackling fire in the elaborately carved mantelpiece was the same.

The prefect in charge of the first years led the small group, numbering seven in total, to stand on the carpet in front of the mantel, facing out towards the room. Henry watched as the rest of the students separated themselves into groups and took positions around the edges of the room. As he followed Severus to a group near the back of the room and noted they were standing with the same people they’d been seated with during dinner, he realized the groups were divided by years. Regulus Black, however, did not join the second years near the other side of the room. He took a seat at one of the tables pushed into a corner of the room and took out a quill and parchment.

One student from each year, including Rabastan Lestrange and Avery, stood in the center of the room. All of them over fourth year were wearing prefects’ badges. Henry wondered what was about to happen, as this was unlike anything the Gryffindors had ever done. He turned to ask Severus, but stopped before speaking because Professor Slughorn chose that moment to waddle his way into the room.

“Oh good, you haven’t started yet,” the professor said. He went over to the students in the center of the room and handed Avery a roll of parchment. While the seventh year opened the parchment and began to read it over, Slughorn turned his attention to the gathered first years. “I won’t keep you long,” he said, “as this group of ladies and gents here are more than capable of getting you settled. I just wanted to introduce myself. I am Horace Slughorn, Professor Slughorn to you of course, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. If you find yourself with troubles that can’t be resolved by a student here in this room, you can seek me out during my office hours. I am also the founder of a group I like to call the Slug Club, a little collection of Hogwarts’ best and brightest. Prove yourself to be remarkable in anyway and you might find yourself honored with an invite. But, that’s enough from me, I’ll leave the floor to Mr. Avery here.”

Slughorn didn’t wait for anyone to say anything before leaving as quickly as he’d come, leaving the first years all looking just a bit off balanced. Avery took a single step forward and everyone’s attention was quickly drawn to him. He stood up straight and tall in a way that exuded authority and when he spoke, it was in a low voice of clipped tones that somehow still managed to carry across the room as if by a Sonorous charm, except Henry hadn’t seen such a charm being cast.

“On this first day of September of the year 1973, I Nathaniel Avery, Prefect and Seventh Year representative, hereby call this informal meeting of Slytherin House to order.” Avery recited the words with an ease of a long practiced ceremony. “First years, welcome to Hogwarts. More than that, welcome to Slytherin house. You have just entered into Hogwarts’ elite, a house ruled by tradition and pride. Be proud of yourself. We have a few things up for discussion tonight, and then you’ll be free to find your beds. I’ll try to make this quick.

“First, while everyone here takes pride in being a part of Slytherin’s great legacy, you’ll quickly learn that the other houses, and even some of the professors, do not give us the proper respect we deserve. Few people will pass up the opportunity to step on a Slytherin.

“Because of this, no matter what happens inside this dormitory, out there we must always present a united front. You do not let our enemies know where we are weak. If you have a problem with another Slytherin, you handle it inside the Slytherin dormitory and act as if you are the best of friends out there where anyone else may see. That is the number one rule of Slytherin House. Tangentially to that, no one outside of Slytherin house is allowed inside our common room. If you need to work with someone from other houses, do so in the library or anywhere not here. You will not like what will happen to you if you break this rule.”

Avery looked briefly at the parchment that Slughorn handed him. “Will the following two students please take a step forward when I say your name: Carter, Yvonne and Whitley, Trey?” The two students, both first years, stepped forward. They looked more than a little nervous at being singled out. “These two are this year’s Muggleborn Slytherins,” Avery said to the rest of the room, before turning his attention to the frightened two in the spotlight.

“According to the rest of the school’s way of thinking, you do not exist. Slytherin has a long history of preferring purebloods, and it’s no secret that 95% of the people in this room don’t want you here, but there’s nothing to be done. There’s always a few of you, every year, the Hat finds enough cunning and ambition in to send down here with us. Because the Hat says you’re one of us, the same rules apply. Out there, we’ll treat you the same as any Slytherin. But in here, you may find you need to prove yourself worth the air you breathe.”

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and the two Muggleborn students quickly took a step back into the crowd of their year mates, though Harry noted the two of them drifted closer to each other and away from the pure-bloods they’d been sorted with.

“On to our next order of business. We like our first years to have an advantage the other houses do not offer their first years. Because of this, each of you will be paired with a mentor of sorts. Your mentor’s job is to help you acclimate to Hogwarts life and make sure you get the best out of your first year. They’ll make sure you find all your classes and help you attain whatever you may need to ensure you do well in those classes. They’re also in charge of making sure you know all the Slytherin house and Hogwarts’ rules. I will personally assign your mentors and they will find you tomorrow at breakfast.

“And our last discussion point, House meetings. Last year we had monthly House Meetings the fourth Sunday of each month after dinner. We’ll do the same for the start of this year though we may change it later as obligations reveal themselves. The first formal house meeting will take place Sunday, September 23^rd. Mentors are reminded that they are in charge of making sure their first year mentee is informed of proper house meeting etiquette. Meetings between each years’ representatives will start in October and take place every week during Wednesday’s lunch period. First years, you have until the September 23^rd meeting to decide amongst yourselves who you’d like to represent your year at these meetings.

“A few closing remarks, fifth year Emma Vanity returns as quidditch captain this year. If you have questions about the house team and what positions are available, see her. For those of you who missed it, the password for the common room is currently Septimus. That concludes all discussion points for the Slytherin house informal meeting for the first of September, 1973. If you missed anything or have any questions, see second year Regulus Black for the meeting minutes. Sixth year prefects, please show the first years where their dormitories are located.”

Those last words were obviously a dismissal, and everyone started to move at once. Henry didn’t know what to think. Formal house meetings every month? Assigned mentors for first years? Year representatives? Nothing like any of this had been done in Gryffindor house.

Remembering how he and Ron had gotten lost on their way to the very first Transfigurations class, Henry couldn’t help but think the mentor thing at the least was a good difference. But it was not at all what he’d expected from Slytherins. He’d thought they would be the type to let their first years fall in head first and sink or swim. Though he supposed it made a weird kind of sense. Slytherins were all about upholding their image, having their first years wander around looking clueless did nothing to help that image. And the meetings thing made sense when you realized just how much stake Slytherins put into politics.

“Frost,” Severus said, cutting through Henry’s thoughts. “Follow me.” Henry did so without question, following closely on Severus’ heels as he cut a path across the common room and headed down one of the corridors that branched from the room. “This is the third year boys’ dormitory,” Severus announced, stopping outside the sixth door in the hallway.

There were five four-poster beds inside the room with dark green curtains and black bedding. Surprisingly enough, there were also five desks in the room, one next to each bed, and over each desk was a charmed window showing the outside sky like the ceiling of the Great Hall. The bed closest to the door had Henry’s trunk at the foot of it and Widgit’s cage sat on the desk. There was a second doorway that Henry assumed led to the restroom.

Severus’ bed was apparently the one next to Henry’s. He crossed over to it and sat down without another word. Henry headed first for his desk. He peered into Widgit’s cage and found a familiar pair of amber eyes looking back at him from inside the cactus. Henry frowned. “You sure you want to live in the dungeons? The owlery may be better for hunting and stretching your wings.” Widgit rolled his eyes and Henry shrugged. “Suit yourself, dust mop.”

“You’re talking to a cactus,” an accented voice stated from the doorway, startling Henry.

Henry flushed. “No, I’m talking to…” he glanced at the cage and saw no sign of Widgit inside it. “Never mind.”

“I’m Aleksandar Nicoli. You may call me Nico. My sister, Anastasia, is also in our year. She answers to Nicoli. From the both of us, welcome to Hogwarts.” Nico was a few centimeters taller than Henry, but he was also a bit overweight. He wasn’t as large as Dudley had been at this age, but he was definitely rounder than Neville’s third year plumpness. His sister on the other hand, from what Henry could recall seeing of her earlier that night, was the opposite: short and petite. Henry had noted the resemblance between them in the dark color of their hair and the harsh set of their brown eyes. Anastasia, though, had been a more pasty color while Aleksandar sported a summer tan. His accent was a thick and sounded as if he was talking with peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Henry said, but Nico hadn’t stuck around to hear it. He headed for his bed across the room and gave Harry a flippant wave over his shoulder. The boy called Gibbon entered after Nico and did nothing but glare at Henry as he headed for his bed. ‘Okay’ Henry mumbled to himself, then headed over to his trunk to get his pajamas and toothbrush. The way Gibbon eyed him as he did so made Henry think he should use the strongest locking charm he could find on the trunk and maybe even his bed hangings.

Severus gave Henry a look that said quite clearly “I told you so” and Henry just grinned back. He’d already known his stay in the snake pit was going to be difficult.

…

September first had fallen on a Saturday that year, so Henry didn’t have to worry about waking early enough on the second to get his schedule at breakfast and have time to rush back to his dorm and grab the course material needed for his first class. He didn’t actually sleep in, but he didn’t roll out of bed in any sort of hurry.

Gibbon, Lestrange, and Severus were already up and moving by time Henry woke. Lestrange was gone from the room, Gibbon was half dressed, and Severus was heading for the door. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment in Henry’s direction, but didn’t stop. Nico was still in bed, snoring quite loudly.

Henry groggily made his way to the bathroom. Passing a mirror, Henry let out a startled squeaking noise. His hair wasn’t as knotted and tangled as it had been the day before, instead it was sticking up in all directions in ways that defied gravity. Henry turned, and ran back into the dorm room. He opened his trunk and quickly retrieved the box of hair care products that Carrie had gifted him. Behind him, Gibbon let out a noise that was both amused and insulting.

Henry turned and leveled a glare in his direction, though he doubted it was very quelling given the state of his head. Gibbon just grinned smugly, before turning and striding out of the room. Henry frowned.

“It’s your magic,” Nico’s accented voice cut through his thoughts.

“Excuse me?” Henry asked, turning and looking at his still-mostly-asleep-but-at-least-upright roommate.

“You have excess magic pouring out of you. It’s the reason your hair is standing up like that. Not being able to control your magic at this age is like not being able to control your bladder. Gibbon was amused because you may as well have just pissed your pants.”

Henry huffed. “I can control my magic just fine.”

Nico make a grunting sound. “Whatever.”

It took all Henry’s willpower to resist the urge to try and flatten his hair with his hands. He gathered his clothes for the day and the hair products and returned to the bathroom.

Showering and washing his hair took much longer than he was used to. Afterward, he had to brush his hair and fight with the tangles that decided to make themselves known. He concentrated on feeling his magic to see if there was any truth to Nico’s words. He was surprised to discover just how much magic he was leaking; he wondered if he’d always leaked this way and had just never noticed. Was that the really the reason his hair had always been so impossible to control?

He took a deep breath and focused on pulling his magic back inside him. He’d gotten great practice in drawing his magic into his core when he’d first learned how to cast a Patronus Charm; high level magic like that required a great deal more control and what it lacked in finesse was made up for in brute strength. Brute strength that wasn’t possible if he couldn’t control how his magic spilled from him.

By the time he was done in the bathroom, breakfast was more than halfway over, but it was worth the extra time spent to see his hair lying flat and shiny. He felt more than a little smug when he passed Nico on the way out of the bathroom.

“You coming with me?” Henry asked, poking Widgit’s cage with his wand as he plopped down in his desk chair to put on his shoes.

Widgit let out a little trill and flew from his cactus to Henry’s shoulder. He took his favorite spot in the crook of Henry’s neck and used beak and fluttering wings to make Henry’s hair fall in a way that hid him from sight. “You going to hate me if I ever start tying my hair back,” Henry commented. There was a brush of feathers against the side of his neck, but otherwise Widgit offered no answer.