Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past
The Letters of Fall
By Viridian
….and then Ron and Neville went with me to visit Hagrid after lunch. He’s quite possibly the largest man I have ever seen, but he’s really a good bloke. I’ve only ever seen him get mad once, and that was at my uncle who was being really awful at the time. He’s the groundskeeper here at Hogwarts and he really loves animals. He took a look at Trevor, Neville’s toad and said the reason that Trevor was always getting lost is that he was hungry. Seems like the dried food pellets they sold Nev at Magical Menagerie don’t have everything a toad needs, so he was always scampering off looking for a bug or two. Hagrid gave him a little bottle of fish oil and said a drop or two in Trevor’s food each day should make a difference.
Professor McGonagall told me yesterday evening that it might take a couple of days to hear back from everyone she’s contacted, so I’m going to hold off on doing something about Snape. I’m not going to call him ‘professor’ Snape here, since he refuses to act like one… so make sure you don’t show this part of the letter to your mum!
Anyway, if someone can be found to do his job, I’ll file the complaint. From what I’ve read in Hogwarts: A History, it’s likely to start quite a row… but hopefully you won’t have to deal with him when you start next year. On the other hand, I discovered that Professor McGonagall is actually pretty nice, once you get past the gruff exterior she hides behind. She was pretty horrified by some things Snape had done, and really lit into him and the headmaster. She doesn’t play favorites, but it’s good to know you can trust her. There are not many people I can really say that about. I’m kind of glad I met you and your family before anyone at Kings Cross knew who I was. At least I know you were nice to ‘plain old Harry’, rather than that "The Boy Who Lived" rubbish. Just kidding!
Now, my wizarding life question for the week deals with laundry; how do magical people get their clothes clean? At Hogwarts, we just leave our grubbies in the hamper, and clean clothes appear, all neatly folded, on our beds when we get back from lunch. I don’t know if it’s a spell or what. Fred (or maybe George) said something about ‘House Elves’, but I don’t know if they were putting me on or not. I know there’s such a thing as a cleaning charm, but do those work on clothes? Or are they just for dirty surfaces, like a cutting board? I know at the Dursleys, I had to be careful because some fabrics couldn’t go into the washing machine. (Aunt Petunia really let me have it when I ruined one of her blouses, even though it was an accident.) Do you have similar restrictions with the spells or charms you use? Or does one method work for everything?
Anyway, I better cut this off before the letter gets too heavy for Hedwig to carry. I told her to wait for your reply, and I figure you won’t miss a few mice. It’s not like I’ll be suddenly seized by a mad desire to write to the Dursleys!
Hope to hear from you soon!
Your Friend,
Harry
PS — Hedwig loves it when you scratch the top and sides of her head.
Harry carefully folded the bundle of parchment into thirds, and then tied it with a bit of string and addressed it. He told Ron and Neville that he’d meet them for dinner and headed up to the owlery. Ron eyed the letter in Harry’s hand while they talked, but didn’t say anything about it.
The packet was surprisingly thick. He hadn’t been sleeping well and nightmares woke him up after three or four hours each night. He stayed after charms earlier in the week and asked professor Flitwick to show him a silencing charm. He said he wasn’t used to sleeping in a room with four other boys and let the tiny man assume it was a snoring issue. At least after that Harry didn’t wake everyone up in the middle of the night, and no one would ask how he knew the spell.
After one of his nightmares, there also wasn’t much he could do to get back to sleep. It was useless to pretend they were just dreams — most of them were drawn directly from his memories of the future. So he’d sit in the common room during the wee hours of the morning and add to the letter. It had a calming effect that was somewhat surprising, almost as if he was sitting with Ginny and talking directly to her. That worried him in a different way.
Harry hoped the letter was received well. He tried to be friendly, but not overly familiar, and encouraging without sounding like he was sucking up. Hopefully, telling her all about Hogwarts would dull her disappointment at being left behind this year, as well as lessen her anxieties when she started next year. Harry knew all too well how intimidating the castle’s strangeness could be. The housekeeping questions also gave him a pretext to keep writing to her through the year. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, things he had to hold back, lest he frighten her.
He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear the quiet steps behind him until the last minute. He spun as he heard a voice cry out "Accio parchment!"
Harry clutched the letter tightly in his hand as the spell tried to pry his fingers apart. He snarled as he saw Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry’s eyes narrowed as the spell ran out of power and his hand relaxed. His wand appeared in the other hand as if by magic.
"I know you thought you were so smart this morning, Potter!" the blond Slytherin sneered, "Always having to play it up for the crowd, aren’t you?"
"No Draco," Harry said wearily. "Snape asked me some questions, and I simply answered them." He paused. "It’s not my fault if you didn’t know all the answers."
"What’s that?" Draco asked, nodded at the letter in Harry’s hand. "You haven’t got any family. Not any real family anyway. So who are you writing to?"
"A friend, Draco. I know that’s a foreign concept. It’s someone who likes me regardless of whether I have money, or what my last name is. Now stop bothering me unless you want to be hexed into next week!"
Draco looked sideways at Crabbe and Goyle, and then raised his wand. "Stupefy!" they all cried at once.
"Protego!" Harry cast the shield charm without thinking. The poorly aimed stunning spells cast by Crabbe and Goyle ricocheted into the walls on either side of Harry. Draco’s aim was much better, to his misfortune. The red ray of light hit the glimmering shield dead center and rebounded to strike him directly in the chest.
"Potter!" Snape’s voice roared from behind Harry while Draco was still crumpling to the ground.
Harry spun toward the professor, but kept his wand by his side. Actually pointing it at the man would only provoke him to some worse violence. "Yes, professor?" he asked coolly.
"Dueling in the corridors is expressly forbidden, Potter. I’ll have you expelled for this."
"I think not, professor. A check of my wand will show the only spell I’ve cast was a shielding charm. Your star pupil over there cast the first spell, and managed to stun himself." Harry met Snape’s eyes without blinking, waiting for the man to start up again. Surprisingly, there was no attack.
"Very well," Snape growled. "I’ll see if your story is validated after Mr. Malfoy wakes up. Crabbe, Goyle, take Draco to the infirmary."
After they left, Harry’s heart was still pounding. He ran all the way to the owlery, and tied the slightly crumpled letter to Hedwig’s leg with shaky fingers. "Wait for Ginny’s response, girl," he whispered to his familiar. As he watched her fly off into the deepening twilight, Harry’s heart began to lift. Malfoy getting hold of that letter would have been an utter disaster. He took some steadying breaths and tried to get his emotions back under control. He’d come within a split-second of hexing Snape, and that would have sent events spiraling out of control. For some reason the man’s inability to go rummaging around in Harry’s mind seemed to drive him half mad. Why was that so important to him? I know he worked as a spy, is he suspicious of anyone he can’t read inside and out? Was he… was he wanting to do something besides just see what was in there?
Harry’s blood ran cold. He’d read that a highly skilled legilimens could implant suggestions or compulsions. He’d experienced that first-hand with the visions of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. What all did he do to me in my original first year?
Hermione chided him about his ‘saving people thing’ during fifth year. Ron got after him about being moody and depressed all the time, though he’d had good reason after learning about the prophecy. Ginny berated him for always trying to protect her, and pushing people away to ‘keep them safe’. How much of that was really him? How much of it rubbed off from living with the Dursleys? How much was left that couldn’t be accounted for? Was the rest the result of Snape-planted compulsions?
Harry noticed loose feathers and litter swirling around him. He could smell ozone, like the air right after lightning had struck nearby. He closed his eyes and forced his emotions back down. He hadn’t done accidental magic in years, according to his personal timeline, but the surge he’d felt was unmistakable. His rage and horror had almost run away with him, and Harry knew he couldn’t afford to lose control.
He was still numb as he made his way down toward the Great Hall. An even better question than what was why? Voldemort wasn’t even really alive during Harry’s first year, so why was Snape trying to do things to him now? He wasn’t even actively spying on the Dark Lord until after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Then Harry remembered something he’d read in a detective story: ‘Always look for the simplest explanation first.’ Severus Snape was a mean, vindictive man. Tormenting the son of James Potter would be as natural for him as breathing. Implanting subtle suggestions to do the same thing while he wasn’t there would be the next logical step.
He concluded that he might never know how much the changes in his former life might be due his own growing up, and how much might be from implanted suggestions and compulsions wearing off. He would not let himself think about how his decision to leave Ginny at Hogwarts for her own protection might have been influenced. That way lay the path to madness — or to murder.
Harry ignored the buzz of conversation in the Great Hall, emanating from those who came down early for dinner. He walked through the corridor that ran to the staff quarters and sighed when he saw Professor McGonagall. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him.
"Professor, could I speak with you for a moment," Harry asked, a little breathlessly.
She opened one of the classroom doors next to him and motioned him to step inside. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?" she asked once the door was shut.
"Yes, professor. I was attacked on the way to the owlery."
"You appear to be unharmed, Mr. Potter. Who did it?"
"Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Professor Snape stepped in after their first volley though, and told me I was to be expelled."
McGonagall inhaled with an angry noise. "Well, there is a prohibition in the school regulations, though it’s seldom enforced to such a degree."
Harry scowled. "Draco was only hit with his own stunner, but Professor Snape had him brought to the infirmary instead of reviving him immediately. I believe he did that so they could work out a story to tell. From what I’ve read there is a spell that will show the last spells cast by a wand. Would you mind terribly casting it on my wand so you can be a witness that the only thing I did was cast a shield charm?"
She looked at him a little oddly, but nodded. "Very well, hand me your wand, Mr. Potter."
Harry did so, though he now felt a little exposed without it.
"Priori Incantato!" she said as she tapped his wand with her own. An ethereal looking shield emerged from the tip, followed by a transfiguration spell she recognized from yesterday’s homework assignment. "That confirms your story, though I feel I should congratulate you. That’s fairly advanced defensive magic for someone of your age." She smiled a little as she handed him his wand back.
Harry shrugged like he was embarrassed as he scrambled for a way to explain. "Well, I didn’t have much to do over the summer. My Uncle wouldn’t let me out of my room for weeks at a time. Fortunately, I was able to send my owl to Flourish and Blotts with orders for books and have them charge it to my vault. At least my time wasn’t completely wasted," he concluded.
McGonagall stared at him for a moment, and Harry felt guilty for the lie… though it would have been true if the merger with his older self hadn’t happened… and his Aunt and Uncle had locked him in the cupboard under stairs for weeks at a time before he received his Hogwarts letter. Accidental magic was never seen as such. "Very well, Mr. Potter," she said, "Five points to Gryffindor for your restrained response and foresight in coming to me with this. You should go now, before you are late for dinner."
Harry’s hands were still shaking by the time he sat down with his friends.
~+~
That weekend, Harry pretty much confined himself to the Gryffindor Tower when not eating in the Great Hall. He got a good bit ahead in his homework and even farther ahead in his reading. Hermione was ecstatic to have a study partner who seemed as willing to work as hard as she was. Ron and Neville also spent a good part of the weekend with them, getting caught up on all their classes.
Harry’s studious urges, however, evaporated Sunday morning when Hedwig landed in front of him with a letter attached to her leg. Harry fed her a sausage while he carefully untied the message. Ron looked at Harry a little curiously, but didn’t say anything. Harry just tucked the parchment into his robes and went back to eating his breakfast while Hedwig took off for the owlery.
Harry managed to work on his transfiguration essay with Hermione until lunch. By that point, he couldn’t think of anything except for the letter resting in his pocket. After lunch he retired to his dormitory for a bit of a lay-down. He unfolded the parchment and began reading.
Dear Harry,
I was surprised when I got your owl Friday night, but not as surprised as Mum! She thought the letter was for her, and Hedwig snapped at her when she tried to take it off her leg. By the way, she is the most gorgeous owl I have ever seen, and smart too. She wouldn’t eat any of the snacks the twins left behind. That’s a good thing too!
I really liked your description of Hogwarts and your classes. Ron promised he’d write me, but he hasn’t yet, the prat. I can’t believe how mean the potions teacher was. You ought to hex him good! I can teach you one that I use on my brothers. It’s called the bat-bogey hex and it’s really, really gross what it does to people. That’s why I like it. Even Fred and George were impressed the first time I used it on them. (They dyed my hair blue as a prank, only it didn’t wash out for a week! Mum was furious!)
I’m afraid my letter won’t be as thick as yours, on account of there not being much going on here. Mum is a little sad with no boys in the house now. She likes spending time with me, but all she wants to do is bake things. I like biscuits as much as the next person, but if I don’t watch it you’ll have to roll me onto the Hogwarts Express.
I take that back. She did try to teach me how to knit, but that was an utter disaster. I also found out that degnoming the garden without any brothers takes forever. At least now I know Ron is good for something after all. (Please tell him I said that, maybe he’ll remember he’s supposed to write me!) Walking to the village for groceries is okay, as long as it isn’t too warm.
Before I forget, I asked Mum about cleaning charms and she wanted to know why. When I told her you’d written to me asking about that she got the oddest look on her face. None of my brothers will do any washing up unless she’s holding a wand on them, so she thought it was a little odd. When I explained you were raised by muggles she understood though — I hope you don’t mind. Anyway, she said there’s one charm she uses for laundry and another for cleaning…
Harry smiled as his eyes traced down the page. Her letter was written almost as a stream on consciousness. It reminded him a little of how she’d sit with him after Sirius and Albus died and he was brooding. She didn’t ask him how he was feeling, or get confrontational at all. She’d just sit close to him, holding his hand later on, and chatter on about nothing at all. Her voice would distract him from his problem; even as her closeness silently reassured him he was not alone.
He wasn’t even aware when he dropped off into a dreamless sleep, the first one he’d had since returning to Hogwarts. He didn’t awaken until early Monday morning.
~+~
Harry was particularly careful when classes resumed on Monday. The situation with Snape and Malfoy was deteriorating far faster than he remembered from before. He’d hoped the incident on the train would have encouraged the Slytherin to reconsider his path. Instead, being beaten so decisively must have infuriated the pureblood. Snape’s repeated failures to violate Harry’s mind seemed to have also set the professor on the warpath.
At least nothing came of Snape’s threats after Draco was stunned. Harry was fairly certain he had his head of house to thank for that.
Ron had been pestered Harry on an almost daily basis to show him some muggle fighting tricks. That afternoon they only had a single class, so Harry led Ron out to an open field near the Quidditch pitch. Neville tagged along as well. Harry demonstrated a couple of holds and they did a few exercises before both of his friends were red-faced and puffing. Harry frowned at them thoughtfully.
"All right, that’s enough," he said.
"But we just got started," Ron protested. Neville was too winded to speak.
"Yeah, and you’re all but falling down, Weasley."
Ron’s face turned a little redder, but he didn’t argue, which Harry felt was a minor miracle. "We need to set our alarms for an hour earlier tomorrow," he said firmly.
"Blimey, why would we want to do that?"
"Because we are coming down here every morning and running around the pitch a few times. You need to get in shape if you want to learn this stuff. Or do you like Goyle using you as a punching bag?" Truth be told, Harry knew he could use the exercise as well. He was skinnier than Ron, but not that much better in physical condition.
"I suppose not," Ron admitted dejectedly.
"Besides, you’re always talking about playing Quidditch. I’ll bet your play improves if you get into shape. You’ll be able to move faster, anyway."
That did it. Ron straightened up and looked Harry in the eye. "Do you think an hour early is enough?" he asked fiercely.
Neville just shook his head as he tried to get his wind back.
Hermione, however, did not think it was such a good idea… and she let them know all about it when Ron mentioned it at dinner.
"Harry, I don’t think you should be teaching these boys how to fight."
"Crikey Hermione, have you seen the size of those junior trolls that hang out with Malfoy?" Ron sputtered.
"That’s just it, Ron. You shouldn’t be fighting him at all."
"But he’s always messing with us!" the red-headed boy protested.
Harry sighed. After the disastrous first potions class, it was a minor miracle if any Gryffindor got a completed potion turned in for grading. If Draco and his cronies weren’t tossing things in to disrupt the brewing, then Snape was banishing the contents of their cauldrons because they supposedly hadn’t done something right. Harry just ignored the steady stream of zero scores he received and concentrated on taking good notes for their eventual O.W.L. revision. Those mattered a lot more than whatever grade the professor did or didn’t assign.
"You should go to a professor when there’s a problem, Ronald!" Hermione insisted. Harry winced. She only used full names when she was getting really wound up.
"Hermione," Harry asked quietly. "What if the professor is the problem?"
She didn’t really have a good answer for that and just huffed.
~+~
Tuesday morning, Harry was up before the alarm clock. His nightmares weren’t completely back, but his sleep was troubled. He put on a baggy t-shirt and gym shorts that Dudley had out-grown. They looked fairly ridiculous on his skinny frame, but they were all Harry had. He woke Ron and Neville at six and they grumbled as they dug through their trunks for summer clothes they could run in.
Harry thought a minute, then took a broken shoelace and tied it around the end of his wand. He looped it around his neck and slid the wand down the neck of his shirt. He wasn’t going anywhere unarmed if he could help it. The sun was just peeking over the Forbidden Forest, silhouetting the castle, when they jogged out to the pitch.
Harry led them around the perimeter of the playing field, setting the pace at around a slow jog. The American war-mages he and Ron worked with set a great store in staying physically fit. They were always doing some sort of exercises every day, as if they couldn’t stand to sit still. Harry wasn’t quite as fanatical, but he couldn’t deny the effects it had on their fighting. They dodged - ducking, leaping, and rolling like crazed monkeys — all the while casting a steady stream of curses. They also weren’t afraid to get up close to their enemies. Most of them carried a short blade of some sort, and all of them knew some variety of martial arts. The biggest initial advantage the Death-Eaters had was their use of the Unforgivable Curses and a willingness to use noncombatants as hostages and distractions. Once the Americans adapted their tactical rules, something General Hastings called the "Rules of Engagement", the Death Eaters were quickly on the run. Working with General Hastings’ men had given Harry tremendous respect for their training, and he intended to recreate it as much as possible. He intended for his friends to be able to defend themselves the best way he knew how. If he had to form Dumbledore’s Army all over again in this timeline, then he intended to make it an army in more than just name.
Looking back at his friends, he saw they were starting to fade. Both of them were breathing hard, but Neville’s face was turning an alarming shade of purple as he struggled to catch his breath. Nonetheless, the heavier boy was doggedly following Ron’s heels. Harry slowed his pace with some relief as well, and they did a final lap at a fast walk to cool down. Both boys looked discouraged as they trudged back to the castle, but Harry told them it would get better. They just had to go a little bit farther each day.
They cleaned up and showered just in time to make it to the Great Hall for breakfast. Hermione was already sitting down when they arrived, and Harry noticed that the other first year Gryffindors had left spaces around her. Her bossiness is still an issue with her, Harry mused. She looked up gratefully as they arrived. Both Neville and Ron had a good bit of healthy color to their faces, even after their showers. If Hermione noticed, she didn’t say anything though.
By the time Thursday rolled around with their first flying lesson, Harry was eating breakfast and still wondering what he should do. Retrieving Neville’s Remembrall had brought him to Professor McGonagall’s notice and gotten him the seeker spot on the Quidditch team. On the other hand, Neville had to fall off his broom and break his wrist for that to happen. Harry was leery about altering things too much this early on, but was him getting on the Quidditch team that important? He enjoyed the game immensely, even though he hadn’t gotten to play since that last pick-up game at The Burrow after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Harry blinked and swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. It took half a goblet of pumpkin juice before he could eat again. Their wedding had been the last truly happy occasion in his former life, before things had all gone wrong.
Harry clenched his jaw. To hell with fate! I’m going to do right by my friends first and foremost. If I change things too much, well, they could hardly turn out worse, could they? As long as I don’t completely blow my cover, I’ll change what I can, and Merlin help anyone that threatens my friends or family this time around.
"Alright, Harry?"
Harry blinked and looked up into Ron’s concerned blue eyes. "Yeah, just thinking, Ron."
His friend frowned. "Don’t worry about the flying lesson," Ron said in a comforting tone. "It’s a lot easier than it looks." He glanced over at Hermione who was frantically paging through Quidditch Through the Ages. "Bill and Charlie said that their muggle-born friends all started off really nervous, but ended up doing great."
Harry raised his eyebrows at Neville, but the round-faced boy was staring down at his plate. Was Ron actually trying to reassure ‘impossibly bossy’ Hermione? He wondered, not for the first time, how long his friend had really been in denial in the original timeline.
Neville, sunk in his own misery, hadn’t picked up on that. "My gran never let me on a broom at home. Said I’d break my fool neck." Any questions Harry had about interfering on Neville’s behalf were annihilated by the hopeless look on the boy’s face.
"I’ve never been on one either," Harry admitted, "So Ron will have to show us how it’s done." Neville sighed and began eating again. Ron’s ears went pink at the praise, but he didn’t seem to want to show off as much as Harry remembered. Maybe they’d be spared that ridiculous hang glider story this time around.
His face brightened when Hedwig swooped down with a letter attached to her leg.
~+~
That afternoon, Harry’s heart couldn’t help but lift as they marched out onto the grounds. He loved flying, even if it was on a creaky old school broom. He caught Ron’s eye as they approached the Slytherins gathered around the broomsticks. He also had another letter from Ginny tucked into his robes, waiting to be read after supper.
"Keep an eye on Hermione," he whispered to Ron.
His friend frowned at him. It was evidently one thing for him to do something nice spontaneously, but quite another once someone suggested it to him.
Harry rolled his eyes. "She’s still a Gryffindor, and we’ve got to take care of our own," he explained, still whispering. "Besides, I don’t trust the Slytherins."
Ron’s eyes narrowed and he gave a curt nod. Harry veered off and made sure he was walking right beside Neville when they arrived.
Madam Hooch’s introduction went the same as he remembered, but this time when they all said "Up!", Hermione and Neville’s brooms rose slowly with the rest of the class.
As they prepared to launch, Harry reached over and grabbed Neville’s shoulder. "Make sure you don’t kick off too hard," he said quietly. This time Neville kept it under control and only raised a couple of feet into the air. Madam Hooch had them repeat the exercise a few times until everyone was comfortable. Then she began to explain how to turn and he and Neville both pivoted smoothly.
Harry smiled at the relieved Neville, and only had time to register his look of alarm before something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him off the broom.
There was an instant of blackness and Harry realized he was on his hands and knees, staring down at the grass. He blinked and sat up, groaning.
"You all right, mate?" He looked up at Ron.
"I think so, what happened?" He saw Madam Hooch leaning over Neville, who was lying flat on the ground. Malfoy was standing over her, loudly denouncing the poor quality of the school brooms.
"Crabbe and Goyle suddenly lost control and slammed into you and Neville. They’re playing it up like it was an accident," he said disgustedly and glared at Draco. "Though they somehow managed to land on top of both of you. The school brooms aren’t great but they aren’t that bad, it’s just another filthy lie from those no-good snakes."
"Neville hasn’t moved yet," Hermione said in a worried voice. "I think he’s unconscious."
Madam Hooch waved Draco off with an impatient gesture. She pulled out her wand and gently lifted the unconscious Neville into the air. "Mr. Potter, are you all right?" Hooch asked. "Can you walk?" she called back over her shoulder as she slowly levitated Neville toward the castle.
"I’m fine," Harry replied.
"We’ll let Poppy be the judge of that," Hooch countered. "Please follow me to the infirmary, but set your own pace. Mr. Weasley?"
Ron straightened guiltily. "Yes?" he asked, swallowing.
"Please accompany Mr. Potter to the infirmary. He took a good blow to the head. If he has any difficulties, please summon the nearest staff member. I’m taking Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing now. The rest of you," she concluded, raising her voice, "brooms down now or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’!"
Harry climbed to his feet blinking. Ron helped steady him, but his legs weren’t that wobbly. "I’m okay," he said quietly. "He just stunned me for a second."
As they walked back toward the castle, Harry’s legs grew even steadier. He did, however, become aware of some bruises on his back and a large knot that was forming on the back of his head.
"Give that back, Malfoy!"
They both froze when they heard Hermione’s voice behind them. Harry spun around, ignoring the ache that flared from the back of his skull.
Hermione was trying to get around a laughing Crabbe and Goyle, while Draco held something over his head. He looked like Christmas had come early for him.
"I don’t take orders from filthy Mudbloods," the blond Slytherin sneered. "Oh, and it’s addressed to Harry Potter! It must be some of his fan mail!"
Harry’s blood went cold and he patted his robes. The letter from Ginny was gone. He felt his school robes billowing around him as charged back down the grassy slope. He saw Draco’s eyes light up with malicious glee as he approached.
"Oh Potter, a missive from one of your adoring fans… surely you get so many, it mustn’t be that important, right? Surely you can share it with the rest of us?"
"Give it here, you thieving, low-life bastard!" Harry snarled.
"I don’t think so, Potter," Draco yelled as he leapt onto his broom and shot into the air, "Why don’t you make me?"
Harry grabbed his broom and shot into the air like he’d been fired out of a cannon. Oddly enough, Hermione didn’t yell at him about getting into trouble this time. Maybe she was angry about the Mudblood comment. Harry found himself too angry to enjoy his first broomstick flight like he had last time, though he did enjoy the shocked look on Draco’s face as he wheeled his broom around and fled. Harry pursued him more aggressively this time, and looped around him before Draco had gotten more than a quarter of the way around the grounds. The Slytherin pulled back as Harry swerved in front of him.
"No bodyguards up here, Draco. Are you sure you want me to make you?" Harry taunted.
Draco’s face purpled and he took the crumpled up letter in his hand and hurled it downward. "Catch it if you can!" He called out as he turned and fled.
Harry dived without thinking. There was no time to pull out his wand. Draco had evidently been wadding up the parchment as he fled, because it fell like a stone… straight toward the Whomping Willow. Harry cursed and pushed the old broom for every last bit of speed it had. The animated tree would tear the letter to pieces and scatter them to the four winds. When he had time to reflect back on it, he’d question why he was so determined to save it, but for now he was only focused on his dive.
Harry veered around two thick boughs, one of which was already swinging around to block him. He swerved to avoid another branch when the balled up parchment bounced off the trunk at a point nearly thirty feet above the gnarled roots.
The tree reacted to this contact in its typical fashion. Every branch and twig whipped through the air toward the location of the disturbance. Harry barely managed to thread between the converging limbs. He leaned over and grabbed the letter less than a yard above the ground. Harry then hauled back on the broom with all his might and managed to swerve enough to miss the ground and loop back into the air, well clear of the murderous tree.
Harry smoothed out the crumpled parchment with trembling fingers as he used his knees to guide the broom back to his stunned classmates. He tucked the letter back into his robes as he landed. Harry was so stunned that he didn’t even jump when Professor McGonagall shrieked his name.
He numbly watched Ron and Hermione try to placate their distraught head of house as his mind raced. He’d tried to consciously change something, but this time events occurred that… pushed… things back to the way they were before. Did this mean that fate was immutable? Was everything going to happen the same way again? It seemed like he’d made a difference already with Neville, but was he just fooling himself? Or was Neville’s changed attitude not going to make a difference --- was he still going to die defending the castle in his seventh year?
He was operating pretty much on auto-pilot as McGonagall introduced him to Oliver Wood, but this time his fears were not as simple as just getting expelled. Was he fooling himself thinking anything had really changed at all? At the expense of not playing Quidditch his first year he’d consciously decided to not let Neville get hurt. Now here they were: Neville hurt even worse than last time, and Harry about to become the youngest Seeker in about a century.
Again.
Harry never imagined getting to play Quidditch would cause him to feel this much dread.
Was fate immutable?
Author Notes:
Yes, the title of this chapter is a nod toward Kokopelli, who has been pulling yeoman duty polishing up my grammar and occasional Americanism. (Though I could swear I heard the word 'gotten' used during a Monty Python skit...)