March 1 1991

“Damn it Moony,” Sirius whined, his wand in a constant blur of motion as he cast every healing charm he knew, “You can’t do this to me.”

“If it’s my time,” the Werewolf whispered, “it’s my time. No regrets Padfoot, I’ve had a good run.”

“Bullshit!” the dog animagus opined. “You owe me two galleons from when I paid for dinner last week. You aren’t stiffing me!” Sirius’ heart broke when his oldest friend slipped into unconsciousness.

Serena popped into being next to Sirius. “You were supposed to meet me for breakfast Lover,” she said wrapping herself around him. “Isn’t it a bit late to be playing hard to… what happened?”

“Remus is hurt, badly,” Sirius answered distractedly as he tried again to close Remus’ wounds.

“Well, get him to one of your healers,” Serena suggested, moving to the other side of the bed to take Remus’ hand.

“He’s too weak to move,” Sirius said, tears in his eyes. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, his wounds are cursed, and they won’t close.”

“Oh, hell, you Wand Users,” Serena said before standing upright and looking toward the ceiling. “Calling Dr. Bombay! Calling Dr. Bombay, Emergency! Come right away!”

Sirius paused from what he was doing to stare at his girlfriend as if she’d gone mad, until two people suddenly appeared in the center of the room. The man was dressed in a Muggle top hat and tails, while the woman was in a shimmering blue gown that hugged every curve of her extraordinarily female body. Atop her auburn hair was a nurse’s cap.

“We have tickets to the Opera, so let’s get to this, shall we?” the man asked as he doffed his hat depositing a pair of white gloves into it before handing the hat to his nurse and producing a black doctor’s bag from nowhere. “Where is my patient?”

Serena gestured toward the stricken man on the bed, before moving out of the way to stand next to the nurse.

“Cursed wounds? I haven’t seen those since Medical School,” Bombay said after he waved a small silver instrument over Remus and somehow read its output.

“Can you help him?” Sirius asked hopefully.

“Can I help him? Can I help him?” Bombay asked incredulously. “I’ll have you know sir, I am Hubert Bombay, Physician, Healer, cum Laude graduate of the University of Wagadou, back when that still meant something! And you ask can I help him?”

“Can you?” Sirius asked again.

“Of course I can old boy,” the Doctor answered, digging into his black bag for a moment and producing a small orange pill. “This will have him right as rain in a jiff.”

Bombay leaned down and placed the pill between unconscious Remus Lupin’s lips, and then he stepped back from the bed and pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Wait for it… Three, two, one.”

As if on cue, Remus arched his back and light issued from every orifice and from each of his bloody wounds.

---===oooOOOooo===---

“Serena,” the nurse said as she watched the doctor work from across the room. “Which one is your new mortal beau? Or is it both of them?”

“Pull in your claws, Candice;” Serena sniffed. “I hardly ever do that anymore. The cutie with the beard has been mine for the last few years.”

“Hmm. Tasty,” Candi opined. “What about the other one? Once you get past the blood and scars, he’s awfully cute in a rumpled sort of way. Is he seeing anyone?”

“Remus? Free and single,” Serena nodded. “He’s something of a man of mystery too. He has some big secret that neither he nor Sirius will talk about, but this isn’t the first time he’s been hurt, just the worst.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I detecting trouble in paradise?” Serena asked, getting her own catty dig in as the room flooded with the light of Lupin’s healing. “I thought you and Hubert were together?”

“I caught him ‘interviewing’ a new nurse last month,” Candi explained. “He’s never been one to settle down for long… and of course, neither am I.” She paused as the light died and she got a good look at the stricken man for the first time. “Ooh. Cleaned up, he’s even cuter. Yum, yum, get me some.”

---===oooOOOooo===---

Remus woke to find Sirius hovering over him. He had felt himself dying, then oblivion, and then… he felt great. What the hell had happened? “Wha?” he began.

“Lay still young man,” a stranger in Muggle eveningwear said, while examining a silver implement of some kind. “Odd, your wounds seem to have been self-inflicted, as was the curse laid into them, and you have a reaction to silver…” The stranger’s eyes went wide for a moment as he turned to a large black leather bag and dug around for a moment before emerging with a large brass tuning fork. “One moment please,” He struck the fork on the headboard of Remus’ bed, then grasping the newly healed man’s left foot, he raised the leg to almost vertical and placed the shaft of the vibrating fork into the back of Remus’ knee.

“Turn your head and stick out your tongue please,” The Doctor commanded. After a moment of indecision, Remus complied.

“Good God man,” the Doctor said as he released Remus’s leg and put the fork back into his bag. “Are you aware that you have partially realized lycanthropy? I haven’t seen a case like this for 83 years.”

“Fully realized,” Remus corrected. “Since I was six.”

“Preposterous, you are no more a fully realized lycanthrope that I am. If you were, you would not have done yourself such damage. Sit up.”

Remus complied with the instructions. Whoever this man was, he was obviously one hell of a healer. The werewolf could not remember ever feeling so… well. Certainly not since Greyback had turned him. He watched as the healer removed his jacket and hung it on… nothing. It just hung suspended in midair.

That was when the realization hit him. This fellow must be one of Sam’s people.

Now the healer was behind him, with both arms under Remus’, his hands locked behind the werewolf’s neck in a full nelson hold. “Both feet flat on the floor if you will,” the healer said as he twisted Remus’ torso to the left, and then pushed forward until his left shoulder touched his right knee. “Very good. My other patients could take lessons from you in following directions. Let us see if you can keep it up. Grab each earlobe with the opposite hand.”

That did not make much sense, but he was still feeling good so Remus complied. “Very good,” the healer said by his right ear. “Now, take a deep breath and hold it.”

As soon as Remus had taken that deep breath, the healer twisted Lupin’s torso to the right violently.

Remus screamed.

---===oooOOOooo===---

Serena tried to ignore the man’s screams by telling herself that Dr. Bombay was the best in the world, which was why the family used him exclusively. Still, in the almost three years she had been dating Sirius, she had come to quite like the quiet studious Remus Lupin. Hearing his pain was heart wrenching to say the least.

Finally, the screaming stopped and Remus was on his hands and knees on the floor. “What the hell was that for?” he rasped.

“Your magical core was slightly twisted by the early stages of your condition, old boy. I had to straighten it so that you could access the fullness of your gift.” Bombay said in his normal jovial tone.

“My gift?”

“Indeed,” Bombay agreed, pulling yet another tool from his bag. “Time for you to change. And this time, do try and do it right, would you?”

“Change?” Remus thundered, his mild mannered personality submerged by the pain he had so recently endured. “I can’t change, not without the moon, and I wouldn’t change around people.”

“The moon has nothing to do with it old boy,” the doctor said dismissively, “that is pure superstition. You need to change to keep your core from twisting again. Concentrate on the wolf and do it.”

“I can’t!” Remus declared.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Bombay sighed, as he jabbed the golden object into Remus’ shoulder. Again the man screamed.

“The pain stops when you change,” Bombay said.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sirius moved to stop this newest attack on his friend, only to find himself unable to move and standing next to his girlfriend.

“Let the Doctor do his job Lover,” Serena whispered, “He knows what he’s doing.”

Before their eyes, Remus changed. Not to the wolf form that Sirius was familiar with, but to something else. Easily seven foot tall, broad shouldered, and covered with a deep auburn fur, his head changed, but still more human than the wolf, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and his screams became a howl.

Bombay withdrew his device while showing no concern about his patient’s new form. “Feeling better?”

Serena saw Candice suddenly become weak in the legs, having to grab hold of a chair to keep from falling to the floor. The young witch’s eyes were dilated and her stare unblinking as she licked her lips as if she was a starving woman who had just spotted her next meal.

Serena had to smile. Candi was a bit of a furry? Who knew?

---===oooOOOooo===---

Remus stared at his hands. He had changed, but it was not the same. Then he realized he was thinking. There was no beast, it was him. He watched as the healer busied himself with putting away his instruments and then putting his jacket back on.

“A full recovery. Now that you know how to do the change, you have full charge of your gift old boy. No more baying at the moon for you… unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I’m… I’m still… me.” Remus rumbled, his voice very different in this form.

“Of course you are. When Bombay heals you, you stay healed. Now then, think about being human again.”

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, and then he opened them he was human. No pain, no stress, just moving from one form to another. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“No worries, you’ll get my bill, that will be thanks enough.” The man turned to his companion. “Ready to go Candice?”

The redhead crossed the room, removing her nurse’s cap as she did so, handing the cap to the Doctor when she got to his side. “Hubbie, I quit.”

“Candice?” the Doctor asked.

“I feel the need to go into private nursing,” she said, as she moved next to Remus, causing his tattered clothing to change to sapphire blue lounging pajamas and levitating him back to his bed, that was suddenly covered in silk sheets.

Bombay shook his head and sighed. “I lose more nurses this way.” And he was gone.

---===oooOOOooo===---

July 31 1991

“Harry,” the blonde woman said as she led the boy into the room, gesturing for her son to sit down at the table across from the Headmaster. “This is Professor Dumbledore, he’s the Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft.”

Albus watched as Harry Potter… no, Harry Stevens he corrected himself, carefully settled himself in the chair and placed his the strangely oversized leather glove and an equally oversized silver metal beater’s bat on the floor next to his chair. Harry was dressed in a blue tee shirt and denim shorts, with an odd cap atop his head. It was obvious that the boy did not want to embarrass his mother in front of company. “Hello sir.” The boy said, “It is nice to meet you, I’ve heard all about Hogwarts. It sounds like a great school.”

“Good afternoon Harry and a happy birthday to you. I’m sorry for interrupting your game.”

“That’s alright sir, the game was almost over anyway,” the boy responded with a shrug and a smile.

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of Hogwarts,” Albus said quietly, trying to get a feel for the boy. “Did we impress your mother that much?”

Harry took on a confused expression for a moment, before looking toward his mother. “I didn’t know she had ever been there sir, I mostly know of your school from stories I’ve been told by my Godfather and Uncle Remus, and the tour Auntie Endora took us on last year.”

Dumbledore looked up in surprise, wondering about the ‘tour’ the boy claimed to have had. “I knew that Sirius was looking for you, but I was unaware that your mother had allowed him contact with you, or that Remus even knew where you were.”

“Sirius contacted me wanting to reconnect with Harry several years ago,” Samantha Stevens interjected. “And where Sirius goes, Remus is never far behind.”

“That was true, even when they were boys,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

“They are both lots of fun to hang out with,” Harry said. “Almost family, but you do not want to go into the back yard at night and find Uncle Remus and his new girlfriend playing Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.” The boy shuddered at the memory, “trust me on that one.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said when he clearly did not.

“They, Remus especially, have told me what classes you offer at Hogwarts,” Harry continued, “and in all honesty Professor, unfortunately, nothing of what your school teaches will help me in what I want to do when I grow up.”

“A Hogwarts education opens the door to an endless variety of occupations Harry,” Albus said gently. “What is it you would like to do?”

“I want to be an Astronaut, I want to go to Mars,” the boy said with a small smile that spoke of dreams, “to do that I need math and science, and a good grounding in English, US and World History and other general studies. From what Sirius and Remus have told me, a Hogwarts education doesn’t really teach any of those things.”

Dumbledore put aside his confusion at the boy’s stated goals and unfamiliar terms for the moment and tried another argument. “In my experience, the career goals of an 11 year old, no matter how impressive, have a tendency to change radically by the time he becomes an adult.”

“Oh, I know that Professor,” the boy nodded. “My sister laughs at me all the time about it, telling me if I want to go to Mars, I should just do it. But I want to do it the right way, and I don’t want to have to, you know, not talk about it.”

It was only his experience in politics that kept Albus from showing his amazement at the casual way the boy referred to ‘going to Mars’. It could not truly be possible to do such a thing… could it?

“I think I would like to get to know Hogwarts,” the boy said wistfully, “I’d really like to know where my birth parents came from… and see what has happened to the place Gran helped build after a thousand years… but to be away from my family for ten months of the year… I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“I see…” Dumbledore nodded, at something of a loss having never heard this reason when he had made home visits. In fact the usual response he had received had been enthusiastic acceptance. “Perhaps your family could be convinced to move to…”

“No, Professor,” Samantha Stevens said with a small grin. “That isn’t an option.”

“You accept day students?” Harry said perking up.

“Well, not normally,” Albus temporized. “Exceptions have been made in the past, but...”

“Great!” the boy enthused. “Then I can do both!”

“Do both?” Samantha asked suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Auntie Endora taught Tab and me temporal transfers last year. I can go to Hogwarts and then loop the day so that I can go to real school.”

Dumbledore found himself distracted momentarily from deciphering what a temporal transfer might be by the suggestion that Hogwarts might not be a ‘real’ school, and then started putting the words together.

“Time travel?” He gasped. Time travel in the hands of an eleven year old?

“Well, that would make for long weeks, but it could work, I suppose…” Samantha nodded. “As long as you keep up with your chores and your grades don’t start to slip. Your father and I will need to discuss it of course.”

“Time travel? You can’t serious be contemplating putting a time turner in the hands of a child.”

Samantha and Harry turned to look at the Headmaster.

“Time turner?” Harry asked.

“Is that some sort of time travel device?” Samantha asked. “No, Harry would do it normally. My mother made sure he knew the mechanics of the act. It isn’t hard, and as long as he doesn’t go outside his lifespan there shouldn’t be any significant issues, and attending your school shouldn’t require that.”

“But what about isolation? What protections would there be to prevent him from coming into contact with himself?” Albus asked desperately. “What if his time displaced self is seen?”

“Why shouldn’t I come into contact with myself?” Harry asked.

“You can’t change what has happened; you must not cause a paradox.”

“Professor,” Samantha said gently. “The act of time travel inherently causes changes. On a quantum level blocking a single sun beam is as important an event as killing your grandfather.”

“Why would I want to kill my grandfather?” Harry asked. “I’ve had myself over for sleep overs a couple of times already. Sometimes we plan an ambush on Tabitha and the later me knows if it’s going to work.”

Again, Dumbledore found himself astounded at the power levels these people were so casual about using. Still, if it would get the boy to Hogwarts so that Tom would not have a chance to win when he came back… There was nothing to do but accept what had fallen into his lap.

“So,” Albus said trying very hard to not think about the power level he was inviting into his school, “We can expect you at Hogwarts on September first?”

---===oooOOOooo===---

Harry, Tabitha and Adam entered the family room to find their parents waiting for them. Gran was there as well, along with Auntie Endora, Harry noted. Then both Uncle Maurice and Uncle Arthur popped into the room.

Oh oh . Harry thought. Uncle Maurice really did not like Uncle Arthur. It would take something really serious to get the pair of them into the same room. Ok , Harry told himself as he took in the expressions the adults’ faces. Not a surprise party then . Had his decision about Hogwarts made everyone angry? Then it struck him that he hadn’t yet mentioned his plans to Tab… how was she going to take it?

“Sit down kids,” Darrin instructed.

The three children took their seats. Tabitha openly curious as to what was going on, seven year old Adam not sure what was going on, but happy to be included, and Harry just wondering if he had made a mistake.

“Twelve years ago,” Uncle Maurice said his voice quiet, yet somehow still filling the room, “a young woman was looking for a job teaching at the Wand Users’ school in Britain. To get that job she made a false prophecy. That manufactured prophecy ended up focusing the attention of a criminal on our Harry.”

Tabitha and Adam looked to Harry in concern.

“Is that how Gran found me?”

“It is Harry,” Gran Clara said with a nod. “I felt my grandson pass in violence. I when to where he had died to investigate and I arrived to find you about to be attacked.”

“You came to us, and we were thrilled to have yet another member of our family among us,” Uncle Maurice continued. “We learned of the false prophecy when Clara and your mother went to speak to the head of the Wand User’s school. The Wand Users believed the prophecy to be valid, both the man you met today, and the villain who attacked your birth family.”

Harry nodded. Dumbledore’s interest in him as a student suddenly made a little more sense.

“The villain?” Tabitha interrupted. “I thought Great Aunt Clara took care of him.”

“I did,” Clara admitted. “But I didn’t kill him. I separated his soul from his body.”

“The evil so and so has been living ever since possessing random animals and the occasional mortal silly enough to believe his promises of power and treasure,” Uncle Arthur explained. “If you want to call that living.”

“Once Clara and your mother heard of the Wand Users’ prophecy, they went to the Witches Council to consult with our Book of Prophecies.” Auntie Endora continued the story. “There they learned that the one the Wand Users had invested so much time and effort into was false, but their belief in that lie brought about a pair of true prophecies that the council holds.”

Harry felt a chill at that news while Tabitha and Adam both took his hand, one on each side. “What do they say?” he asked.

“The first says that you and the villain will end up facing each other in glorious battle, whatever that is,” Uncle Maurice explained. “And the other is a bit more obscure, but the gist of it is that you will defeat him no matter what he tries.”

Harry paused for a moment, considering what he had been told. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Harry,” Uncle Maurice said quietly. “None of us want you to kill anyone. Prophecies are not written in stone, you know that, I’ve covered it in tutoring sessions in the past. The magic of the world will try to bring the prophesied events about, but we, at least, are not slaves to the magic.”

“We waited to tell you about the outstanding prophecies because we didn’t want to influence your decisions about learning about the Wand Users in your heritage,” his mother explained. “Now that you’ve made your decision to attend their school, you need to know.”

“Harry,” Darrin Stevens said, speaking for the first time in this gathering. “I don’t know anything about these prophesies, or what is real or important in these situations. I do know that you are Harry Stevens. The Stevens family doesn’t go looking for fights, but if someone else starts something, we finish it. Your mother and I have discussed your idea about going to both schools, and frankly it sounds crazy to me, but if it’s what you want to do, I support you. And if, while you’re over there this evil magician comes after you, don’t give him a chance to hurt you. Use what you’ve been taught and take him down, hard.”

---===oooOOOooo===---

The discussion went on for over two hours before the children were dismissed so that the adults could continue to argue over minor points. Adam made his way to the television room upstairs to catch a favorite show, while Tabitha followed Harry into his room.

She closed the door behind her, and without warning, slugged Harry in the arm as hard as she could.

“Ow!” Harry said backing away rubbing his left arm. “What the heck?”

“You butthole!” she spat. “You decided you were going to school in England just like that? You didn’t even talk to me about leaving us?”

“Hogwarts is in Scotland,” Harry corrected her. “And I’m not leaving anyone. I’m going to loop the days and stay here for 6th grade with you. That way I can do both.”

Tabitha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to get older than me.”

“No I’m not, that’s not the way it works and you know it,” Harry pointed out. “Even if I do manage to get a bit older, I’ll still look like a kid, you know that. Mom said that she was almost two hundred before people thought she was old enough to drink.”

“Hmm.” Tabitha said suspiciously.

“I just want to know where I came from. When we visited Hogwarts being built last year we both had fun, and I want to see what the school is like now that it’s built. It will be fun to meet the hat again, and hey, I might learn something.”

“I’ll be visiting, don’t think I won’t.”

“Tab, I’d be hurt if you didn’t. Bring Adam, we’ll have fun.”

---===oooOOOooo===---

August 22 1991

“I’m telling you Sirius,” Remus Lupin said as he slumped into his chair, a cup of coffee grasped in his hand. “She’s trying to kill me. All she wants is sex, sex, sex. No relationship, no commitment, no arrangements. Just sex.”

Black stirred uncomfortably in his chair. He hated this sort of conversation. The only thing he hated more than being forced to talk about his feelings was listening to another man talking about HIS feelings. “This sounds like a conversation you should be having with Candice, Moony,” he ventured. “I mean, why are you telling me?”

“Why am I telling you?” Lupin responded with a small grin. “Hell Sirius, I’m telling EVERYBODY .”

Sirius regarded his friend with a gimlet eye. “I hate you. Here I thought you were going all girly with feelings and you were bragging about your sex life.”

“Forgive me, Sirius,” Lupin laughed. “This is just the longest relationship I’ve ever had. I never even guessed that there were people out there with a werewolf kink.”

“There are people with a kink for everything,” Sirius said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I guess so,” Remus laughed. “When is Harry supposed to be here?”

“Any minute now,” Sirius answered before sighing. “We’re taking our boy out to buy his school supplies. I wish James and Lily could have seen this.”

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, feeling the mood of the room start to sink into grief. “Still, sex, sex, sex.”

“Do you have to keep going on about your sex life?”

“If I’d had your luck with the ladies, probably not,” Remus grinned. Bad mood broken, mission accomplished. “But this is all still new to me.”

“Well, don’t strain yourself,” Sirius offered condescendingly.

“Oh, it’s no strain. Seven, eight times a night seems to keep her happy.”

Sirius blinked. “Seven or eight times a night ?”

“Well, yeah,” Remus nodded. “But I’ve been tired recently; she keeps me up all night after all.”

“Every night?”

“Look,” Remus protested, “I know I’m not as experienced as you are Padfoot, but I do the best that I can.”

“Remus,” Black sighed, “I’m not trying to insult you. You’re serious? Seven times a night?”

“More if I’m rested,” Remus said defensively.

“Is this some kind of weird Werewolf stamina thing?” Sirius asked.

“Werewolf stamina?” Remus repeated, clearly confused.

Sirius rolled up the left sleeve of his robes and extended his arm toward his friend. “Bite me? Please?”

“What?”

“Come on, just a quick bite… Not too hard now.” Sirius made a show of looking away.

“Sirius!” Remus exclaimed, “I’m not going to bite you!”

“Oh come on!” Sirius demanded. “Just a little one. Share the wealth!”

“Sirius, I’m not even infectious anymore!”

“Damn it Moony! Bite me!”

“You two are so weird.”

Sirius and Remus froze where they were to find Tabitha and Harry standing in the doorway looking more than slightly disturbed by what they had witnessed.

“Weird about covers it Tab,” Harry agreed. “I don’t know what is going on here, or why Sirius wants to be bitten, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

“Ah, Harry, Tabitha…” Remus began.

“We were just goofing around,” Sirius protested, “Not crazy, just having a laugh.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed

“So weird,” Tabitha said shaking her head.

---===oooOOOooo===---

Remus looked up from the list, “Well that’s about everything.”

“Just your wand left to get…” Sirius noted while staring uneasily at the storefront.

“Ok, what’s going on?” Harry asked.

“What?” Sirius asked innocently.

“Every other shop we’ve been to, you both have just rushed in, telling us stories about your first visits a thousand years ago, but now…” Tabitha noted. “It’s pretty obvious that you don’t want to go in there.”

“Hardly a thousand years Tabitha… Remus huffed, before taking on an embarrassed expression. “That obvious is it?”

“It’s not that we’re in trouble with Ollivander or anything, it’s just that he… He…” Sirius said grasping for the words.

“He creeps us out,” Remus admitted. “He did when we got our wands the first time, and both times I’ve had to speak with him since, he just keeps doing it.”

Harry just stood and looked between the pair and decided that they were being honest with him or if this was one of their jokes. “Would you feel better if Tab and I went in alone?”

“Oh, that would be great!” Sirius enthused.

“We’ll order lunch while you’re in there.” Remus agreed.

“Ok,” Harry sighed.

“Hey Remus!” Tabitha called.

“Yes Tabitha?”

“No biting!”

---===oooOOOooo===---

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hi there,” Harry said regarding the man with interest, wondering just what the man did to so freak out a pair of jokers like Sirius and Remus. Most of the shop keepers in this Diagon Alley seemed to be unique characters. Harry could hardly wait to see what this one did.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

The old man, Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry started wishing the old guy would blink. Remus was right, this guy was creepy, those silvery eyes…

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it … it’s really the wand

that chooses the wizard, of course.”

My name is Harry Stevens Sir,” Harry said quietly. “And it has been since I can remember. While I appreciate stories of my birth parents, I don’t really think of them as my mother and father.”

Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. “I see, a healthy attitude Mr. Stevens, I approve.

The old man touched Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger, tracing what seemed to be a Zee shape on the unblemished skin. “I’m not sure why, but for some reason I expected to find a scar on your forehead Mr. Stevens. I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that I thought to have done it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Tabitha.

“My word…” his silver eyes going wide and then he glanced back and forth between Harry and his sister. “You don’t need a wand” He said in an almost accusing tone.

“Not as such, no,” Harry admitted. “But having one is required by the school.”

The old man swallowed noisily. “I’ve never had Elders in my shop.”

“There wouldn’t really be much point of that would there sir?” Tabitha asked. “Harry is special; he has both kinds of magic.”

“Hmmm,” Ollivander said, clearly apprehensive. “I find myself concerned. A wand is a delicate instrument…”

“Well sir,” Harry interjected, more than a little please that the tables had been turned and the old man was now the one creeped out. “As you said, ‘it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard,’.”

Ollivander blinked, and then nodded. “Well said Mr. Stevens.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.

“But he can switch hit,” Tabitha said helpfully.

“Indeed?” Ollivander said, clearly having no idea what being able to ‘switch hit’ meant. “Hold out your arm… your right arm. That’s it.” The old man set his charmed tape measure loose on Harry, and it began moving about his body on its own, measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As Harry was measured, Ollivander explained, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Stevens. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

“That will do,” Ollivander said, causing the tape measure to crumple to the floor. “Right then, Mr. Stevens. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit. The wand seemed to buck in his hand, and issued forth a golden shaft of energy that cut through the ceiling of the shop, leaving a jagged slash whose edges still glowed in the odd golden color. The shaft of energy died out instantly when Ollivander snatched the wand out of his hand.

“Oh… My.” Ollivander gasped.

“Was it supposed to do that?” Tabitha asked innocently while poking at the still glowing residue with a conjured stick. “That was kind of like a light sabre.”

“Dear me, young lady, absolutely not,” the old man seemed to steel himself for that might come next and offered Harry another wand. “Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try…”

Harry lifted this new wand, and unbidden a flood of crimson energy issued forth, puddling at his feet before dissolving the floor and disappearing in a general downward direction. This wand too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no, no,” He said desperately, “here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Harry tried. This wand spurt out three green sparks, then smoke issued from the tip, and a burning smell filled the shop.

Ollivander gingerly took the wand from Harry’s hand and examined it closely. “The core is burned out. I’ve never heard of such a thing…” Mr. Ollivander offered another wand, and another, and another. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the counter top, and the destruction of the old man’s shop was approaching becoming catastrophic. But the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the more concerned he seemed to become.

“No one has ever…” Ollivander swallowed nosily. Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, I’ve never failed to the perfect match for one of my customers. The proper wand is here…somewhere. I wonder, now… yes, why not… an unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry took the wand and he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of blinding white energy shot from the wand and sliced through the shop’s ceiling and walls causing the severed section of the building to slide into the street.

“Smooth move, Ex-lax” Tabitha teased her brother. “Maybe the wand chooses the wizard, but none of them seem to particularly like the warlock.”

Ollivander cried, “Oh, bloody hell!” as he snatched the wand back from Harry and carefully returned it to its box. “Mr. Stevens, this is your best match, you felt it did you not?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said truthfully. “It felt like it was part of me.”

“Your power level is far too high to actually use this wand. You would wreck untold destruction before you learned to use it. You need to own a wand to attend Hogwarts… but...”

“Sorry,” Harry said as he put the shop back together with a gesture.

Ollivander’s eyes widened as he yet again witnessed the boy’s power, this time in a controlled manner. The man went behind his counter and rummaged around for a moment before returning with yet another wand.

“This is a pine dowel I use to teach the basics of wand construction to my apprentices,” the old man explained. “It has no magical properties at all, and as such should be safe in your hand. Making it appear to be your wand should be trivial for someone of your abilities. I will sell you both the wand that matched you and this dowel for seven galleons. This will allow you to have the wand that Hogwarts requires and one that you can use without bringing about Armageddon.”

Harry grinned and nodded. “Sounds fair to me I guess.”

---===oooOOOooo===---

September 1 1991

“Now that is one beautiful train,” Darrin said with awe in his voice. “I didn’t know any of these beauties were still in service.”

Tabitha shook her head at the cluelessness of adults in general. “It’s just a train dad, you ride them every day.”

“Give your father a break Tabitha,” Samantha admonished. “Harry, you’re looking very nice in your robes.

“Looks like a dress,” Adam suggested, repeating the jab that Tabitha had been using on Harry for the last two weeks.

“Why did I ever think this was a good idea?” Harry asked looking to the sky.

“The price of family Harry,” Darrin laughed. “They’re always embarrassing. So, you’ve got your things?”

“Despite people stealing my stuff, yes,” Harry frowned as he felt his pockets for his dowel wand. Tabitha knew that she had been particularly vicious about the wands, and had taken to following Harry around with a conjured stick topped with a sparkling five pointed star. ‘Bibbity Bobbity Boo!’ became the term used to bug Harry from both his brother and sister. As much as Adam idolized his big brother, she was fairly proud of that she had been able to corrupt him like that.

“Good. I guess we’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye Dad.” Harry said.

“Good luck sweatheart,” Samantha said as she fused with Harry’s hair. “Remember, I know the temptation will be huge, but try not to show off. You’re going to be around young impressionable children, you demonstrating just how limited they are would not earn you any friends.”

“I know Mom. See you tonight for dinner.”

“Bye Harry,” Adam chirped. “See if you can get me some Wandie toys ok?”

“I’ll see what I can do squirt.”

Tabitha stepped up in front of her brother. “Don’t forget who you are dum dum. I won’t be there to keep people from walking all over you.”

“Tab, you’re a pain. We’ll see each other tonight; you won’t even have time to miss me.”

“Hmm.” She said. “If I have to come rescue you, I’ll never let you live it down.”

“Love you too Tab.”

---===oooOOOooo===---

The hat settled down over his eyes and Harry waited.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, young Master Harry.”

“Hi Hat,” Harry responded. “How have you been?”

“Quite well thank you,” the hat responded. “So it’s only been a year since your visit from your point of view?”

“Yeah, we wanted to come back, but Auntie Endora said that she didn’t like looping into times she had multiple visits to. Something about being embarrassed by some of the outfits she wore.”

“So, you intend to attend Hogwarts and your Muggle school at the same time?” the Hat asked.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “I got in the advanced math class; we’re going to learn Algebra this year.”

“A subject I know nothing about, so no coming to me for help with your homework young Master,” the hat laughed. “Time to sort you. Do you have a preference between the houses of your Grandparents?”

“No,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I don’t want any special treatment. Sort me like you would anyone else.”

“And so I shall, young Master,” the hat said. “An excellent mind, driven to learn… Ravenclaw would suit you. And so ambitious… Salazar’s house would be a good home for you; you might even reintroduce the concept of honest ambition to the House of Snakes.” The hat paused before continuing. “Helga’s house would be like home, and Godrick’s would learn to follow your example…”

Again, the hat paused before continuing. “Despite your power, you are driven in your desire to prove yourself beyond your magic. I see your Muggle father in that. He is a good man; you would do well to emulate his example. It is your ambition that will make you what you will be young Master Harry.”

Then, speaking aloud for the first time since being placed upon Harry’s head the hat shouted. “It had better be… Slytherin!”

---===oooOOOooo===---

Severus Snape settled into his chair with three fingers of firewhiskey.

A Potter in Slytherin? How did this happen? And what was he going to do about it? With a wave of his wand he activated the mirror in his quarters that allowed him to observe the going ons in his house’s common room. The upper forms had already assembled for the traditional hazing of new students, while the fifth year prefects were busy ensuring the first years would be horribly lost once they set foot outside their dormitories by leading them there by a most circuitous route.

Tradition. He smiled to himself. Then he remembered what happened to halfbloods like the Potter boy. What was he going to do? What would the Potter boy do if provoked?

The first years, looking small, confused and frightened were finally led into the common room. Ten of them, four witches, five wizards… and Potter.

---===oooOOOooo===---

The common room was dark, far more so than normal. The Seventh year prefects stood on either side of the hearth waiting, cloaked, their features hidden in the darkness of their hoods. They waited until the firsties were herded into the room and began.

“More than a thousand years ago, the four most powerful witches and wizards in the world came together, each with their own view of the future. Hufflepuff the weak came seeking to cultivate others of her ilk, to offer them a semblance of structure. Ravenclaw the pretentious came to claim that everything could be learned from books. Gryffindor the arrogant came simply because it was in front of him. And the greatest of them all, Slytherin the bold came to lead us all into the future,” the female prefect said.

“The others were jealous of Slytherin and his vision, and together they did everything they could to marginalize him and his destiny. Ultimately they drove him out, and stated telling the lies that he left after being defeated.” The male prefect concluded.

“We live with that lie every day.” The female Prefect took up the spiel. “The others in this school fear and suspect us at every turn, both students and staff. Simply because you were sorted into Slytherin house you are now considered to be evil by the short sighted fools we share this castle with. Our allegiance to one another is the only protection we have against the prejudices and ignorance of the lessor houses.”

“So, now, for the first time, look upon our founder,” the young woman said, pulling opened the drapes over the hearth to reveal an animated portrait of Salazar Slytherin.

The man in the portrait was ancient, dressed in green and silver robes, his bald head reflecting some out of frame light source, sitting in some sort of ornate chair, his long thin finger steepled before his mouth, unmoving, but the portrait’s eyes reflected intelligence and indeed life.

“Prepare to present yourself to the Greatest of the Founders, but before you do, you will be sorted by your blood status. Purebloods to the left side of the room, full and half-bloods to the right.” The cloaked woman said while waiting expectantly.

There was a short pause while students separated themselves along the lines defined by the prefects, with two of the young girls forlornly making their way to the side of the room noticeably more sparsely furnished their heads hanging in shame, while the rest of the youngsters made their way to the opulent side.

Except one.

“Is there a problem Mr. …?”

“Stevens,” Harry said having not moved. “I’m not real clear on what pure, full and half-blood means, or why we would be segregated by that status.”

“Yank? Why are you here?”

“I was offered a place here, and accepted, just like everyone else I would suspect. What is all this blood stuff?” Harry asked patiently.

“If your great grandparents are all magical, then you’re a pureblood.”

“Ah, ok. Nope, not a pureblood then,” Harry paused while he considered if he should claim his biological heritage or that of his family. Family, he decided “What are you if your mother is a witch and your father is a normal mortal?”

“A mudblood!” the male prefect hissed, stepping forward menacingly.

“Mudblood? Seriously?” Harry grinned showing no fear.

The female prefect laid a hand on the shoulder of her counterpart. “No, it is for the founder to decide. Step forward Mudblood Stevens, step forward and be judged by the greatest of the founders.”

“Ok,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Wait!” the blond kid with the perfectly styled hair shouted. “I am Draco Malfoy, and no Malfoy ever follows a Mudblood.”

The two prefects exchanged a look until the female shrugged. “Fine Malfoy, present yourself to the founder of our house.”

Harry watched as the blond bigot moved to the indicated place in front of the portrait. Obviously prepared, the boy bowed at the waist. “Greetings great Slytherin. I am Draco, son of Lucius and Narcissa, grandson of Abraxus and Evelyn on my father’s side, and Cygnus and Druella on my mother’s. I present myself, Pureblood and proud for your evaluation.”

The portrait made no indication that it had heard the blond’s presentation.

“I present myself, Pureblood and proud for your evaluation.”

“Calm down, Malfoy,” the male Prefect said quietly. “The founder speaks perhaps once a generation.”

“He can’t ignore me!” The blond shrieked, “I am the heir to House Malfoy!”

“Sit down, you idiot,” the Prefect hissed. “Now Mudblood, you’ve been shown the proper forms, do you think you can emulate the example offered by House Malfoy?”

“I should have taken notes,” Harry said with a grin, as he went to the portrait. “Greetings great Slytherin, I am Harry, son of Darrin and Samantha, grandson of Adam and Phyllis on my father’s side and Maurice and Endora on my Mother’s. I present myself, evidently with muddy blood and great shame for your evaluation.”

“Hello Harry,” the old man in the painting said with a smile.

“Hi Uncle Sal, it’s good to see you again.”

“How is your grandmother? Still among the living?”

“She is, I saw her just yesterday,” Harry grinned. “You’ve learned modern English?”

“I may not speak to the current crop of students, mostly because they quit listening to me centuries ago, but I still listen to them. I spend more time in this frame than any of my others. There is something about the conversations of the young that keep me interested.”

“Did I ever visit the castle again?”

“Sadly, no. So you’ve been sorted into my house? I can’t wait to tell Godrick and Helga, They will be so jealous.”

The occupants of the Slytherin common room stood staring at Slytherin’s portrait. “Enough of this foolishness,” the portrait continued. “If one is sorted into my house, he or she is a Slytherin, regardless of who the parents are.”

Every student of the upper forms stood in silence, shocked that the portrait, which hadn’t spoken in living memory was now speaking. Speaking and defending a mudblood? Speaking of a mudblood as… family?

“I guess I’d best let you get on with the evaluations Uncle Sal, we can talk later.”

With that the boy moved to sit with the two girls separated from the others by blood status. “Hi there,” he said as he sat between them. “I’m Harry.”

“Millie,” the larger of the two said.

“Tracey,” the shorter added. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Harry asked.

---===oooOOOooo===---

When the portrait started to speak, Severus Snape spilled his drink into his lap.

The portrait of the founder was speaking, AND disclaiming blood status? Severus had never been so glad that he had decided early in his stint as Head of Slytherin House to allow the Seventh year Prefects to run the induction ceremony. He did not know how he might have reacted to the way the universe had just changed.

Potter. A Potter sorted into Slytherin had caused this… somehow.

With a shaking hand Snape refilled his drink. He needed to decide how he felt about this.

---===oooOOOooo===---

September 12 1991

Madam Hooch draped her arm around a whimpering Neville Longbottom and turned to face the class.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!” She said, her eyes flashing. “You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Longbottom, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, limped off with Madam Hooch.

As soon as Hooch and Longbottom entered the castle Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

Harry frowned when several of his fellow Slytherins started laughing.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped the Gryffindor Patil. Harry tried to remember her name… Parvati? Something like that.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy teased, “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Look!” said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

A glass sphere glittered in the sun as he held it up.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find… how about… up a tree?”

“Do you have to be such a dick all the time Draco?” Harry asked with a sigh. “I mean seriously, why mess with the kid? He’s hurt.”

There was a pause while most of his housemates suddenly seemed to be a bit embarrassed. “Since the first night in the common room, you’re all been complaining about how Slytherins are abused and blamed for everything that happens, and now, what happens the first time we end up with kids from another house and no teachers are around? Draco pulls a dick move, and you’re all giggling like six year olds. What the hell?”

“You aren’t in charge here Stevens! A Muggle loving nothing like you shouldn’t even be in Slytherin!” Malfoy thundered, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe after today, you won’t be.”

Harry smiled. “Threatening me Draco? Ah, I am stung and oh so frightened. You have wounded me with your caustic wit and repartee.” He held out his hand. “Quit being such a jerk and give me Longbottom’s thingee.”

Malfoy pivoted to throw the sphere against the wall of the castle, no doubt wanting to damage or destroy it. Harry speeded his perception of time and plucked the glass ball from his housemate’s hand before he could complete the throw.

“God you’re a dick Draco, worse than that, you’re an ineffectual dick.” Harry said as the blond stumbled when he found himself suddenly throwing nothing. Harry crossed the gap between the groups of students. “Hey, Parvati, right?”

The girl nodded suspiciously, and behind her a redhead suddenly had his wand out and was pointing it into Harry’s face.

“Calm down Red, I’m trying to be nice” Harry sighed. “Here’s Longbottom’s whatever it is.”

“Rememberall,” the bushy haired brunette at Parvati’s left said.

“Thanks, Longbottom’s Rememberall. Could you get it to him?” Harry reached out and lifted the pretty girl’s arm and placed the glass ball into her palm.

“Ok,” Parvati whispered starting to blush.

“Thanks,” Harry said turning away to return to his housemates, then paused and smiled. “Remember, Slytherins are just kids like everyone else here. We hardly ever have human sacrifices down in the dungeons anymore.”

Absolute silence was his only answer, in fact several of the Griffs paled.

“That was a joke,” Harry pointed out.

The students from his Grandfather’s house stayed silent.

“Oh, come on!” Harry said shaking his head, and returning to the Slytherin side of the brooms. “Great Googaly Moogaly, what’s wrong with you people?”

---===oooOOOooo===---

October 31 1991

Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

Excerpted from Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone

Minerva stood from her chair and wand in hand incanted a headcount charm. Her eyes widened as she read the number that formed from the smoke issued from her wand. Nine unaccounted for students. She felt her blood chill. She almost missed Albus making an announcement.

“All students will proceed immediately to your dormitories,” the Headmaster intoned authoritatively. “Prefects take charge of your Houses.”

“Excuse me Headmaster,” a single voice called out from the Slytherin table.

Suddenly every eye in the Great Hall was on Harry Stevens. “Since Professor Quirrell said quite clearly that the troll was in the dungeons, wouldn’t your last instruction put both Slytherin and Hufflepuff houses at risk for running into the big guy?”

Several of the staff all suddenly seemed to make that same connection. Minerva shook her head, why had not she seen that?

“For that matter shouldn’t someone be checking on Professor Quirrell?” the boy continued, while gesturing toward the fallen man. “I mean we can’t just leave him lying there, he’s liable to end up trampled if people had to go anywhere. Just because we’re getting a little excitement tonight that doesn’t mean we need to panic does it?”

---===oooOOOooo===---

“I’m glad you said something,” Pansy whispered to Harry from across the table as they watched the staff start to scurry about. “I don’t think anyone else made the connection.”

Harry shrugged. “It just seemed logical to me, besides who really wants to see a troll? They smell terrible.”

“You’re scared!” Draco mocked from the other side of Pansy.

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t be frightened by a troll Malfoy?” Ted asked. “Quit being such a dick.”

Harry fought to keep the grin off his face. It was not every day that someone could interject an entirely new insult into a culture. The red headed Gryffie had called Draco a dick after that first flying lesson, and one of the Ravenclaw Patil had done so the previous afternoon in the face of some of Draco’s stupidity. All he needed now was for a Hufflepuff to call Draco a dick. The Hufflepuffs were the only ones not to have done so yet and Harry really wanted the complete set.

“What you call fear, Draco,” Harry said reaching for another roll. If they were staying here, why not finish his meal? “I call common sense. A troll is large enough to give Hagrid a run for his money and they’ve been known to kill and eat people.”

“I know I wouldn’t want to run into one.” Millie said with a shudder.

“You’re probably just afraid that you’ll run into a relative, Bulstrode,” the Malfoy scion said thoughtlessly.

Silence filled the first year section of the Slytherin table for several seconds.

“You know Millie,” Harry said, breaking the silence, “If you want, I’ll hold him down while you pound on him for a while. Sometimes a good beating is the only cure for someone with an alligator mouth connected to a tweety bird ass.”

“Tweety bird ass?” Millie asked, Harry’s offhand comment burning through her fury toward the Malfoy twit. “That’s a good description for him, thanks Harry. Smacking him around wouldn’t do any good; he’d just go whinging to his father.”

Malfoy started sputtering, but Harry interrupted him before he regained the power of speech.

“Seriously? You’d run to daddy to tell on us?”

“My father would…”

“I take it back,” Harry said quietly, trying with all his might not to laugh, “You’re not a dick at all. A dick would at least have balls. You’re just a puss.”

A ripple of laughter passed across the first year section of the Slytherin table, while Draco went nearly incoherent with rage. Whatever response he was working on was interrupted when the Gryffindor ghost approached the table.

“Mr. Stevens?”

Harry looked up to the ghost while most of his classmates cringed away. They always did, which struck Harry as odd, considering as witches and wizards they had grown up being able to see and speak with wandering spirits. Wand Users were just weird. “Hello Mr. de Mimsy-Porpington, what’s up?”

“One of mine is in trouble with that damned troll, and while I have dispatched some of my departed brethren to inform the staff, they are unlikely to make it to the upper floors in time.”

Harry frowned. “Upper floors? I thought the troll was supposed to be in the dungeons.”

“Indeed,” the almost beheaded ghost agreed. “However it appears the beast is not. The Baron suggested that I inform you. The young Gryffindor is far too young to join us here in this old Castle.”

“A Gryffindor?” Draco sputtered, having finally regained his voice. “Why would we lift a finger to help a…”

“Shut up Puss,” Harry said off handedly. “Where’s your Gryffie at?”

“Fourth floor girl’s toilet,” the ghost replied appearing to be as relieved as any dead person could be.

“Crap,” Harry said shaking his head. “I knew I should have just gone home for dinner.”

Before any of his classmates could ask what he meant by that, Harry vanished from his seat.

The first years exchanged confused looks.

“Did he just apparate?” Vinnie asked.

“You can’t apparate inside Hogwarts,” Tracy pointed out.

“Then what did we just see?” Millie asked.

---===oooOOOooo===---

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall, feeling as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

This was it. She was going to die, and she was going to die at the hands of a huge monstrosity that no sane person would believe even existed. She was going to die alone and friendless and no one would care…

Would they even tell her parents?

The troll raised its club; Hermione found herself drawing a breath, needing to scream about the unfairness of it all, when a small boy suddenly appeared between herself and the troll.

“Alright,” he said loudly. “That’s enough. Just stop it.”

The troll froze at the command. That was it? All she had to have done was to tell the huge creature to stop? That made no sense.

Some unintelligible noises came from the troll’s huge maw. The boy between them cocked his head to one side. “I don’t care who told you to do what, you’re going to stop before you really hurt someone, or I’m going to stop you. I think we both know you don’t want that.”

The troll lowered its club and hung its head, offering the appearance of shame. More noises came from the creature.

“Hey,” the boy said turning around to face her. “She says she’s sorry for scaring you.”

Hermione blinked. It was that yank Slytherin who had returned Neville’s Remberall, and he had sat with her in a few times Potions before Snape had instituted assigned seating. Harry something.

“You can speak to trolls?” she asked rhetorically.

“Yeah,” He admitted. “It’s a family thing. You ok?”

“I think so,” she looked around for a moment, trying very hard not to look at the troll. “What a mess.”

“Yeah,” the yank agreed. “Could you close your eyes for a second?”

That was an odd request, but he had just saved her life… was he going to… kiss her? “Ok,” she said. Heroes did that sort of thing, her books had said that many times.

“Ok, you can open your eyes now,” the boy said after one or two of the longest seconds of her life.

Hermione opened her eyes to find the room completely repaired, and the troll no longer stank like one of the filthy privies from her father’s favorite camping grounds. He had her close her eyes to clean the room? Somehow, she felt somewhat… disappointed.

The troll made more noises.

“Oh, hush, you’re just clean,” Harry admonished the creature.

“How…” Hermione goggled as she looked about the pristine toilet. “What… It’s cleaner than it was before that… troll got here!”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone; I’m not supposed to show off. That would be bad for morale or something.” He shrugged.

“Ok…” the dazed Gryffindor agreed before looking up at the troll again and then suddenly looking away.

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione leaned closer to the Slytherin and whispered, “She’s naked.”

The Stevens boy looked up, his eyes going wide “Wow, you’re right. Without all that gunk on her, it’s really obvious isn’t it?” He gestured and the troll was suddenly wearing a bright yellow sundress with matching shoes. “What do you think?” he asked the troll. “That’s the kind of outfit my sister likes.”

The troll looked down and ran its hands along the fabric, then made the sounds that Hermione was coming to associate with Troll-Speech.

“What do you mean it’s not your color?” Stevens asked incredulously.

The troll spoke again, its lower lip quivering in a manner Hermione found to be somewhat disturbing.

“Fine,” the boy muttered as he gestured again and the troll’s outfit changed to a mottled green. “Better?”

The troll sounded her acceptance of the change.

Harry shook his head, “Girls. They’re all crazy.”

“Getting your outfit to suit your natural colorings isn’t crazy,” Hermione protested before looking up at the troll. “You look very nice. A woman has the right to know what she wants.”

“A few minutes ago she wanted to eat you,” the Slytherin pointed out before sighing. “We had best get you to the teachers. Nearly Headless Nick said that he had informed the staff that you were in trouble, so they’ll be looking for you.”

The boy started for the door, and made two steps before he noticed the girl wasn’t with him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m still… I was so frightened… Could you…” she extended her hand.

It took a second, but the Slytherin realized what she was asking. He sighed again and took her hand. “Ok now? Let’s go.”

Then the troll spoke again, and extended its hand.

---===oooOOOooo===---

Life had prepared Severus Snape for many things. His training as a Potions master made him immune to the feelings of squeamishness that most people experienced when confronted with the more visceral aspects of life. His time as a servant of the Dark Lord had given him a tolerance of pain that few could equal. His time as an agent of Albus Dumbledore had given him utter emotional control and the clear thinking that control came with.

When a ghost had appeared and informed Minerva that the troll was not in the dungeons, rather it was on the fourth floor and was threatening a Gryffindor first year; Severus felt the tiniest bit of disappointment. The Granger girl had had potential, even if she had been sorted into Gryffindor. The loss of potential was always a bad thing.

In unspoken agreement, the four heads of house abandoned the search and made their way to the fourth floor. The girl was undoubtedly dead by now, and would need to be avenged.

It was when they were on the moving staircase between the third floor and the fourth when they saw the girl, and the troll.

Between the two, hold the girl’s hand and with his other hand wrapped around one of the troll’s massive index fingers stood a quite clearly embarrassed Harry Stevens.

“Is that troll… wearing a dress?” Filius squeaked.

“It… She is,” a dumbstruck Pomona Sprout agreed. “That color really looks good on her.”

“It does,” Minerva agreed, “Earth tones suit her.”

Severus and Filus exchanged bewildered looks at that exchange.

No, Severus told himself. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this.

---===oooOOOooo===---

A clearly upset Harry appeared in the Stevens Kitchen.

“Hello sweetie,” Samantha said as she handed the last dish to Darrin who was filling the dishwasher. Then she spotted her eldest son’s face. “What’s wrong.”

“Girls,” Harry said simply. “They’re crazy. All of them. Holding hands in front of people and having to have the right colors. Crazy!”

With that, the boy turned and exited the kitchen.

The room filled with silence for several seconds, until Sam broke it when she turned to Darrin. “Perhaps you should deal with your son?”

“And do what, exactly?” Darrin asked with a grin. “Congratulate him on his clarity of thought? I mean I was twice his age before I figured that out.”

Samantha frowned. “Have you been changed into anything recently?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Darrin laughed, “but you know, you’re just proving his point…”

---===oooOOOooo===---

November 1 1991

Quirrell rushed into his classroom after yet another abortive attempt to get past that damned three-headed dog. Voldemort was beyond angry. This did not bode well for Quirrell’s night.

“Hello,” a young voice chimed in, breaking Voldemort’s concentration. Unable to see through the fabric of the turban, he silently directed Quirrell to turn and face the speaker.

“Mr. Stevens,” Quirrell noted while wondering why the boy was coming to him now. There had not been any classes since the excitement with the troll the night before, why would the boy be in his classroom at this time of night?

“Good evening Professor,” the boys said, his eyes shining in the gas light. “I’ve only got a few minutes; I’m heading home for dinner, and Mom hates it when I’m late. I just thought it might be a good idea for me to talk with your friend and get this whole thing out of the way.”

“My friend, Mr. Stevens?” Quirrell asked hesitantly, wondering what the boy meant by ‘heading home’. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The guy on the back of your head Professor,” the boy explained. “His aura stands out like a beacon, you know. Nothing like your aura, so he’s pretty obvious. I’m guessing he’s that Voldemort guy, right?”

“Let me speak to him…” Voldemort rasped.

“Master, are you sure?” Quirrell asked, “You are so weak!”

“I am strong enough to deal with a boy,” the Dark Lord said.

Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban, turn after turn of fabric until the head covering fell away. Quirrell shook his head for a moment, and then he turned slowly on the spot.

The boy remained where he was sitting on top of one of the student desks, swinging his legs idly. Voldemort stared at the boy he blamed for his loss of body for several seconds before whispering. “Harry Potter…”

“Harry Stevens,” the boy corrected, showing not the slightest bit of fear.

“Do you see what I have become?” the Voldemort asked. “Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…”

“Yeah, that sucks,” the boy interrupted flippantly. “Listen, letting that troll into the castle was a real dick move, so what I wanted to talk to you about is what we’ve got to do to get our prophecy stuff out of the way. I know we’re supposed to be fated to some awesome epic battle, but like my Dad always says, ‘It takes two to fight’ and hey, you really don’t stand a chance against me. So if you’re willing to mellow out a bit, stop being such a dick and quit killing people, I figured I could just, you know, leave you alone.”

“What?” Voldemort sputtered.

“Both Mom and Dad said that I shouldn’t, you know, show off while I’m here, and I can see their point, plus I’m really having fun, you know? Meeting new people, learning about how they live and how my family lived in this society and all that.”

“I will destroy you boy,” Voldemort ranted, “then I will regain a body of my own and…”

“Were you planning on using the Philosopher’s Stone Professor Dumbledore is pretending to have stashed in that hidden room under the dungeons?” The boy asked.

“What?” Voldemort choked, “how did you know about that?”

“Dumbles said that no one should go to the third floor thing unless they wanted to die,” the boy shrugged. “I just had to look after he said that. There’s this door that’s only barely locked, a three-headed dog who acts all vicious but is really just a big puppy, a real creepy vine plant that tries to grab you, some flying keys, a giant chessboard with an attitude problem, another troll, and a logic problem with some fire. After you go through all that, you end up in an empty room with a kind of raised platform in the middle of the room, like something is going to be put there eventually, but it isn’t there yet. So, I had to go looking for whatever the Headmaster was hiding. It turned out to be a Philosopher’s Stone. Professor Dumbledore has it stashed in his desk drawer in his bedroom wrapped in a purple sock.”

“Are you claiming to have done all this in only two months?” Quirrell asked from where he stood facing away from the boy.

“I did it that first night before I went home Professor,” the boy said looking around Voldemort’s face to catch his Defense Professor’s eye. “It wasn’t like it was hard or anything.”

“Once I have the stone…” Voldemort said, plans rushing through his mind.

“Once you have the stone, you would experience extreme disappointment,” the Potter child said. “It’s a fake.”

“What?” Voldemort thundered.

“Well, calling it a fake isn’t fair. It’s a real Philosopher’s Stone, it’s just that ‘real Philosopher’s Stones’ don’t actually DO anything. When I first found it, I was wondering if someone had managed to actually make one that works, then I found the note from Nicolas Flamel, so I knew it was a joke.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nick is an Elder, he’s been running this scam for about 600 years,” Potter explained. “He hangs out with my great uncle Arthur, and they’re always laughing about the stupid wand wizards believing that some rock could do everything that a Philosopher’s Stone is supposed to do. His wife Perenelle thinks that it’s a cruel joke, but she goes along with it.” The boy leaned forward and continued in a manner that suggested he was sharing a confidence “Personally I think he’s a kind of a jerk.”

Voldemort blinked, “Elders are real?”

“Oh sure,” the boy nodded. “There aren’t a lot of us, but we’re real.”

Shaking his head, Voldemort consciously ignored the fact that the boy had identified himself as a member of the Elder Sect. “It doesn’t matter, I will get the stone and if it doesn’t work, I will find some other method of to regain a body.”

“A body is all you want?” the boy asked while gesturing with his left hand. “There you go.”

Voldemort stumbled as he suddenly found himself staring at the boy from a slightly different perspective. Quirrell collapsed, and Voldemort was stunned to find himself looking down at the body he thought he was sharing, before looking down at the body he was now wearing. A mirror shimmered into existence to hover before him. Voldemort stood gaping at an image very familiar to him. He was staring at his own body, the body he still saw himself wearing when he pictured himself in his mind. The body he had owned before the rituals, before the sacrifices, before it all. He was looking at sixteen year old Tom Riddle. How was this possible?

“Professor Quirrell will be ok in a few minutes,” the boy said returning the mirror to wherever it had come from. “I’m pretty sure it was just the shock of having you yanked out of him. So, is it a deal? I got you your body back, and you quit being such a butthole. No more killing people, alright?”

Before Voldemort could answer, an older man suddenly appeared behind the boy. “Harry,” the newcomer said quietly.

“Uncle Maurice?” the boy asked, cringing slightly. “What are you doing here?”

"Language is a tool, young man, a tool a gentleman uses with skill and finesse. This person may well be a giant anal sphincter, but a sophisticated man does not use that type of language to point out the obvious. We will have to discuss the language you’ve been using in front of the young ladies in your class later."

“Yes Uncle Maurice, sorry,” the boy murmured, hanging his head.

The man smiled and ruffled the boy’s unkempt hair. “Not to worry Harry,” he turned his attention to the gaping Voldemort. “So, this is the one the prophecies claim to be your opponent eh?”

The man called Maurice strode up to the newly re-embodied Dark Lord. “I have been directed by the Witches Council to monitor young Harry’s performance in completing his prophecy. How he goes about it is his choice, and frankly, I disagree with his letting you live after all you have done. However, the choice is his to make, and I would never presume to override his choices. He has offered you a chance. I would suggest that you grasp it with both of your pathetic wand waving hands and hold on for dear life.”

“He destroyed me!” Voldemort responded, wondering as he did so just why he was speaking his mind.

“Who told you that?” Harry asked. “I was less than two, what could I have done?”

“It was the boy’s grandmother Clara who dealt with you when you threatened him,” Maurice explained patiently. “Considering what she did to you, it isn’t really surprising you don’t remember. In truth, you should be thankful that my sister-in-law was the one who prevented you from harming young Harry. Had my dear wife been the one to find you threatening the boy, you would still be paying in pain and terror.”

“Not the boy?” Voldemort asked. “But the prophecy…”

“Prophecies, old boy, prophecies. There are at least two, and real ones, not the twaddle offered by a charlatan in search of a job that you believed in. They say that you and he will face each other in battle. Given that our Harry is a fully realized Elder, and you are…” the man said with a tone of utter contempt, “not. On the very best day of your life, you did not stand a chance against him. He is showing far more mercy that you would find from anyone else in the family. You attempted to subvert the false prophecy you believed in by attacking him before he could harm you. You failed. Now young Harry is attempting to subvert the prophecies he knows by offering you a chance to walk away. I would suggest you take it.”

Voldemort nodded dumbly.

The grey haired man leaned down until he was eye to eye with the Dark Lord. “Knowing what my grandnephew faced, I did a little research on you Tom Riddle. Historically, your first response to someone you could not control was to go for their family. I would suggest that you do not make that mistake. There is but a single member of young Harry’s family who is unable to destroy you with a glance. Should you somehow manage to harm that single vulnerable individual you would find yourself subject to the tortures of hell. Be a smart little wizard and run away.”

The man turned to walk away, and then paused. “You have followers I believe, Harry’s injunction against murder extends to them as well. You will pay for their crimes in your name.”

Voldemort watched as the older man placed his hand on the Potter boy’s shoulder.

“Come now Harry, we had best be off. I have not tormented your father in far too long.”

“Yes Uncle Maurice,” the boy nodded happily. “Goodbye Mr. Voldemort. I hope we don’t see each other again. You’d best take Professor Quirrell with you.”

The boy gestured and Voldemort suddenly found himself somewhere else with Quirrell still laid out at his feet.

Such power. How could those people have such power? Voldemort needed that power, wanted that power. There had to be a way to take that power for his own use… The Dark Lord kicked at this sole remaining minion. “Quirrell, get up. We have plans to make.”

---===oooOOOooo===---