Transitus Aetas

Chapter 2:

Remus Lupin was walking slowly around the school grounds, in the middle of a winter rainstorm, trying to think. It really wasn’t the best time to be outside, he knew, even with a water proofing charm on himself and his robes, there was still the bitter wind and huge puddles of rapidly collecting rainwater to contest with.

He really couldn’t help himself, though. Sometimes he just had to get out of the suppressing castle and have a breath of fresh air and time to think, away from the students. Even if he risked sickness to get this bit of peace and quiet, he didn’t really regret being out and away from the few students at Hogwarts over the Christmas Holidays.

Although sick was the last thing he needed to be around this time of the month. By the end of the week he would feel horrible enough without adding a cold to his troubles. Still, it almost seemed worth it, the solitude was nice sometimes as he rarely ever seemed to be able to get away from the other Marauders to have time to himself.

He slowly trailed his way around the lake and passed the Whomping Willow, throwing it a distasteful glance. He hated the thing, really. It was a privilege to be able to come to Hogwarts, to train to be a wizard, but sometimes it really seemed like a high cost. He was chained like an animal nearly once a month -twice if it were a blue moon- in the Shrieking Shack.

Of course, it did come down to the fact that he was an animal nearly once a month. A mindless one at that. And, truthfully, he didn't always stay in the Shack. Not often at all, actually. The Marauders came with him and they explored the Forbidden Forest most of the time. That actually made it seem worse, really.

To have witnesses to the mindlessness that overtook him every full moon. To know that his friends were probably disgusted everytime he ripped apart some animal simply for the rush of the kill. It was all too much sometimes. He never could tell what they thought about it, but how could they not be sickened by him, when he, himself, was?

In a way, he supposed, his dislike of the Whomping Willow and Shrieking Shack stemmed from his dislike of himself, but that didn't mean he wanted to admit the fact just yet. The Nile was more than just a river in Egypt, after all. So, Remus stayed as far away from the distasteful plant and passage under it as possible, whenever possible.

He rounded the path along the lake, intending to go back to the school, and perhaps warm up a bit in front of the Gryffindor common room fire. Before he was able to take more than a few steps with his intended path in mind, however a blinding light obscured his vision and he was thrown into the air, only to land in a puddle of icy water on his back.

He lay there for a few moments, somewhat stunned until the wet, along with the cold, started seeping through his charms and, consequently, his robes. Sitting up, he shook his head, attempting to clear it as he was not quite sure what had just happened. Finally, he stood, when he figured he was steady enough to, and glanced around to figure out if he'd been struck by lightning or if something or someone else had happened.

Remus hoped that it wasn't the latter option, he didn't like dueling much for one, and also he had no knowledge of whatever had just thrown him a good ten feet in the air and onto his arse. Cautiously, he again began heading towards the school, still surveying the land around him. He'd gotten back to the point where he'd been when tossed into the air when he saw him.

A rumpled heap of robes and unmistakable messy black hair. James?! He rushed towards the person, whom he assumed was his friend, although he didn't really know how it could be. James and Sirius had gone home to the Potter's for Christmas, why would James be here, unconcious on Hogwarts' grounds?

When the werewolf reached the body, he realized that while this person looked very much like James from a few feet away, nearly identical, in fact, and looked almost the same standing right beside him as well, this wasn't James Potter. Prongs, for one, had a different type of frames on his glasses, more oval, while this boy's glasses were round and James, as far as Remus knew, had never had a jagged lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, either. Looking closely, Remus noted other minute differences as well. Fuller lips, slightly higher cheek bones, and if he were to hazard a guess, this boy was just the slightest bit taller than his friend.

Another critical eyeing over perceived the symbol of the Gryffindor house on his robes the werewolf and couldn't contain his bewilderment at all. This boy couldn't be in his house, Remus had never seen him before in his lifetime, and it would be hard to miss someone who looked nearly exactly like one of his best friends. Feeling more and more confused, he reached out cautiously and shook the boy's shoulder.

"Hey...hey, wake up!" the werewolf hissed, unreasonably angry at this unconcious person who looked so much like one of his best friends.

Eyes fluttered open behind the lenses of his glasses opening only barely long enough for Remus to get a good look at the vibrant emerald color. Well, if nothing else, that definately settled that this wasn't James Potter. The bright green eyes then fluttered closed again, a soft sigh and two words pushing past his lips.

Remus felt even more baffled, if possible as he watched the boy relax into oblivion again. How on earth would he know his last name? And why would he attach 'Professor' onto it? Thoughts chased themselves around in circles in his mind, confounding him more and more each second. He didn't think he should go and get a teacher, and leave this boy here, he might very well not be there when they returned, and he didn't know enough about medicine to know if it were safe to move him.

After all this boy could very well have his back broken or something equally horrible and if Remus were to move him it might do even more damage. Finally the perturbed werewolf did something he could only remember doing once before in his lifetime, really he could only recall that experience foggily, as if in a dream, but he did recall it and once again fell back on the tactic, knowing that it would bring immediate reactions if done correctly. So, he threw back his head and screamed bloody murder, hoping that there was a teacher somewhere close in the vicinity.

~*~*~*~*~

Harry was floating, at least, that's what it felt like to him. It was a somewhat pleasant sensation, and it unnerved him a bit. He knew this was a dream, it was to pleasant for it not to be, nothing like this would ever happen to him in real life. And yet, it was nearly too pleasant to be a dream since nothing but nightmares had haunted his sleep since 5th year. Unfortunately, along with the wonderful floating sensation, it felt as though there were an intense gaze upon him.

He wondered vaguely if it were Professor Lupin, as he faintly remembered being spoken to by someone that sounded exactly like his Defense professor, and yet not quite. The werewolf had almost sounded angry, and Harry had never really heard that anger directed at him before, at least not that he could recall. Professor Lupin had only been a part of this increasingly strange dream of his though, he was sure.

How else could Harry explain the instance of his Professor appearing Harry's own age, if only for a second or two before fading out of sight? He supposed he'd simply been looking at the photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of second year too often, and that was spurring strange dreams. However, it was actually nice to have a break from the nightmares for once, now if only that bloody burning 'I'm being watched' sensation would disappear!

It was beginning to intrude very forcefully into his dream, and Harry wasn't happy about that fact. It was rare he got a good night's sleep and some insufferable prat was ruining this one. Finally, he could take it no longer and let a soft snarl loose from his lips his eyes automatically opening into a glare wanting to know who dared disturb his treasured sleep.

His expression of annoyance automatically melded into surprise, however, when he met the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. An Albus Dumbledore that looked very nearly twenty years younger than the one he knew was sitting beside his bed. Harry barely kept his jaw from dropping. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

"P-professor? Professor Dumbledore?"

"Ah," the Headmaster raised his eyebrow at Harry. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, and yet I have no recollection of yours, Mister...?" The older wizard trailed off, giving Harry an opening to introduce himself.

For his part, Harry simply stared at the wizard at his bedside. Was this some type of sick joke? Or was Dumbledore finally off his rocker? When he'd stared at Professor Dumbledore for a good ten minutes, the Headmaster had shifted uncomfortably under Harry's scrutiny and took the initiative to speak again, when Harry made no move to reply at all.

"It looks like this is somewhat of a shock to you, but I am afraid that I have no memory of ever meeting you and as such, can't rightly remember your name. I would appreciate it if you would give it to me and perhaps explain why and how you ended up on Hogwarts' school grounds and in Gryffindor house robes."

After a few more moments of tense, shocked staring Harry realized this was no prank.

"Harry Potter, sir. My name is Harry Potter. And I've attended Hogwarts since I was eleven."

"Potter, you say?" The ever-present twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes had dimmed considerably, and his demeanor grew grave suddenly. "And who exactly, Mr. Potter, are your parents?"

Harry frowned at the question, he'd hoped that answering the first question would have Dumbledore laughing and saying that it had been a joke, despite what he had thought before giving his name. After all, the Headmaster was a good actor, he had to be dealing with the variety of people he dealt with on a daily basis.

"James and Lily Potter, sir."

"James and Lily? James and Lily Potter?" Dumbledore stressed the name Potter.

Harry nodded, more and more confused by the second, temper rising a bit as well at not knowing what in the bloody hell was going on.

Dumbledore rubbed his chin and stared off into space thoughtfully for a few moments and then looked at Harry again. "One more question, Mr.Potter, what was your year and date of birth, if you would?"

"Uh, July 31, 1980, sir."

"Ahh. Well that explains alot, doesn't it? This being 1978 and all. Just barely, of course, since it's only the second of January, but very definately 1978." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling once more in his good humor.

Harry allowed the words to sink in and the bit of anger he had felt, fled. "1978, sir? How can this be 1978? I realize that would explain you looking alot younger and not knowing me, but that really doesn't make sense." And what really didn't make sense to him was how well the Headmaster was taking this, then again, Harry had always known that the older wizard seemed a bit nutters, at least to anyone who wasn't Dumbledore himself.

"You're a wizard, Mr.Potter. Can you really think of no way for you to be nineteen years into your past?"

Harry groaned as the last thing he remembered clearly before waking up with Dumbledore entered his mind. "That bloody thrice damned picture. That must've been it. Why does this always happen to me?" He covered his face with his hands and tried to sink into his pillows. "I haven't even defeated Voldemort yet! I've left everyone in my time defenseless!!" His hands curled into fists over his eyes.

"Voldemort?" The Headmaster questioned softly, manner solemn again, and interested. "You actually speak his name? Then he's either not as powerful in your time or you don't fear him as much as everyone else does."

"He killed my parents. I don't fear him, I hate him. He killed my parents and then he tried to kill me and gave me this," Harry lifted his hands and brushed his hair away from his forehead, indicating the scar found there. "It's from the Killing Curse. But I didn't die and---" Harry blinked in surprise to find Dumbledore's hand over his mouth.

"It's never wise to know too much about one's future," the Headmaster intentioned softly.

Harry nodded thinking that perhaps Dumbledore hadn't heard the prophecy, yet and the older wizard removed his hand.

"Well, Mr.Potter, I never guessed when Mr.Lupin had said he'd found someone unconcious by the lake that this would be the outcome, of course I never guessed that I would ever hear Remus Lupin scream in such a manner, either." Dumbledore said, his eyes bright once more.

Harry sat up straight as Remus' name was mentioned, the full situation just actually hitting him. He was in 1978, his parents' seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would actually be able to meet his parents, depending on how long he was stuck here, he would be able to get to know them and... His thoughts trailed off as he realized that Dumbledore was staring at him again.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Harry, I don't know how long your stay here will be, and obviously I can't keep you from training as a wizard during your time here, it would be immoral as there are obviously people depending on you in your own time. Athough, I seriously doubt it's a good idea to let you mingle with the other students, I shall allow you to continue your schooling. However, you will have to be re-sorted into a house other than Gryffindor because if you are put into Gryffindor now, you won't be in your future. The sorting hat will recognize your mind and any number of things could happen, it might even refuse to sort you. You will have to keep quiet about where you come from and change your name, at least your last one, because it will cause suspicions amongst the other students, do you understand?"

Harry had figured that he would have to keep quiet about the future, that really wasn't such a big thing. Neither was changing his last name for the time being for the same basic reasons. Being re-sorted, however, was. He was really going to end up in Slytherin this time, he was sure, in Slytherin with Snape, and other future death eaters.

Still, in exchange for time he would be able to spend with his parents, and his godfather again, it was definately worth it, perhaps he could get a room to himself and avoid the unsavory characters if he did, in fact, end up in Slytherin. And that was presuming that Dumbledore allowed him to speak with his parents.

Harry caught the Headmaster's gaze. "Will I be allowed to speak with my parents? Can I get to know them?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "I don't see why not, my boy. Do you have any other questions?" He raised an eyebrow and waited.

The Boy-Who-Lived nodded and asked about seperate rooms. Dumbledore considered his question for a few moments then nodded slowly.

"Yes, that would be best, perhaps. I would advise putting a glamour on you as well, so that you do not resemble James so strongly, but unfortunately, as Remus has already seen you that would be fairly impossible without tampering with his memories as well. And that's something I very much find distasteful, so you shall have to be prepared to suffer many questions about your likeness to James, I'm sure."

Harry nodded and then watched as the Headmaster stood and the chair that he'd obviously conjured up, disappeared.

"I will return shortly, Harry, with the sorting hat. Be thinking of a replacement for your last name and a cover story while I'm gone, please. Remember, it will have to be believable, the Hogwarts' rumor mill can be incredibly vicious."

Laying back against his pillows, Harry watched the Headmaster walk from the room, mind whirling from everything he'd just found out. He really just wanted to lay there and allow his thoughts on everything that had just happened to him, it wasn't often he had semi-pleasant things occur to him, but he really had to follow Dumbledore's advice and think of something that would at least stifle a few of the questions that were going to be asked him and a new last name. Sighing, he decided to start on the simplest of Dumbledore's two requests first.

A last name. At long last he wasn't going to be, 'the famous Harry Potter', he was going to be the not so famous Harry... well, something other than Potter, anyway. He was thinking about what to choose. He couldn't really make a name up, it would be hard to do and it had to be a somewhat realistic last name. It couldn't be anything long and difficult to pronounce, --Harry himself would forget it if that were the case-- anything anyone would recognize, --he couldn't very well say he was related to anyone-- and it couldn't be anything that would cause anyone to tease him. He'd hated being called Potty by Draco, he really didn't want to be annoyed in the same way while here.

He would probably be safe with the last name Dursley, but there were so many horrible memories attached to the name that he didn't even consider it an option. So there was really only one last name that he could choose from the arsenal of last names he knew. Granger. Hermione's last name was not known in the wizarding world because she was muggle born, and Harry had never heard her get teased using her last name. Of course, he might have to put up with being called 'mudblood' now, with such a muggle sounding name, unless he could work it into his 'cover story' that he wasn't from England but a foriegn country.

Harry sat up again as he heard steps heading towards the room, and was surprised when Dumbledore didn't immediately enter the room. Listening carefully, he heard voices speaking outside of the infirmary, which was the only place Harry had determined that he could be, really. What with the sterile feel of the room, and the starchy feel of the bedsheets, and all.

Carefully, he listened to what was being said, wondering who could be outside of the door.

"...has a clean bill of health, you may go in when I'm done speaking with him in a few moments. I'm sure you'll have plenty of questions for him."

"Yes, professor, I do. It's not everyday that I find unconcious people after all. But, if I could ask, Professor Dumbledore, why do you have the sorting hat?"

So it was Remus, Dumbledore had mentioned the werewolf being the one to find him. Harry would have to thank him; imagine what type of trouble he would be in if he hadn't had Dumbledore by his bedside to get him straightened out immediately when he'd woken up.

"Ah! Well, our new transfer student has to be sorted, doesn't he? Don't worry, Remus, you'll be able to speak with Harry shortly, if you so desire."

With those words Hogwarts' Headmaster entered the room and closed the door behind him, murmering something that sounded very definately like a silencing charm. That was probably for the best, Harry mused vaguely.

"Well now, Harry, have you thought of a last name? I believe I have been able to come up with a suitable lie for your attending school here."

"Yes sir, I'm Harry Granger, sir. Pleased to meet you."

"Granger?" Dumbledore nodded, accepting the name. "Very good. It doesn't sound like anything anyone will recognize, and we can probably have you originate somewhere away from the English wizarding world so it will be natural that no one recognizes your last name."

Harry blinked, unnerved once again by how well the older wizard was taking this and how easily the man seemed to read his mind, but nodded, curious to hear what story Dumbledore had come up with him to use.

"Well, Mr.Granger, you're aunt and sole gaurdian died and left you attending a school in France. Granger sounds like it could be French, don't you agree Harry?" When the boy nodded the Headmaster continued. "As your aunt was not the most pleasant of people, you are not too broken up over her passing, but her last wish was that you attend Hogwarts' school and hearing of this, I extended you an offer for you to complete your seventh and last year of school here."

Harry had smiled, amused at the thought of his fictional dead aunt probably being very much like Petunia Dursley in temperament, when Dumbledore had mentioned him not being too broken up over the passing. He commited the short, but ironclad story to memory, so as not to balls it up when asked about his circumstances in being here.

"And now that that's over, we'll sort you." Dumbledore held up the Sorting Hat, which looked just as ratty as Harry remembered. Shuffling over to the bed, the older wizard held the hat over Harry's head.

"Remember, not Gryffindor," the Headmaster told the hat sternly before dropping it onto Harry's head.

A tiny voice whispered into Harry's ear. ~Not Gryffindor, eh? Well, only one place to put you, then.~

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry cringed at the word, although he had been expecting it. He was being tossed into the snake-pit. Well, bloody hell.