Sacred is the Windswept Time

Two: Waking Up Bewildered

With a groan Harry opened his eyes. His vision was only fuzzy for a moment before an oddly familiar face came into focus. Harry's green eyes widened as he began to scuttle backwards on the floor to get away from his mirror image looming above him. Suddenly there was a pair of hands on his shoulders and he was being helped up. The familiar looking young man giving him a queer look as he proceeded to brush off Harry's robes.

"And would you mind telling us how you fell from the ceiling to land right in front of us?" the oddly familiar boy asked, and Harry blinked again, it was almost as though he were looking at himself, except the boy's eyes were different. Hazel instead of green, and the boy he was looking at had a mischievous grin, and more importantly no lightening shaped scar on his forehead.

"Or a nice who you are would do, too," added a familiar, but youthful voice from Harry's right, and suddenly Harry's heart stilled as he turned in that direction.

His eyes widened even more than he thought possible as he stared at the youthful image of his godfather standing before him, looking perfectly healthy and seventeen. Harry swallowed thickly as he reached out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing Sirius Black's cheek, before he threw his arms about the young man and gave him a tight hug. "Oh Merlin, it's really you, Sirius. And you're all right, but how? And where am I? Did I die? Is this what's beyond the veil?" Harry asked.

"Beyond the veil? Are you sure you're all right? This is Hogwarts. Perhaps we should see you to the infirmary," came a slightly shy voice to his left, and Harry recognized him as well, a younger Remus.

"Remus, you're here too? But you're not dead," Harry said.

The werewolf's honey-gold eyes widened for a moment, and he ran a shaky hand through his wavy light brown hair. "Well I should hope not," he answered softly, and then looked closely at Harry, smelling him. "And how do you know my name and Sirius'?"

"Come on, Moony, of course I know you, and Padfoot, but I don't know him, although he seems familiar, and what happened to you two? You look so young," Harry said.

"We're seventeen, and the individual you are referring to is James Potter, and I would assume that you would be more familiar with him and Sirius than with me, simply by their reputation. Now let's get you to the infirmary."

Harry was gob smacked as he stared at James Potter. "Oh shit! What the hell is going on? What year is this? Is this some kind of joke?" Harry's voice rose in panic, and several students from other houses gave him strange looks, although two students, a pair of Slytherins, in particular studied the boy in the grasp of the marauders with curiosity. Who was the strange boy that resembled that loathsome Potter?

"It's 1977," Sirius answered, and then James added, "You must have had some fall. I think Moony's right. Time to get you to the infirmary."

"I'm not going to the soddin' infirmary. I want to see the headmaster! Right now!" Harry snapped.

"Fine," James said and then looked the boy up and down. "Do you think we're somehow related? You look an awfully lot like me."

Harry had a sudden coughing fit on the way to the gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office. Just as they reached the gargoyle, the stairwell opened up and a young woman with long straight red hair and bright green eyes stepped into the corridor. She glared at the marauders and then her eyes widened as she looked at the strange boy among them, he looked so much like Potter. It was scary, but his eyes were green, and he had the most peculiar scar.

"Oh, God, there's two of you?" she said as she looked from James to the green eyed boy.

Her expression softened as she noticed the dark haired boy look at her, his green eyes seeming to mist over behind his glasses, as he reached out a hand to touch her, and she felt a jolt when his fingertips traced lightly down her cheek. "You're real," the strange boy said, before he was manhandled onto the stairwell that led to the headmaster's office. She was tempted to follow them, but thought better of it, and continued on her way to the library instead.

"I don't know who you think you are, but Lily is spoken for," James snapped as he glared at Harry.

Harry simply chuckled as his green eyes locked with the hazel eyes of his father. "You have nothing to worry about there. I just never realized she was so pretty before."

"Just you remember, she's mine," James repeated, but Harry had already turned from James to look at Sirius, and it was then that he noticed a flash of emotion flit across his dark blue eyes.

"Bloody hell, Sirius! You had a thing for my dad?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself and all three boys gave him strange looks as the headmaster's door was thrown open and they were all ushered inside.

Harry looked relieved as he saw the headmaster, a familiar twinkle in those blue eyes, wearing magenta robes, and looking oddly the same as he did in Harry's own time, though his beard was somewhat shorter by a foot in 1977. "Dumbledore!" Harry said, "You wouldn't believe how glad I am to see you! You wouldn't believe what happened to me. You see there was this Potions incident. I told Professor Snape that it was dangerous to pair me with Neville, but he simply never sees reason, and well look at me. Here I am! And where are Hermione and Ron, and is it really 1977?"

"Professor Snape?" James cut in, and then James and Sirius were roaring with laughter, and Remus was quietly chuckling with them.

"Ah, James, Sirius, Remus, I see you've found our newest exchange student. He hails from Durmstrang. I believe that he is currently under the guardianship of his aunt, and she has pulled him from Durmstrang to attend his final year here. Now Harry if you would be so kind as to introduce yourself," Dumbledore said, and Harry could feel the old wizard peering into his mind, and again he felt relieved that he wouldn't have to spend ages explaining himself to Dumbledore.

Harry nodded taking his cue and then looked at the marauders, his father, James, and then to Sirius and Remus. "I'm sorry about earlier. I guess I really did hit my head. My name is Harry...Granger. They must have set up the coordinates of the portkey wrong as I appeared in midair as you say."

"Still doesn't explain how he knew our names," Sirius muttered.

"Ah, well from what I've read of Mr. Granger's file, he was studying Legimency before he was pulled from Durmstrang. So he probably plucked your names straight from your mind. Now if you three don't mind, I have some things to discuss with our new student. And you three have class. Oh and I don't think I need to tell you that there will be an impromptu sorting ceremony tonight at dinner. Now off with you. And do keep out of Mr. Filch's way, he has enough to do without having to tarry after you three all the time."

All three boys gave Harry suspicious looks as they left the headmaster's office. Once they were gone Dumbledore warded the door and his office with a flick of his wand and then turned his attention to the strange boy before him. "Now Mr. Potter, I have gotten the gist of your story from your head, but I would still like a few details made clear to me, if you don't mind," the headmaster said and then held out a candy dish to the boy. "Care for a tootsie roll?"

Harry grinned as he reached out and plucked a tootsie roll from the candy dish before unwrapping it, popping it into his mouth, and then telling the headmaster all about the worst Tuesday of his life, and how he came to be at Hogwarts in 1977...

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"My, my, Severus, I wonder who that boy could be. And such a foul mouth. I'm rather curious as to why he was groping that horrible Black as well. Obviously he must have poor taste, to grapple such morality," a strikingly handsome boy, with straight platinum blond hair falling to his shoulders, said in a clipped aristocratic voice, his grey eyes flashing in curiosity.

His companion rolled his dark eyes as he looked at his handsome friend and snorted. "Please Lucius, you're one to talk of having a foul mouth, and besides, did you get a good look at him? He looked just like Potter, could have been his twin! Just what this hellhole needs, another soddin' Potter. Bet he's a little glory hound just like those prats. I'd like to see them knocked off their bloody moral pedestals."

"Do I sense animosity?" Lucius tsked, as he smirked knowingly at his scowling friend.

"Damn straight," Severus replied bluntly in his deep, rich, supple voice.

"Perhaps this replica of Potter isn't like those bumbling fools. Despite his looks there may reside a more refined and, dare I say, sly cunning? We could do with a new member in our house, one of at least moderate intelligence. There's something about him Sev. Think on it, he isn't like them. I can feel it," Lucius said, his voice so very persuasive. "He's got ambition, he's got a little bit of the Dark Arts in him. He's one of us."

"We shall see when he is sorted. If he is a new student, there's no doubt that idiotic excuse for a headmaster will have a sorting ceremony, probably tonight at dinner," Severus muttered.

"And then perhaps we will be properly introduced to this interesting newcomer," Lucius said with a raised eyebrow and a devious grin curling his handsome pale lips.

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"So you are James Potter and Lily Evans' son? That's refreshing. At least I know I won that bet against Minerva," Albus said with a smile as he looked at the dark haired boy before him, a naturally tanned complexion, a medium height, wiry frame, an exotic boyishly handsome face with bright emerald eyes, a wild mop of unruly black hair, and a lightening bolt scar on his forehead.

"This isn't time to joke. I want to know how I can get back to my own time," Harry snapped as he ran a hand through his thick hair, making it more unruly than it already was.

"There, you see, we have a problem," the headmaster replied.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well, you said you were brewing the Sleeping Draught of Prophetic Dreams? Well the only way that potion could have reacted the way it did was if someone added thyme to the potion. That is why you were, shall I say, thrown back in time. The amount of potion you were doused in will determine how long you remain in this time. There is no way to send you forward so to speak. You will simply have to wait for the potions effects to wear off, that is to say if they ever do. Thyme, you see, added to this particular potion, makes the whole thing rather unpredictable. You may very well be stuck in this time, and forced to live from this point onward for the rest of your life. My suggestion is that you simply settle in and get used to living here, in this time," Dumbledore stated.

Harry's mouth fell open. Once he recovered from the initial shock he stood up and glared at the headmaster. "What do you mean settle in and get used to living here? What about my friends? They are probably worried sick! And I was practically drenched in that bloody potion! Isn't there some sort of way to get back? I can't just stay here. I have to get back to my own time. I have obligations. There's a prophecy. I have to be there to bring down Lord Voldemort."

"Harry," the headmaster spoke kindly. "Right now, that prophecy barely exists. There is a Lord Voldemort here, and what you told me and what I've seen in your mind is enough to cause alarm. I can only imagine that he will begin to gain power and a true following this very year. Still there is nothing to be done as far as recovering you to your own time. I suggest that you do not dwell on it, and try not to interfere too much in the case of your parents because if they don't get together you will never have existed. I also caution you from attempting to change anything in this time, as that would greatly alter the future. Why the fact of you even being here now, has already altered what is to come."

"Fine," Harry answered sulkily as he fell back into one of the comfortable chairs facing the headmaster's desk. "But do I have to go through with the sorting ceremony?"

"Of course," Dumbledore answered.

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes, wondering where exactly he was going to be sorted as he recalled the sorting hat's trouble in sorting him when he'd been eleven. He would probably just end up in Gryffindor again, but could he stand living in the same dorm with the younger versions of Sirius and Remus and Peter Pettigrew, who as he recalled had been a Gryffindor. And what about sharing a room with James who was obviously angry with him for having touched Lily earlier?

He wondered what James would have thought of it if he'd known that Harry was seeing his mother for the first time in his life, as far as he could recall, as well as truly seeing James for the first time. Could he stand being a Gryffindor with the marauders? He remembered how in the future he'd thought it would be fun to hang out with the younger, carefree versions of his godfather and his dad and Remus, playing pranks and being boys, but now that it was a possibility? He wasn't so sure. After all where he came from he hadn't been some carefree boy, he'd been a young boy with hardly a childhood, who'd had responsibility forced on him at a young age.

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Lily Evans looked up from her book when she heard the scraping of a chair across from her. She sighed as she placed her bookmark between the pages of the book she held in her hands and her emerald eyes met gold. "What is it Remus? If you are here on James behalf, then whatever the question, the answer is still the same. No," she said bluntly, before she began to open her book up once again.

"Actually, it's about that new boy. You know the one that touched you before we went up to see the headmaster. Do you know him?" Remus asked.

The girl shook her head, her bright head hair gliding across her back at the gesture. "No. You mean he isn't one of Potter's relatives? He wasn't part of some prank? Then who is he? How did he know me? Why did it look like he was fighting tears?"

"He had tears in his eyes?" The boy across from her leaned back in his chair, his calculating golden eyes drifting to his clasped hands.

"Yes. At least I think so. He looked at me, like he knew me, but had never seen me before. Sort of a look of awe. He seems strange. And when he touched me..."

"Yes," he prompted her to continue.

"It's silly really, but he seemed so sad. I just wanted to wrap my arms around him, and tell him things would be okay. Sounds funny, doesn't it?" she said with a small laugh to shake off the intensity of her previous words.

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"How dare he put his filthy hands on her Sirius?!" James continued to rant as he paced across their dorm room.

Sirius rolled his eyes, tired of hearing the tirade about who was touching or talking to Lily Evans at the current moment. "Prongs, I've already told you, if you want to talk to the girl, put a stunning spell and a silencing charm on her so that she'll have no choice but to listen to what you have to say. As for this Harry bloke. I don't think you have to really worry about him all that much."

James turned quizzically to his broad shouldered friend. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for starters," Sirius began, "Look at the way he grabbed me after Remus and I helped him up. If you asked me he's the type that goes after blokes. Why else would he have grabbed hold of me like that? There's a difference between a simple hug or a friendly arm over the shoulder. He grabbed me like he wanted to haul me off to a broom closet!"

James eyes widened. "You mean you think he's queer, I mean poncy queer?" James asked with a grin crossing his features.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Sirius answered with a shrug.

"Now that all that's finally settled then, I want to hear all about you and the little Ravenclaw," James said as he sprawled out on his bed and watched as Sirius fell back on his own four-poster.

A smile spread across Sirius' face as he asked, "Which one? The blond with the big knockers or the brunette with the fantastic legs?"

"Let's begin with the blond," James suggested.

Sirius sighed. "Well, there's not much to tell. She actually wanted to study for the first hour..."

"But you were gone for three," James said when Sirius trailed off, and his hazel eyes lit up as he noticed the tell-tale sparkle in his friends mischievous, dark blue eyes. "You dog!"

"Well, you don't call me Padfoot for nothing."