Striking Thirteen

Prologue

Due to the strange way that spells were wont to act on Friday the Thirteenth, Severus Snape ought to have cancelled the Duelling Club meeting that evening. He had determined, however (with no small quantity of characteristic sadism), that it would be a good learning experience for the students to experience it first-hand.

After sending students to the Hospital Wing for four consecutive weeks, Neville Longbottom ought to have had the sense to quit the Duelling Club, for the safety of his fellow students if nothing else. Harry Potter ought to have had the wherewithal to stay in bed, or at least to have gone back to bed after falling off his broom twice in Quidditch practise that morning. Both being Gryffindors, however, neither of these boys had much sense at all, especially when it came to backing down in the face of adversity. The phrase "back down" wasn't even in Harry's vocabulary, except when preceded by "won't" or "never" or "Voldemort will," and Neville's Gran had long ago instilled in him that no one likes a quitter. And Neville wanted people to like him.

And Snape, being a Slytherin, or perhaps just being Snape, neglected to inform the Club members of which spells they absolutely must not cast that day because of the way the date would affect them. He decided to operate on the (patently incorrect) assumption that the students should already have learnt them.

At the Duelling Club meeting, Harry's luck continued to go downhill. The little magical wheel that spun to determine the partnerships for the evening paired him with none other than Neville.

"Tonight's exercise," Snape began, "will be disabling your opponent with defensive spells only. You cannot curse your opponent directly; only reflect, bounce, or shield against his or her spells. You will each take a turn, assuming both of you survive the first round. You may begin."

Harry smiled. This was going to be obscenely easy--he felt confident that he could block anything Neville could throw, and he knew Neville's defensive spells weren't what they ought to be. Neville, on the other hand, looked mortified.

If Harry had had a bit more sense, he would have started the match himself. But he deferred to Neville to take the offensive first. He opened with a couple of wobbly hexes that Harry dodged easily. The third curse he threw, though, refused to be dodged. Harry tried, but it bounced off someone else's shield and hit him head-on. Just before everything went black, he heard Snape bellow, "Idiot boy! Do you know what you've just done?"

One

Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing, feeling as though his head had just been chewed on by a Manticore. He remembered now. He had been helping Severus test an experimental Celerity potion engineered from Vampire DNA. Clearly, it hadn't worked. Where was Severus, anyway? It wasn't like him not to be there when Harry was in hospital, particularly when Severus himself had helped put him there.

Harry raised his hand to massage his aching temples and instantly recoiled as though he'd been burned. The scar. The scar was there. It was back. What was it doing there? What had happened? "SEVERUS!" he yelled. Oh, dear sweet Merlin on rollerskates, his voice didn't sound right either. He struggled to get out of bed, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. "SEVERUS!" he shouted again.

The door opened. It was not Severus standing over him now, but...a ghost? The ten-years-dead figure of Albus Dumbledore stood over him, looking every bit as alive as he had the moment before he'd raised his wand to cast the final spell on Voldemort.

"Albus," Harry whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "What... how? I mean, you're..." And then it hit him. Somehow the potion had malfunctioned and sent him back in time. Which meant that somewhere in the future, the Harry of this time was stuck in his body. Oh, bugger. "Albus, you have to help me," he began, scarcely stopping to breathe. "There was a potions accident, I'm not who I look like I am. I mean, I'm me, but I'm in the wrong time and--"

Albus held up a hand, commanding him to stop. "Harry, I'm pleased to see you're awake, my dear boy. But there are a few details you do not know. You are exactly who you look like you are; however, you are not who you think you are. Tell me, Harry, what date is it?"

"Well, when the cauldron exploded, it was October thirteenth, but I'm not sure how long I've been out for."

"And the year?"

"2008." Clearly, Harry reasoned, Albus would have asked no such questions if he had thought Harry's answers would be correct.