Pandora's Box

Francis was cleaning the brush and Severus was studying Francis’ sloppy art when Harry said, “Do you suppose we should tell Dumbledore about this?” Turquoise eyes and black eyes glanced quickly at him before going back to what held the interest of their owners. “I mean, he is the Headmaster and all, and he should know what’s going on.”

“Naturally,” Francis agreed. He waved his cleaned brush about in the air. “Dumbledore might even help us figure out where to find a good Tom Riddle.” He looked at the brush for a moment before he placed it off to the side. “I need a wand,” he said to no one in particular as he capped the inkwells.

“Why?” Harry asked.

Francis looked at him pointedly. “Because it was in my other coat when someone pulled me through time.” Harry felt a pang of guilt. Francis smiled gently. He reached out and patted Harry’s hand. “It’s all right, I’m not mad at you. I imagine my wand was stored in Dinsmore and then was destroyed when the place burnt down.” He looked sad. “What a waste,” he said softly.

“We can stop at Ollivander’s when we go with Harry to pick up his fifth year school things,” Severus said firmly.

Harry felt his mood brighten. “Can we go August fifteenth?” he asked eagerly. “I can see Hermione then!”

“August fifteenth is a Catholic holiday,” Severus replied. “Unless you want to drag a wanted felon along in public, Miss Granger may want to change her shopping date.”

“What about Snuffles?” Harry asked tentatively just as Francis turned to Severus and said, “What is it about you and holidays?”

“If we bring Snuffles along,” Severus said stiffly, “I may be forced to embarrass your godfather in such a way that--wait . . .”

Harry, seeing glee fill Severus’ face, hastened to change the subject. He turned to Francis. “I don’t see how we are going to manage to move from one reality to another when the mirror can only spin backwards and forwards through the past and future. How are we going to find a good Tom Riddle?”

Francis looked up at the mirror, which sat besides the still scotch-taped Pandora’s Box. He stood up, walked over to it, and studied it briefly. “We can get it to spin sideways,” he said with a knowing nod.

“How?” Severus asked. “It’s hinged on the sides.”

Francis nudged the mirror with a finger. It toppled onto its left side. He grinned at his grandsons. “It’s on its side now!” he declared brightly. “We’ll just have to remember whether we spin to the left or right.” Severus and Harry gave him disbelieving looks. Francis’ good nature melted into puzzlements. “What?”

Harry pointed at the Mirror of Rebounds. “You just tilted it on its side. How is that supposed to work?”

Severus floated over to the Mirror of Rebounds. “If putting it on its side would have assured others the ability of seeing from one reality to another, I’m sure someone would have thought of it a long time ago.”

Francis looked uncertainly at the mirror. “You think?”

Harry walked over to stand beside his dead uncle. “It wouldn’t make sense if it could,” he said. “I don’t even think it can work on its side.” He pressed the side of the Mirror of Rebounds, pushing the frame so the mirror rocked slightly on its hinges.

Pandora’s Box rattled, and the lid burst open as if Severus had not used half a roll of scotch tape to seal it. Dark green and baby blue light exploded from it. Pain flared in Harry’s scar as the Mirror of Rebounds’ slight rock whipped around into a shaking whirl. The world warped and twisted, and then shrank into a tunnel of green.

==================================

“Harry.” Harry opened his eyes. Severus looked as if he was barely restraining himself from strangling his nephew. It seemed the only thing that prevented him from fulfilling his desire was the knowledge that Harry might die, and would (with Severus’ blasted luck) spend his afterlife with Severus. Eternity was far too long to be spent with someone utterly annoying. “I hate you.”

Harry sat upright. “What happened?” he asked. He winced at the lancing pain in his forehead, with his scar as the central focus of the pain. He waited a moment for it to ebb. When it did, he looked swiftly around, saw they were still in the infirmary with a rather dazed Francis Potter rubbing his temples beside Harry on the floor, and sighed with relief. “Oh good, nothing.”

“That,” said Severus behind him, though his uncle floated in front of him with a twisted and dour expression, “remains to be seen.”

Harry slowly turned to see another Severus Snape--this one very much alive and his hair straight and greasy--glaring down at him. “Oh bloody hell,” Harry muttered.

“Ha!” Everyone turned to look at Francis. He cleaned his thick glasses with a triumphant smile. “I was right! You can jump sideways!”

“Who are you?” The living Snape looked at Francis as if he was something Snuffles had dug up three days after it died and then dragged it home to chew on.

Francis felt around in his pockets. He turned them inside out. “Maybe we should have waited long enough for me to get a new wand from Ollivander’s?” He shrugged and ignored Professor Snape’s dark expression. He picked up Pandora’s Box (now closed) and the Mirror of Rebounds. “We have to speak to Dumbledore,” he told Harry and Severus as he swept past them to the doors.

“It’s amazing how quickly he adapts to the situation,” Harry mumbled as he picked himself up off the floor. He cringed at the glare the living Professor Snape gave him. Professor Snape’s eyes flickered from Harry’s face to Severus the ghost’s hair.

“I doubt anything can faze him anymore,” Severus the ghost said as he floated after the wizard with rumpled blonde hair and goggles. “Not after being pulled through time.” Harry hurried after him, but froze with a squeak when a heavy hand settled upon his shoulder and squeezed menacingly.

“Mister Potter.”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end at the sound of the living Professor Snape’s voice. He was quite angry. Not I’m-extremely-agitated-with-you-at-this-very-moment angry, but rather I’m-going-to-chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out-before-burying-you-in-a-shallow-grave-where-your-body-will-never-be-discovered angry. Harry turned slowly to face Professor Snape. The hand fell away from his shoulder. He cringed at the look in the cold black eyes.

“Well, it’s like this Uncle Severus--er, I mean Professor Snape,” Harry began. Professor Snape’s eyebrow arched slightly Harry’s vocal stumble. Harry could feel his nervousness expanding like a bubble in the middle of his chest. “You’re my--well, we’re looking for a good Tom Riddle. That’s what my great-grandmother Pandora Snape--well, she’s actually Pandora Potter because she married my great-grandfather, Francis Potter, who just hurried through here--well, she said we had to. I’m not sure how that is going to actually help us, but that’s what she said. At least we think it was her, because if it wasn’t, then it was the Mirror of Rebounds, which is a rather strange devise. It showed me your past--at least we think it was you, though not you, but the you that was a ghost who was just here--”

“Stop!” Harry fell silent as Professor Snape waved an irritable hand, then massaged his temples with it. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Harry felt the bubble of nervousness in his chest pop when he realized how good he had gotten at confusing people. He immediately blamed his family’s influence. It was not as if Anastasia or Edwina were around to protest the blame anyway.

“Come, Mister Potter.” Professor Snape swept from the infirmary. Harry followed closely behind.

“Where are we going?”

“To see the Headmaster about this mess you have created.”

“I created?”

Professor Snape’s head twisted, almost as if he were trying to look over his shoulder at Harry but not actually do it. “Whenever there is trouble and you are caught in it, chances are you were the instigator.”

Harry pouted. “I resent that! I never--eep!”

Professor Snape whirled around so quickly that Harry nearly walked into him. As the taller wizard glowered down upon him, Harry was instantly reminded that this was not his uncle; this was not the man who was fairly used to the idea that he had a familiar relationship with his nephew, the famous Harry Potter.

Wait . . . Was Harry Severus’ nephew in this reality? Given that thought, Harry resolved to remain quiet. As Professor Snape once more led the way to Dumbledore’s office, Harry suddenly remembered that it was his fault for him and his relatives being in this situation to begin with. After all, it was him who activated the Mirror of Rebounds with a single backhanded blow.

On the other hand, it had not exactly been him who threw open Pandora’s Box and summoned the power to push them through the Mirror, so it was not entirely his own fault. But why had that happened anyway?

Harry was so involved in his thoughts that he lost track of his surroundings. It was only when Dumbledore cleared his throat and Francis called his name did he blink his eyes and realize he and Professor Snape had reached Dumbledore’s office. Harry could not even remember Professor Snape giving the gargoyle the password. He stared at the old headmaster seated behind his desk. Francis stood at one side and his uncle Severus floated at the other. It seemed too much like their old reality. Were it not for the living Professor Snape standing before him, Harry felt that he could believe they never jumped realities.

Dumbledore waved his wand and a tea set appeared before him on the desk. “Tea?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Francis set Pandora’s Box down and propped the Mirror of Rebounds on its side against it to secure the lid.

“Why, thank you!” Francis plucked a cup of tea up and cradled it close. “You always did have the best tea.”

“And you, if I remember correctly, liked your tea with plenty of sugar.” Dumbledore waved his hand and a large pot of sugar appeared before him. Without saying a word, Francis began to scoop spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his teacup. “Which reminds me,” Dumbledore said softly as his eyes shifted from Harry, to Severus Snape the living professor, to Severus Snape the ghost, to Francis, “didn’t you die when you fell off your broom?”

Francis’ hand faltered with a spoonful of sugar tilted halfway between his cup and the sugar pot. “I fell off my broom?” he asked in astonishment. The sugar slid off the spoon as he stared at Dumbledore. He jumped when he realized what he did, and then swept the sugar off the desk into his tea cup. He picked up the tea kettle and poured a minimal amount of tea into the cup. “Why in Merlin’s name would I be riding a broom?” He shuddered and Dumbledore shrugged.

“Most interesting accident,” he said bemusedly, almost to himself. “You decided to test the broom you created from certain blueprints. You fell off, broke your neck, and died.”

“But,” Francis grumbled as he attempted to stir his tea, “I hate flying. I can’t stand it.” He glared down at his teacup, and then took a bite of his tea. “Actually, while it may seem to be a surprise to you, I actually did not die from falling off my broom. At least, not in this reality. I’m from an entirely different reality.”

“Really.” Dumbledore looked at him over the frames of his glasses. “That may explain why there are two Severuses currently in my office.” He looked at Harry, but said nothing.

“It’s his fault,” Severus the ghost said as he pointed one transparent finger at Harry. “If Harry hadn’t smacked the Mirror of Rebounds, none of us would be here.”

Harry glared at him. “We would have come here when we decided to come,” he muttered.

“We,” Francis said after he finished chewing and swallowed another bite of his tea, “are looking for a good Tom Riddle.”

Professor Snape snorted. “Yes, Mister Potter here did babble something about looking for a good Tom Riddle as Pandora Snape had commanded.”

Severus the ghost frowned at Harry. “You babbled?”

Harry smiled smugly at the idea of giving Professor Snape a headache. “Rather incoherently, if I do say so myself.” The other stared at him. “What?”

Francis waved his spoon at the general direction of Severus the ghost. “You do know that you have are a bad influence on Harry,” he said. Harry silently agreed, but was wise enough not to say a word. Severus glared sourly at both of them.

Dumbledore waved his hands. “Come now,” he said. “There is no need to act like children. I’m sure we can all discuss this matter like adults. Now,” he again looked at Francis over the frames of his glasses, “if you don't mind explaining?”

So Francis did. Between the bites of his tea and the occasional interruption from the two Professor Snapes, he explained to Dumbledore the situation of Voldemort, what Pandora in the Mirror of Rebounds had told them, a very brief explanation of his past, and then Severus the ghost’s fate. “So you see,” he said, finishing both his tale and his tea at the same time, “we have to find a good Tom Riddle, and the only way we can do that is by finding a reality where he decided to remain good.”

Dumbledore thoughtfully petted his beard. “It will be very difficult,” he said finally.

“I know. Something is bound to be different in each reality, whether past or present.”

“I believe everything you have explained,” Dumbledore said. “There is no question of the truthfulness in your words.”

Professor Snape snorted at that. He looked away as Dumbledore cast him a warning glance. “Francis Potter,” Dumbledore said more for Professor Snape’s sake than anyone else’s, “could not fabricate an untruth to save his life.” He looked knowingly at Francis, who turned a bright scarlet color.

“Look,” Francis mumbled as he broke into a nervous sweat, “if this is about that one time about how I had--er, well, how someone had accidentally blown up the south water pipes in the Slytherin Dungeons--at least, the rumors claimed it was the south water pipes, I wouldn’t know of course--and how the dungeons got flooded and it was two weeks before the water levels dropped, and three months before it was no longer damp--um, I didn’t do it.”

Severus the ghost rolled his eyes. “Albus is right; you can’t lie.”

That’s probably why it always smells so moldy, Harry thought to himself.

Dumbledore leaned back against his chair and smiled. “You didn’t do that in this reality,” he told Francis. “What you did was turn the entire staff into puffskeins.”

“That,” said Severus the ghost, “was Anastasia and Edwina Potter’s doing.”

Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully. “Who?”

“Pandora’s daughters.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Anastasia and Edwina Snape. It sounds like something they would do, but they didn’t because they were the ones who blew up the south water pipes in the Slytherin Dungeons. We’re still unsure as to why that happened, being that those water pipes led to their showers.”

Francis blinked. “Anastasia and Edwina turned the entire school staff into puffskiens? I always thought that was Adam Longbottom!”

Harry had the strangest feeling in that moment. He hastened to change the subject. “Shouldn’t we get that wand of yours?” he asked Francis.

“I agree,” said Severus the ghost stoutly. “We should get the wand as soon as possible, because who knows what’s going to happen? We cannot trust this thing.” He poked the Mirror of Rebounds with one ghostly finger to prove his point.

Pandora’s Box flung open and knocked the Mirror of Rebounds over onto its other side. It spun rapidly around on its hinges as color flooded their surroundings. Harry’s hand flew to his forehead as pain exploded along his scar. The two Potters and the one ghost were sucked into the depths of the Mirror of Rebounds along with the color. Pandora’s Box followed closely behind, and the Mirror of Rebounds folded into itself.

Professor Snape and Dumbledore stared at the empty space on the desk where Francis had set the two items.

“I say good riddance,” Professor Snape said finally as he crossed his arms before himself. “I didn’t like those people, and I cannot stand the thought of being related to any Potter. My great-grandmother Pandora married Tacitus Malfoy after her father, Severus Snape, adopted him to preserve the Snape name.”

Dumbledore took his glasses off and cleaned them, then stared as a transparent ghost, wearing a suit of clothes with a style that dated back into the eighteen century, floated through the desk to hover over it. Dumbledore put his glasses back on and stared at the ghost, who nervously clutched a long-necked bottle of red wine.

“You didn’t see three gentlemen--two alive and one dead--pop through here with a mirror and an odd box, did you?” Cousin Quigley inquired timidly.

“You just missed them,” Dumbledore said. “I imagine they skipped realities. It all happened when Severus prodded the mirror, the box flew open, these bright colors of green and blue flooded the area, and it all disappeared into the Mirror of Rebounds, including the mirror itself.”

Cousin Quigley sighed before he took a quick swig from the bottle. “They’re going about this matter all the wrong way,” he bemoaned as he faded away.

Moments later, the Bloody Baron appeared. He was fuming mad and flung silvery droplets of blood everywhere in his rage. “Where is he?” he bellowed before disappearing as well.

Professor Snape and Dumbledore gingerly crawled out from beneath the desk where they had dived beneath. “This,” Professor Snape hissed, “is all Harry Potter’s fault!”

“Don’t hold it against the dear boy,” Dumbledore told his Potions Master lightly. “After all, I’m sure he wasn’t, ah, himself when he appeared.”

“That was a poor pun, Albus. A poor pun indeed.”

================================

Francis and Harry stumbled head over heels across the stone floor. Harry crashed into Fawkes’ perch and knocked it over. The phoenix, bright and splendid at the height of his current age, screeched indignantly as he fluttered in the air. He came down to nestle on the top of Francis’s head. Harry stared blearily at his surroundings. His eyes focused on Severus the ghost, who somehow managed to convey the feeling that this was all Harry’s fault, yet still be sheepish at the same time.

Francis tried to scratch his head, but Fawkes pecked at his fingers. “Next time,” he said in a voice that broached no argument as he brushed tail feathers out of his vision, “we shall refrain from touching the Mirror of Rebounds until I have gotten my wand.”

“This reality-jumping is giving me a headache,” Harry complained as he pressed one hand over his throbbing scar. The others ignored him.

Francis stood up. Fawkes cooed contentedly as he fluffed his feathers and mussed Francis’ rumpled blonde hair. “Which we are going to get right now. Come on; I think I know of a wand shop at Hogsmeade.” He started towards the exit and then stopped. “Does anyone have any money?” he asked with a puzzled face. “It just occurred to me that we would have to buy the wand.”

“What were you planning to do before?” Severus asked sardonically as Harry readily rummaged through his pockets. “Steal it?”

Harry looked at the coins he found. “I have about four galleons.”

“How much do wands cost these days?” Francis asked. “Mine cost two galleons.”

“Mine was seven,” Harry said.

“That’s more than a three hundred and fifty percent increase!” Harry shifted his feet restlessly as his great-grandfather began to work out a formula on inflation. “I got my wand in 1920, and with the increase of the cost over about seventy years . . .”

Severus sighed and crossed his arms before himself. Fawkes craned his neck upside down to give Francis what seemed to be a suspicious look.

“Why don’t we get the money from my Gringotts account?” Harry asked. “In fact, we might want to get enough to last some time if we’re going to jump from reality to reality.”

Francis nodded his head vigorously and nearly knocked Fawkes off. “Indeed,” he agreed. “Then we shall go to the Great Hall and Floo over to Diagon Alley?” He looked at Severus and Harry for agreement. Both persons nodded their head. “All we have to do now is inform Dumbledore of who we are, what we’re doing here, and that our things need to remain where they are.”

At the reminder of Pandora’s Box and the Mirror of Rebounds, eyes shifted to take in the two items. Severus and Harry unconsciously edged warily away from them.

Francis prodded the phoenix that happily nested on his head. “Hey you. Where’s Albus?” Fawkes merely cooed at him before he nipped at the prodding finger. Francis frowned. “Dratted bird. I believe he hates me.”

After a few awkward moments, Francis led the way out of Dumbledore’s office on a search for the Headmaster. On their journey, Severus managed to intimidate four Hufflepuffs and one Ravenclaw. “This is fun,” Severus cackled as he floated down the hall after one of the Hufflepuffs. Francis sighed and turned to the Ravenclaw, who stood frozen in fear.

“Do you know where I may find the Headmaster?” Francis inquired. The Ravenclaw’s eyes swiveled about in his head as he looked from one Potter to the other.

“You’re supposed to be playing Seeker against Slytherin right now,” he told Harry nervously. “Aren’t you?”

Harry smiled uneasily, then nudged Francis. “The school year started,” he whispered. “Does this mean we traveled forward in time?”

Francis frowned thoughtfully. “We may have,” he said. “Come. Dumbledore may be watching the game.” He swept Fawkes’ feathers out of his face again as he hurried down the hall, leaving the puzzled Ravenclaw behind.

Francis and Harry hurried through the halls and outside the Hogwarts castle to the Quidditch fields. They ducked behind the bleachers as the crowd roared with excitement (or disapproval) as Slytherin scored a goal. “You stay here,” Francis said as they hid beneath the Gryffindor stand. “I’m going looking for Dumbledore.”

“You’re not leaving him here alone without adult supervision!” Severus the ghost materialized behind them.

“Oh, absolutely. You can stay with him.” Francis quickly retreated from the area. Severus and Harry scowled at one another. The crowd of fans roared again.

“Well, since we’re here, we may as well watch,” Severus grumbled as he turned away from Harry. The two moved off to the side of the bleachers and peered over the fence at the field. Attention was centered on the game and the players, not on the two figures who rightfully did not belong in the current reality. They watched the flying figures clad in green and silver, yellow and red.

People whizzed here and there. Quaffle and Bludgers zoomed about erratically in the air. Out of habit, Harry’s eyes immediately sought out the golden Snitch. In the corner of his eye, he saw himself hovering in the air, slowly turning in circles as he searched for the Snitch. Harry gazed with wide eyes. He never before had the opportunity to see himself as others saw him, the graceful and wary Seeker for Gryffindor.

He admitted smugly to himself that he looked rather nice in his uniform, but he refrained from saying anything with Severus in hearing distance.

“It looks as if Francis found Albus,” Severus said above the raucous crowing of the Slytherin spectators as their team scored another goal. Harry looked through Severus to see Francis speaking excitedly to Dumbledore, who held a somewhat-fussy Fawkes in his arms.

“You don’t look at all happy,” he said when he saw the expression of the other Professor Snape, who sat directly beside Dumbledore.

“Harry, duck,” Severus said as he pointed to the Quidditch field.

“Duck?” Harry looked around for the said animal. He wondered how any animal could be stupid enough to fly into the middle of a Quidditch game. He spotted a golden flash. “Hey! The Snitch!” He jumped up and effortlessly plucked it out of the air.

“Duck!” Severus cried again with another glare at Harry. He reached out to grab Harry,

Harry sighed, exasperated as he ducked beneath Severus' chilling hand. “Where?” He looked around, and Harry Potter the Seeker crashed into Harry Potter the Reality Jumper.

The world fell apart in to a shattered mess of shapes as both Harrys tumbled head over heels. Oh. That sort of duck. Well, at least I have the Snitch, Harry thought with a twinge of loyalty towards his team. The last thing Harry saw before he landed on his head and everything went black was Severus the ghost looking torn between amusement over the situation and worry for his nephew's welfare.