Only Time

Chapter Nine

Harry walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and immediately stopped, blinking, nearly unable to believe what he was seeing. Severus Snape. Severus Snape, with orange skin and blue hair. Severus Snape, who would burp every few minutes and emit a purple bubble that was singing shrilly, reminding him of Ginny Weasley's get well card in third year. Severus Snape, who was sitting at the Slytherin table with a very disgruntled look on his face, who every once in a while would shoot a murderous gaze to the Gryffindor seventh year boys, who were trying vainly to conceal their laughter. Well, the rest of the Great Hall, with the exception of most of the Slytherins, were either trying to contain their laughter, or were not even bothering. But Snape just seemed to concentrate on glaring at the Marauders, who were the most likely culprits for the prank.

Harry slid into a seat at the staff table, fighting valiantly to keep his face straight even though he was laughing inside, and looked around for Professor McGonagall. And there she was, bearing down on the Marauders like a cat pouncing on mice, disapproval in every line of her face. Harry couldn't hear what was said from his seat, but it looked like Minerva was concentrating on scolding James and Remus, who, after all, were the Head Boy and a prefect, respectively. But eventually she just gave up and probably issued them detention, because the four boys did not look at all penitent for their prank.

Harry smiled at Minerva when she came stalking back to her own seat next to his. She gave him a tired smile in return, then frowned.

"I don't know what I can do with those boys," she complained. "I swear, half of the detentions we've given out over the past seven years have been to them, but nothing seems to deter them!"

"Do they always prank young Mr. Snape?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Minerva's frown deepened. "He is the victim of their pranks the most often, but sometimes it's all of the Slytherins, other times the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs, and sometimes even a few of their own Gryffindors. I honestly have no idea what motivates them!"

Harry bit his lip, thinking of Fred and George. He'd talked to them sometimes, after their flight from school in his fifth year, about what motivated them. They had said that it was two things. They loved flouting the rules, proving that sometimes authority was unnecessary, and while Harry did think this reason applied to the Marauders, it was the second reason he thought more likely. Fred and George wanted people to laugh. They wanted people to have fun, relax, forget for a while that Voldemort was out there. They wanted people to know that there was more out there than evil Dark wizards, more to life than fear. So they gave them laughter and jokes, and life went on. Harry told Minerva about these possible reasons, and saw her slowly nodding her head.

"I never thought about it that way," Minerva admitted. "I always thought they were just promoting house rivalries and trying their best to humiliate Mr. Snape."

Harry laughed. "Well, they seem to be doing rather well at humiliating Mr. Snape," Harry said wryly, "but I doubt that's their only motivation. They're intelligent young men, and very clever. They're the kind that's going to change the world." And Harry knew very well that they were going to change the world, though not really through any conscious decision on their parts--well, except for maybe Wormtail, but the other three didn't know what was going to happen.

"Still," Minerva said, "I'm glad that this is their last year here. Noble mission to make people laugh or not, they have a habit of making us teachers very tired."

Harry laughed again. "I can see that already," Harry replied. "Lucky me, that I haven't been here all seven years then."

"You don't know how lucky you are," Minerva said darkly, but the small smile flitting at the corners of her lips belied her dark tone.

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Harry whistled as he walked down the front steps and out into the sunlight that permeated the Hogwarts grounds. It's nice, he reflected, to be able to walk into the sunlight and have no fear of being attacked or watched. Just a short walk to see the first friend I ever had, who is still alive. Harry had been devastated when Hagrid was killed early in his sixth year, and was ecstatic to see him again upon arriving in the past. Sure, Hagrid didn't know him, but they had a nice conversation about dragons in Hogsmeade, one that was cut off just before Harry got to tell Hagrid about the time he saw a baby dragon, and Harry fully intended to continue that conversation.

Harry reached Hagrid's cabin and knocked on the door. After a few seconds, Hagrid opened it, and his face split into a wide grin upon seeing who it was.

"Pr'fessor Patterson! Nice ter see you," Hagrid said, opening up his door wider so Harry could come in. "What brings you 'round 'ere?"

Harry walked in and sat at the table, accepting Hagrid's offer of tea. "I thought we could continue that conversation in Hogsmeade," Harry said casually. "I didn't even get a chance to tell you about the baby dragon. And call me Harry."

Hagrid's eyes light up as he turned his back on the steeping tea. "A baby dragon?" he repeated excitedly. "What I wouldn't give fer one o' those..."

Harry laughed, then sipped the tea Hagrid brought him. Earl Grey...mmm. "Yeah, a baby dragon. One of my friends a couple years back got a hold of a dragon egg, a Norwegian Ridgeback. And once it hatched, he had me and a couple other friends coming down every few days to see him do something new. Besotted with that dragon, he was."

Hagrid nodded seriously, taking a sip of his own tea. "Dragons need a lot o' attention," he commented. "'Specially baby ones. Where'd this friend o' yers get it?"

"Bought it off a stranger in a pub," Harry said, determined not to get Hagrid's hopes up. "But he's not likely to be in England anymore."

"Oh," Hagrid deflated, looking disappointed. Then he brightened up again. "Met any more dragons?"

Laughing, Harry told Hagrid about his various meetings with dragons...leaving out all the details about how it was Hagrid himself who kept introducing them and such. It wouldn't do to let Hagrid know anything important, because no matter how good a friend the half-giant was, he couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

But still, it was very nice to just sit back and chat with Hagrid. He figured it would have been worth coming back to the past just for this chance alone. Hagrid had always held a special place in his heart.

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Harry went up to his room, closing the door and locking it once he was inside. He walked over to his trunk and knelt beside it, taking out his key and fitting it in the second lock. He opened the trunk, reached in, and brought out one of his most prized possessions, the Firebolt that Sirius had gotten him in his third year. He was going flying, but first he had to fix a few things. It wouldn't do to be seen with a broom that wouldn't be coming out for twenty years, after all.

So Harry sat back on his heels and set the Firebolt on the ground in front of him. He raised his wand, and then transfigured his Firebolt into a Nimbus 1000, taking into account speed, acceleration, maneuverability, and other such things. It was a good thing that he had had a chance to fly on Remus's old Nimbus 1000, or he wouldn't have known exactly how to make it perform at that level. As it is, it was already a hard spell, not only changing the appearance of the broom, but its entire design. Firebolts were very different from the Nimbus series in how they were handled, after all.

When his Firebolt shimmered and then became a Nimbus 1000, Harry grinned. Now he could finally go flying, for the first time in several months. Picking the broom up and swinging it over his shoulder, Harry strode out the door, whistling.

He walked down to the Quidditch pitch, nodding courteously at anyone he passed in the halls. He didn't stop and talk to anyone, however, because he'd really much rather be out flying than making small talk with his fellow teachers or the students.

When he finally made it out to the Quidditch pitch, it was deserted, and there was a small breeze, not strong enough to affect his flying, but nice enough to be refreshing. Grinning, Harry mounted his broom and pushed off, soaring upwards into the air. Fear and worry nearly always vanished when he was flying, and this time was no exception. It was just him, his broom, and the entire sky above them. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, but Harry didn't feel like going up that high and being soaked in mist, so he just stayed in the Quidditch area.

After several minutes of just simple flying around and getting used to his broom, Harry suddenly shot towards one of the goal posts, made a sharp turn around the left-most one and shot through the ring, then zoomed to the other end of the field. The acceleration wasn't as fast as he was used to, nor had his turns been as sharp, but that was to be expected in a broom twenty years older than those he was used to. He tried a few loop-the-loops, but they gave him no problems, so he stopped. Now it was time to try a few dives.

With no warning, Harry suddenly pointed his broom towards the ground and dived, gaining speed and momentum as the ground rushed up at him. About fifteen feet above the ground, Harry pulled up, and flew off to his former position high on the pitch. This broom was definitely slower to pull out of dives than his Firebolt, so he would have to take that into account whenever he wanted to pull off a dive.

He grinned again, then hurtled down towards the ground for the second time that day, until this time he was about seven or eight feet above the pitch before he pulled up and zoomed off again. He was getting a better feeling for how well he could dive on this broom, so he decided to try a Wronski Feint.

Again, he hurtled to the ground, going faster and faster, the ground coming up closer and closer, until, with an audible woosh, he pulled up until he was level with the pitch and flew, the tips of his toes barely brushing the grass on the pitch.

Somewhere behind him, he heard clapping, and, startled, he turned around to see the Gryffindor Quidditch team in their scarlet-and-gold Quidditch robes hanging out near the spectator stands, clapping and whistling. Inside the stands, Harry could see a few more people watching him, also clapping. Embarrassed, Harry flew slowly towards the team and dismounted when he was just in front of them.

"Wow, Professor..." James started just as Sirius burst out, "Can we have you on our team?" They looked at each other and laughed, then turned back to Harry, who shifted a bit.

"Ah, I'm sorry, but you know, professors aren't allowed to play on the house teams," Harry replied, and watched as all of their faces fell. They can't have believed that I could have actually played for them...Harry thought, bemused.

"Would you if you could?" Sirius asked, looking up at him hopefully. Harry shook his head.

"If I played for any house team, besides the fact that it's for students only, I could be accused of favoritism," Harry explained. "You can't have honestly believed that I could actually have played for you, right?"

"Of course not, Professor," said one of the girls carrying a beater's bat. "But you are really good, you know. I don't suppose you could give us a few pointers?"

Again, Harry shook his head. "I'm not your Quidditch instructor, so any help I give to any team could be construed as favoritism."

Again, the team looked disappointed, especially one small girl that Harry recognized from his fourth-year class who Harry guessed was their Seeker. Finally, James seemed to shake himself, and clapped his hands.

"Okay team, we came out here to practice, not to gawk at our teacher. So get up on those brooms and let's actually practice!" And as the team streamed past Harry onto the pitch, James and Sirius gave him quick smiles, which he returned. Then he turned around and saw Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew sitting in the stands, obviously going to watch the team practice. Or rather, Peter was going to watch them practice. Remus looked like he was going to read, only glancing up every once in a while to see how the practice was going.

Harry climbed up the stands, broom in hand, until he reached the spot where Remus and Peter were sitting. He tapped Peter on the shoulder and asked, "Do you mind if I talk to Mr. Lupin alone for a bit, Mr. Pettigrew?"

At this, Remus looked up from his book, and Peter nodded before scooting off several rows down. Harry sat down in Peter's vacated spot, setting his broom down near his feet. "What book are you reading?" Harry asked the young werewolf.

Remus held up the book, which was an advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts book, as Harry noted with approval. Remus put the book back down on his lap and looked at his teacher quizzically. "Professor? You wanted to speak to me alone?"

Harry nodded. "You are aware of the extra-curricular lessons I am offering to Mr. Black, correct?"

Remus nodded. "The Imperius lessons, yeah. He likes them very much, though he complains about how hard they are."

"Learning to throw off one of the Unforgivables can be rather hard, yes," Harry agreed. "But our first lesson, Sirius had an idea that I agreed to look into. Would you like to join our lessons, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus's eyes widened, and he blinked quickly several times. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "But why me? I haven't had any negative encounters with the Imperius like Sirius had. I'm not likely to have the curse cast on me. So why me?"

Harry just looked at Remus. "You aren't likely to have the curse cast on you? Unless I'm mistaken, which I don't believe I am, you are one of the ones that Voldemort will most heavily recruit once you're out of school, which will be at the end of this year, as you know. I know you'd never go with him voluntarily, so that leaves involuntary means of subversion."

Now Remus looked afraid. "But I don't have anything to offer him," he insisted. "Why would he want me?"

Harry sighed and lowered his voice. "Remus, you are a very intelligent young man with a great deal of knowledge in the area of the Dark Arts and the defense thereof. You also happen to be afflicted with lycanthropy. You are going to be one of the people that Voldemort wants most because of all those things, and I'd really rather you not be forced to serve him."

Remus looked very pale. "You--you know, about my...?" he trailed off, obviously not wanting to say the word. Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, I know, and I don't give a shit," Harry said clearly, but still in a voice no one other than Remus could hear, "except for the fact that it causes most people to treat you unfairly and will give Voldemort a reason to think he could get you to serve him. You and I both know that would never happen, and frankly, Voldemort probably does too. But he'll still want you to be one of his servants, because you are a very well-educated werewolf."

Remus looked down at his hands for a moment, then looked back up at Harry. "You said Sirius suggested me...does he think...?"

Harry blinked. "Does he think you're likely to be subverted?" Remus nodded. "No, of course not! He actually suggested you joining us in lessons because he wanted you to know that some things can be fought. The Imperius curse and lycanthropy are rather similar in that they take away all control over your own body."

Remus looked very relieved. "I can't fight the moon, so he wants me to be able to fight the Imperius...to be able to bring some measure of control to my insane life..." he murmured, speaking almost to himself.

"You have a very good friend in Sirius Black," Harry said, giving Remus's shoulder a squeeze and then letting go.

Remus smiled at him, then turned his eyes to where Sirius and James were passing the Quaffle between them, whooping and punching a fist whenever they got the large red ball behind their Keeper. "I know," Remus replied quietly. "All three of them are very good to me."

"So would you like to join our lessons, then?" Harry asked. Remus nodded, still watching his friends flying above him.

"Yes. You and Sirius have some good reasons for me to do so...and I'd like to have some feeling of control over my own life again," Remus replied thoughtfully.

"Good then," Harry said, clapping a hand to Remus's shoulder and then standing up. "Our next lesson should be tomorrow night at eight, in the Defense classroom. We'll see you there." And then without waiting for a reply, Harry picked up his broom and climbed back down to the ground, making his way back to the castle.