Chapter Text
Harry had never imagined that his next revisit to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts would be for another of Dumbledore’s masterpieces—aside from the Deluminator: a small and spherical golden hourglass resembling a snitch. The hourglass had always sat on the bookshelf in the Headmaster’s office, its specific function a mystery to all. That was, until the day Professor McGonagall experienced a brief temporal reset within those walls, drawing her attention to the little device crafted from immensely advanced Time Magic.
“Albus has been fast asleep these past few days; it’s impossible to rouse him,” said Professor McGonagall, gesturing towards the grand portrait hanging on the wall where the white-bearded former Headmaster quietly slumbered.
“I suspect he’s gone elsewhere, and hasn’t returned yet. The other professors and I have attempted every counter-charm for time magic we know, all to no effect,” explained Professor McGonagall, looking at Harry fondly. “So, we followed procedure and called in a professional.”
“We haven’t discerned what purpose Albus intended for this little ‘masterpiece’. I reckon you spent considerable time with him; perhaps you might have an insight?”
“This doesn’t seem to be actively controlled like a Time-Turner,” Harry mused, turning the hourglass over. “Reversing it produces no immediate effect; the reset just happens abruptly. So what triggers it?”
The sand that flowed within glinted as if it was forged from sunlight, was remarkably beautiful. For some reason—perhaps born from knowing the old Headmaster’s methods all too well—Harry felt a growing suspicion that this trinket was pointing towards something significant, something likely connected to why Dumbledore was in a deep sleep.
“Professor, if you don’t mind, I’ll try the method used to deactivate a Time-Turner,” he raised his wand, At Professor McGonagall’s nod of approval, he cast the spell.
The instant the spell made contact, the hourglass exploded without warning - a storm of silver and gold particles burst into the air and glittered in the sunlight, engulfing Harry and casting him into a free fall reminiscent of plunging into a pensive. After what felt like two or three minutes, the chaos stopped. Harry landed abruptly on the floor, coughing as he opened his eyes. He was still in the Headmaster’s office.
Gone was the bright sunlight from moments before. Now, a sky full of stars glittered outside the window. Bizarre as the situation was, years as an Auror had hardened Harry against surprise. His instincts kicked in: assess the environment for danger and identify the cause of the change. He looked around. The office was empty. It had looked no different than the countless times he had seen it during his Hogwarts days as a student, with one glaring absence: Fawkes was nowhere to be seen. The portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses slumbered on the walls, apparently undisturbed by his sudden arrival.
He quietly circled around the desk to read the newspaper left upon it - December 5th, 1997…. Wasn’t this twelve months before the war at Hogwarts? How did time reset so far back?! During this time, he was supposed to be on the run, wandering and searching for Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione. This was… six months before the final battle? How had the time reversal thrown him back so far?! At this very moment, his other self should be out there, on the run with Ron and Hermione and hunting for Horcruxes.
This was problematic. Harry frowned, his gaze shifting to the grand portrait behind the armchair — Headmaster Albus Dumbledore remained fast asleep, his breathing deep and even.
“Professor?” he called softly, then again more insistently, “Professor?”
The old Headmaster did not stir. Resigned, Harry turned to the bookshelf. First things first, he needed to find the hourglass from this time period.
The door creaked. Someone was coming — in swept black robes, accompanied by a whirl of quick footsteps that gave Harry no time to hide. He instinctively raised his wand, but froze mid-motion seeing the man who entered. A moment of stunned hesitation passed and the next second, a non-verbal Binding Spell hit him squarely, and he fell backwards into a nearby armchair. The shadowed figure walked over and loomed over him, wand pointed directly at Harry’s face. Thin lips pressed into a tight line and brow harshly furrowed.
“Who are you, and why have you broken into the headmaster’s office?”
“P-Pro—Professor.”
To his own surprise, after all these years, the first sight of Severus Snape would rob him of speech. It was nearly impossible to describe the torrent of emotions: nervousness, exhilaration, profound relief, and utter disorientation… This complex and volatile storm within him shattered his mental shields. He saw a flash of astonishment on Snape’s face.
“Potter?”
Harry would have sworn on his magic that if he were to list the top five most magically powerful and proficient wizards he’d ever encountered, Severus Snape’s name would be among them. And given the difficulty of their usual communications, he had fully expected to endure at least half an hour of unpleasantry before he could even begin to explain the situation.
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said, meeting Snape’s gaze in a silent request to be released from the bindings.
“It appears that Mr. Potter has managed to carry his brainless recklessness into adulthood,” Snape drawled, “And has thus accidentally thrown himself back to the dark ages,”
The corner of his mouth twisted into that all-too-familiar sneer. He made no move to lift the spell.
Harry had to admit, twenty years later, faced with the “old bat” he had once so deeply despised, misunderstood, and yet has come to respect, even the man’s biting sarcasm now felt bizarrely comforting. Against all logic, Harry smiled.
Snape’s brow furrowed deeper, “Has time travel botched your mind, Mr. Potter?”
Over the years, Harry’s proficiency in Legilimency had grown considerably. Though it was largely ineffective against a Occlumens of Snape’s calibre, he could still perceive that his sudden appearance had brought the man a measure of relief and solace. After all, if Harry was still alive twenty years in the future, it was proof that they would secure the ultimate victory. The sacrifice Dumbledore had spoken of—Harry’s death—had evidently not come to pass. Yet the man before him—his Professor…
Harry’s wand was still in his hand, he countered the binding spell silently and stood while rubbing his freed wrists. The impulse struck him suddenly, only giving Snape a hug could begin to express what he was feeling right then. He abandoned the notion the second he took a step forward. The sheer intensity of Snape’s personal space screamed that any attempt made on the idea would be rewarded with a complimentary two-hour session of dangling upside down from the ceiling (Levicorpus) and a Sectumsempra curse. But Harry had already made up his mind. If the past could not be changed , and this chance to return had been granted to him, the least he could do was stand with Snape until the very end. Perhaps he could make the Professor’s final months marginally less burdensome.
“It’s like this, Professor,” Harry began, “I was handling a time-turning hourglass when a magical mishap occurred. The device was destroyed in the process, and I currently have no viable means of returning to my own time.” His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly towards the perfectly intact hourglass on the bookshelf as he spoke, while he fiercely reinforced his Occumency shields. He needed a story convincing enough to make Snape let him stay.
“Furthermore, in the current Hogwarts, my presence anywhere, or any attempt at disguise, would inevitably be discovered given time. So, I’m afraid my only viable option is to remain here, in—”
“So your idiocy remains a constant, from your first day to your last, Potter,” Snape interrupted, settling into the chair at the other end of the desk. “You could endeavor to transfigure yourself into a teapot or some other object that is quiet and stationary, and remain as such until you find a method to return.”
Even as he spoke these dismissive words, his wand hand flicked. Several dusty, antique looking volumes soared through the open window, summoned from Merlin-knows-what corner of the Library. They landed in a neat stack before Harry. Their titles all pertained to Time Magic Mechanics.
Harry discovered that when prejudice for a person fades and is replaced by hard-won respect, even a man as bitter and of Snape’s uniquely vicious and forbidding temperament could become fascinating. Especially now, viewing his professor from the perspective that they were near equal in age. It made it easier to see past Snape’s conflicted exterior and recognize the existence of something beyond.
“Professor,” Harry asked, watching him closely, “Aren’t you curious about the future?”
Snape did not reply immediately, merely glanced up from the book he had been examining.
“Only a fool would be anxious to learn the precise date of his end.”
Of course. How could a wizard of Snape’s keen intelligence not know? From the moment he had sworn his vow to Dumbledore, he had lived each day as if it were his last.
He fixed Harry with a penetrating stare.
“From the night you acquired that scar, I have had only the past, and no future. I suggest you stop wasting your time here. You are only a disruption."
Harry’s very existence here was testament to the truth of Snape’s actions and motives. In that moment, Snape abruptly realized that for the first time, he could allude to the despair that had defined his existence to someone other than Dumbledore. Harry Potter was an insufferable nuisance, but he was, arguably, the one person who could understand the depth of his words.
“Professor, don’t shut yourself away like this,” Harry said, the noble “Chosen One” firmly attempting to break the sombre mood. “Having a discreet ally could be useful, I can help out with mundane tasks,” “I can certainly tidy up here, perhaps even grade some essays…”
Harry said as he stood with diligent purpose to organize the desk, only to accidentally knock over a crucial-looking potion vial and send it tumbling to the floor.
Snape: “…”
And then the portraits in the headmaster’s office were lucky enough to witness the first unrestrained roar since Snape had moved in.
“Potter!”