DEATH EATER ATTACKS ON THE RISE!

A Daily Prophet Special Report

October 14, 1995

Ever since last August’s attack on Azkaban, more and more reports of Death eater attacks and Dark Mark sightings have been reported across Great Britain - some even as far away as Hawick in southern Scotland.

“We smelled smoke and came to investigate,” says Eileen Teederlake, a neighbor of the Kirkwick family of Glocshire, England. “At first we thought it might just be some kind of kitchen fire or something. But when we got closer to the house, we saw You-Know-Who’s sign over the Kirkwick’s cottage. I can’t even describe what we saw when we went inside. It was terrible. I’ve never seen so much blood before in my life.”

Pearl and Marcus Kirkwick (ages 42 and 44) were founded brutally murdered. Aurors say that there were signs of a violent break in by several unknown assailants, and that traces of several Unforgivable Curses were found on their bodies. Though the families of the dead refuse to comment, there is evidence that the couple was involved in an anti-Deatheater resistance force during the First War.

The Kirkwick’s murder, however, is not the only tragedy of its kind to occur. Over a dozen have been reported in the past two weeks.

The Ministry of Magic refuses to make a full comment about this recent string of violent attacks on ex-resistance fighters of the First War, but says that it is doing its best to see that no more attacks occur.

“We have the entire Auror’s office looking into the matter,” says Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. “There is no reason to panic. Every available resource the Ministry possess is currently being used to solve these heinous murders.”

When asked if the possibility that You-Know-Who might actually have returned just like Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, reported last June after the tragic TriWizard’s Tournament incident, Fudge refused to comment and abruptly ended the press conference.

“There is no reason to believe any of these stories Harry Potter made up about You-Know-Who coming back,” commented aide to the Minister, Mr. Percy Weasley. “Just because the Dark Mark has allegedly been seen over the scenes of these brutal attacks, there is no reason to believe He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is actually behind them. There is the greatest possibility that these attacks are nothing more than the doings of You-Know-Who’s followers that managed to escape last August from Azkaban. These stories have absolutely no basis on reality.”

There are many though that are beginning to wonder if the Boy-Who-Lived might not be telling the truth. After last June’s tragic events at the TriWizard’s Tournament…

(Story Continued on pg. 4)

Harry couldn’t stand to read anymore and tossed the paper aside.

“Problem, Harry?” Ron asked around a mouthful of half-masticated sausage and hot cakes.

“No…” Harry muttered as he sullenly poked at his plate of scrambled eggs. “I’m just suddenly not very hungry…”

Hermione glanced up from her own breakfast and gave Harry a commiserating look. “I read what they wrote in the paper…” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes.

Ron and Hermione shared worried looks.

“So are you ready for tomorrow’s Quidditch game?” Ron asked, abruptly changing the subject and forcing himself to sound upbeat. “I’m kind of nervous myself. Tomorrow’s going to be my first game. Wow, Ravenclaw… I think we can take them though. Do you have any suggestions to help me get ready?”

Harry glanced at his friend. It was kind of strange talking to Ron like this - as players on the same Quidditch team. Ever since the now infamous Hourglass Incident three weeks ago, Filtch had pulled strings (with the help of the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and Ministry-appointed Officer to Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge) and managed to suspend the Weasley twins from playing Quidditch that year. Harry felt bad about being partially responsible for the twins’ suspension, but certainly wasn’t about to go to Dumbledore and try to explain what really happened.

Thus, two unexpected spots had opened up on the Gryffindor team, plus two other spots from players that had graduated the previous year. Try outs had been held, and despite several false starts, Ron had managed to secure the Keeper position. Surprisingly, Ron’s sister, Ginny, had also done well and come away with one of her older brothers’ old Beater positions.

Harry was still trying to come to terms with the thought of playing with two of his best friends.

“Not really…” he murmured. “I think we’re about as prepared as we can be. Angelina’s been pretty tough on us in practice the last few weeks. All I can really say is get a good night’s sleep and eat a good breakfast tomorrow.”

“Gee, that sounds really familiar…” Ron joked. “Sounds a lot like what we used to tell you before games…”

“How have you been sleeping, Harry?” Hermione softly interrupted, studying her friend’s face closely. “You haven’t said anything about having any more visions or strange dreams lately… Have they stopped?”

Harry noticeably hesitated. It had been several weeks since his last vision. But he wasn’t about to delude himself into thinking that his visions and strange dreams were actually over. Every so often he would feel his scar give a painful twinge or get unexplainably light-headed. Something told him it was only a matter of time before his visions someday came back. The question was just: when? Every night he went to bed dreading that that would be the night they’d once again return with a vengeance.

“Um, yeah. It seems like it,” he said, knowing even then he wasn’t really telling the truth.

Hermione looked unconvinced.

“Do you have Occlumency tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, not really thrilled with the idea. Despite being able to throw Snape out of his mind that one time, he hadn’t really made any more improvements since then. The Occlumency book Snape had lent him had helped him learn to control his emotions a little better, but beyond that, his mind was still like an open book for his Potions professor.

He’d kept a close eye on Snape the last several weeks since his last vision - trying to figure out if it’d actually been Snape he’d seen in his dream - but he hadn’t noticed anything particularly out of place with the older man. Snape was still as surly and unpleasant as always. Harry also hadn’t seen any more strange visions while in the other man’s presence.

“How much longer do you think you’re going to have to take these lessons with Snape?” Ron asked, now helping himself to a plate of bacon.

“Don’t know…” Harry murmured. “Until I learn how to keep Snape from looking into my mind I guess…”

“Tough break…” Ron muttered, grabbing one last strip of bacon just as the bell for first period rang.

“Come on,” Hermione said, standing up and gathering her bag. “We have Herbology then double Charms.”

Ron groaned loudly. “But I haven’t finished my essay for Flitwick yet,” he moaned.

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you spent all last night playing Gobstones with Dean instead of doing homework,” Hermione said.

Ron made a face at her behind her back as she turned to leave. “Come on, Harry…” he scowled, also getting up from the table. “Let’s go before she starts yelling at us for wasting time at Quidditch practice instead of studying…”

Harry mutely stood and followed Ron. It did no good trying to mitigate one of Ron and Hermione’s frequent tiffs. Sometimes it was best just to sit there quietly and not say a word…

But there was more on Harry’s mind that morning than not drawing attention to himself while Ron and Hermione argued. He had an Occlumency lesson later that night.

And he was not looking forward to it…

Exactly as he did every Friday evening at seven o‘clock, Harry found himself standing outside the door of Professor Snape’s classroom. Just as the bell began to toll, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Enter.”

Harry went in. Snape was at his desk, as usual, grading papers. He barely even looked up as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk.

He didn’t acknowledge his student’s presence as he finished grading the essay he was working on and scratched off a big red P at the top of the scroll. Getting up with an abrupt sweep of his robes, he went over to one of the bookshelves lining the room and took down an old Pensieve.

Without a word, he brought it back to his desk (just as he did every lesson) and began extracting silver memory strands from his temple. Finally finished, he pushed the glowing Pensieve to the side of his desk.

With cool, perfunctory movements, he swept to the other side of the room and faced Harry. “Wand out,” he ordered.

Harry sighed and did as he was told. It was the same every week. It had begun to be a sort of routine: Snape started the lesson without so much as a parting glance at Harry while Harry stood there waiting to be acknowledged; and when he finally was, it was usually in a manner that made him feel like he was some disobedient First Year reporting for detention.

“You seem to have made some progress since you started using the Grounding method the other week, but you are still horribly pathetic at throwing me from your mind once I’m in,” Snape said.

Harry didn’t say anything in response. He was used to Snape’s comments by now. After taking six weeks of private Occlumency lessons with Snape, one learned to grow a thick skin…

“Focus on your Base Memory,” Snape ordered, aiming his wand at Harry. “But unlike last week I want you to actually focus on keeping me out. This technique does not do any good unless you actually try to push back.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. After all these weeks with no progress except for that one time, he was starting to get frustrated.

He was in a dark, dilapidated mansion. Death eaters were everywhere. He was surrounded. But he wasn’t afraid. The tall, dark man was beside him, reassuring him that he was safe…

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

Harry slowly nodded. “Yes.”

Snape leveled his wand at Harry. “On the count of the three then. One - two -thre-”

“Professor!” The door to the classroom suddenly banged open.

Harry and Snape both spun around towards the door. Draco Malfoy was standing there, panting slightly in the doorway. His expression abruptly changed to one of surprise upon realizing there was someone else there besides his Head of House - namely his arch enemy, the Boy-Who-Lived.

“May I help you, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape calmly drawled, turning to address him. “Mr. Potter and I were in the middle of a little Remedial Potions brush-up.”

Harry never thought he’d seen Draco look so happy. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. What he wouldn’t give to curse that smirk of that arrogant little Slytherin’s face…

Grinning like his namesake animal, Draco tore his eyes away from Harry and back to Snape. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “There’s been some kind of disturbance in the main hall. It seems Peeves attacked a group of students going back to their common rooms after dinner with water balloons. It looks like they were filled with syrup. Dumbledore wants you to come help sort out everything. He also wants you to bring the Bloody Baron if you can…”

Snape scowled and swore under his breath. “Very well, I’ll be right there.” Pocketing his wand back in his robes, Snape turned to follow Draco out the door. “You stay here, Potter,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do not touch anything while I’m gone. If I come back and find out you were sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong, you will be gutting Blast-Ended Skrewts until the day you graduate!”

Harry mutely nodded. Snape never made idle threats… “Yes, sir…” he murmured.

As Snape swept out the door, Draco hesitated in the doorway and glanced back at Harry. “Remedial Potions?” he snickered under his breath, then disappeared after Snape.

Harry grit his teeth as the door banged close behind them. “Mirror-kissing little weasel…” he muttered under his breath. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he fell back into the chair in front of Snape’s desk.

Great… now he was going to have to wait until Snape got back to finish their weekly lesson… And who knew how long that was going to take… Knowing Peeves, if Dumbledore was asking Snape to find the Bloody Baron, whatever he did must have been bad…

Leaning his head back against the chair, Harry listlessly looked around the room. The classroom was once again lined with bookshelves of bottled potions ingredients, all of them glowing eerily in the dim torchlight. It looked like Snape had wasted no time in replacing everything he’d broken the other week in his explosion of unrestrained magic. Looking around Harry felt a little guilty. He wondered how much it had cost Snape to replace everything…

Resting his elbow on the armrest and cradling his chin in his hand, Harry gave a sigh. How long was this going to take? He wanted to get back to the tower. They had a Quidditch game tomorrow, and he wanted to get back before it was too late. Despite not having anymore strange dreams or visions, he hadn’t been sleeping very well the last few weeks. He wanted to try and go to bed early that night in hopes of getting at least six hours of sleep…

With another bored sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. As he sat there staring at the ceiling, he happened to notice a pale, shimmering silver light reflected against the stones. It seemed to dance, like magical fairy-light from another world.

Abruptly sitting up in his chair, Harry looked in the direction of the strange glow. There sitting on the edge of Snape’s desk was the Potion master’s Pensieve.

Harry stared at it a moment. Then, almost as if he’d been hit in the head by a Bludger, he gasped. A thousand different thoughts raced through his mind as if a floodgate had just been released.

Snape had left his Pensieve! All his memories he didn’t want Harry to see if he had another accidental backlash were in there. What if he’d left some memory in there that might explain what was going on with him - what Voldemort had done to him?

Harry knew he shouldn’t look, but the possibilities of what might lay inside were too much for him to ignore. What if there was something in there that might give him a clue as to how he could help his Potions master?

He knew he shouldn’t. He really knew he shouldn’t, but…

Getting out of his seat, Harry went to the side of the desk. The Pensieve’s surface swirled a smoky grey, like misty water.

Harry glanced over his shoulder towards the door. It was tightly closed. The room was empty. No one else could see him. It was going to take at least twenty minutes for them to take care of Peeves… Maybe more if Snape had to go look for the Bloody Baron… Harry’s heart was now beating madly against his chest.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took hold of the Pensieve’s sides and plunged headfirst into its smoky depths.

For a moment it felt like he was freefalling, but then with a weird head-over-heels sensation he found himself standing in the middle of one of Hogwart’s many hallways. By the sight of the statue of Balfred the Incompetent, Harry knew he had to be on the third floor. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed into the hall from the windows, creating bright pools of light along the corridor.

Harry looked around. This didn’t look promising. If Snape had hidden some memory of Voldemort mentally enslaving him, he would’ve thought it would’ve been in some dark, foreboding place - not in the middle of Hogwarts in broad daylight…

Harry glanced around the hall, confused. Just where was he? This didn’t make any sense. Why was he in Hogwarts?

As if in answer to Harry’s unspoken question, he heard the bell that signaled the end of class ring. Along the length of the hallway, multiple doors banged opened and streams of students began to fill the hall.

Harry stood in the middle of the suddenly crowded hall. Everyone was talking and laughing, glad to be out of class. As students of every House began to push past him (and even through him a some points), Harry hurriedly looked around. Where was Snape? This was his memory after all…. He had to be around here somewhere…

And then he saw him.

For a moment Harry could only stare.

Coming out of the second door to the right walked Severus Snape. Only there was something distinctly different about the Snape Harry saw before him. For starters, Snape looked like he was no older than Harry himself…

This teenage-Snape looked much like his older self, Harry noted. His hair was long and lanky just like his older version’s, and just as greasy. He had the same shallow complexion, overly thin frame, and long hooked nose. The only thing that struck Harry as different was the brighter, somehow more alive look to this younger Snape’s eyes. They were not as masked and impenetrable as he remembered his Potion master’s being. He could not help but wonder what had happened to Snape in the years between this memory and the present to make the man he now knew’s eyes so much darker and untrusting…

Snape barely looked around as he turned to the left and strode away down the hall, his black robes billowing behind him in a fashion that was only slightly less dramatic than his older self’s.

Harry hastily followed him.

The foot traffic in the halls began to thin as Snape and Harry went along, but a majority of the students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Harry noticed that Snape didn’t talk to anyone else as he walked like Harry usually did with Ron and Hermione between classes. It was almost like he was trying to hide himself within a crowd…

Most of the other students seemed to pretty much ignore Snape as he passed, too caught up talking with their familiars about Quidditch, the latest scandal of who was caught snogging who behind the Quidditch pitch, and plans for that weekend’s Hogsmeade visit.

Harry didn’t pay much attention to the noisy chatter as he struggled to keep up with Snape‘s long strides. But as Snape turned down another hallway leading to the moving staircases, Harry caught the sound of a very familiar voice behind him.

“Aw, come on, Remus! Let me see your notes! We have Transfigurations after lunch and I didn’t get a chance to read the chapter yet.”

Harry abruptly spun around, searching for the voice. Did he really just hear that? Was it really who he thought it was?

There, several yards behind Snape in the middle of a press of other students walked the owner of that familiar voice.

“Sirius?” Harry gasped. Sure enough, walking there beside a younger, less-greying version of Remus Lupin, was Harry’s own godfather, Sirius Black.

“Come on, Remus,” Sirius pleaded, tugging at Remus‘ sleeve as they walked. “Let me see your notes.”

“You really should do your own reading,” Lupin replied, trying to ignore his friend. “You won’t learn anything for yourself if I do. And that won’t do you any good.”

“Like hell it wouldn‘t!” Sirius exclaimed. “I won’t pass our quiz today if you don’t!”

“Then that should teach you to do your own homework.”

Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how much this younger Lupin sounded exactly like a certain other Gryffindor he often found himself and Ron relying on to help them out of an academic bind.

“Please, Moony?” Sirius begged, now pulling a convincing puppy-dog face on his friend. “Please? I won’t pass this quiz if you don’t help me…”

Lupin looked torn by indecision. But then, with a heavy, put-upon sigh of defeat, he said, “All right… I‘ll let you see them at lunch…”

Sirius grinned broadly.

“How ‘bout me, Remus? Can I see them too?”

Harry just about stopped dead in his tracks. No… It couldn’t be…

Harry had never heard this particular voice before, but it was one that he’d often heard in his mind late at night when he’d tried to imagine what that person might have sounded like…

Keeping Snape carefully in sight, Harry dropped back until he was only several paces in front of his godfather and Lupin, just slightly to their left. A group of other students shifted aside, giving Harry a clearer view of the two boys and their companion.

Harry felt his heart nearly leap into his throat.

There, walking beside Sirius and Lupin strode the younger version of Harry’s father, James Potter.

Harry was struck dumb by the similarities he saw between himself and this ghost of the past. His father’s hair was just like his own: sticking up in every which direction as though determined never to be tamed; his hands could have been Harry’s; their faces had the same narrow curve; and even from a distance of several yards, Harry could tell that he and his father were within mere inches of each other in height.

“What do you mean let you see them too?” Remus demanded.

“Just that,” James replied with a sly smile. “Sirius and I were busy last night with other important matters that kept us from reading our Transfiguration.”

Lupin gave an incredulous snort. “Yeah… important matters… Would these ‘important matters’ happen to be you and Sirius running around after curfew under an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Maybe…” James smirked.

Remus gave a heavy sigh. “Fine… You can see my notes with Sirius at lunch…”

Harry was surprised by how fast Lupin caved to his friends’ wishes. He knew if he’d ever admitted to not doing his homework because he’d been out after curfew, Hermione would never have let him or Ron see her notes.

“Can I see them too, Remus? I read the chapter, but I’m not sure if I actually understand it…” a small, mousy voice spoke up.

Harry did a double-take and only then realized there was another person walking beside his father and friends. Of course… He’d almost forgotten about the fourth member of the old Marauders…

Harry had to crane his neck to see the small, mousy boy walking until-then unnoticed on the other side of the group. Peter Pettigrew was just like Harry imagined he would at such an age. He was a short, unimpressive boy with a round, rosy face. Walking beside James and Sirius, he looked oddly out of place, like a puppy running with a pack of wolves.

“Sure,” Remus replied, offhandedly.

“Hey, look who it is,” Sirius suddenly said. The three Marauders and Harry followed Sirius’s gaze towards a group of girls walking several yards in front of them. At first, they looked like any other group of girls walking together between classes. But then Harry noticed one of the girls in particular. One with long red hair; and as she turned to talk to one of her friends - familiar green eyes which Harry saw every time he looked into a mirror…

His mother…

James’ hand nearly flew to his hair, as though afraid it might have somehow fallen into place.

Sirius chuckled under his breath. “Why don’t you just go talk to Evans, James? I know you want to. All she can do is say no again just like she’s done every other time you‘ve asked her out.”

“Or curse me into next Thursday…” James muttered under his breath.

Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to find this all very funny, and laughed heartily at his friend‘s disheartened frown.

James scowled deeper, but didn’t say anything. He sullenly shoved his hands into his pockets.

Sirius continued to chuckle merrily. But as he turned to look forward again, Sirius’ whole body suddenly stilled, like a dog that had just caught the scent of a rabbit. “Hey, James,” he said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, “here’s something to take your mind off Evans…”

James followed Sirius’ gaze, and smiled. “Snivellus… Excellent…”

Harry turned to see what they were looking at and spotted Snape halfway up the hallway, his long black robes billowing behind him.

“Hey, Snape!” Sirius yelled, him and James picking up their pace.

Almost as if he’d been expecting an attack, Snape spun around, his wand already drawn. But he didn’t get a chance to fire off any kind of spell.

“Expelliarmus!” James yelled.

Snape’s wand flew out of his hand and landed several yards away. The young Slytherin made a dive for it but was stopped by Sirius shouting, “Locomotor mortis!”

As if all his muscles had suddenly frozen, Snape fell face forward onto the ground, his entire body as rigid as a board.

Other students in the hall by now had stopped to watch. Several tittered softly at the downed Slytherin. Remus and Peter hung back on the edges of the circle that was slowly forming around the three. Remus looked hesitant, as though he knew he shouldn’t really be there watching. Peter meanwhile watched James and Sirius hungrily with an eager look of anticipation in his eyes.

“How was class, Snivellus?” James asked, slowly circling the young Potions master.

“I was watching him during class,” Sirius replied. “Had his nose glued to his notes the entire time. I’ll be surprised if he’s able to read them tonight from all the grease.”

Despite the spell freezing his muscles, Harry could make out a muffled string of obscenities coming from Snape’s frozen lips. A look of pure hatred shined in the Slytherin’s eyes as he stared up at his attackers.

“What was that, Snivellus?” James asked, pretending to lean down to hear. “I couldn’t quite hear you. Maybe you should clean your mouth out so I can understand you. Scourgify!”

A stream of bright pink bubbles spewed out of Snape’s mouth. Snape choked helplessly, gagging on the soapy mixture.

“Leave him ALONE!”

Sirius and James both jumped and wheeled around, as though expecting it to be a teacher. James’ hand flew to his hair again.

It was Harry’s mother.

“Hey, Evans,” James said, his voice suddenly deeper and more mature. A suave, handsome smile pulled itself across his face as he ran a hand backwards through his already disheveled hair.

“What are you doing?” Lily demanded, glaring at Sirius and James with something akin to disdain. “What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing really,” James replied. “But it’s more of the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…”

Many of the onlookers laughed. Sirius and Peter also joined in, but Harry noticed that Remus was strangely quiet, staring off to the side as if intrigued by one of the portraits. Lily was also ominously quiet.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you…” she said, glaring at James. “You’re nothing but an arrogant bully, picking on other people just because you can. Leave him alone!”

“Go out with me,” James quickly blurted out. “Go out with me and I’ll never even look at Snivellus again.”

Lily looked like someone had just placed something foul smelling under her nose. “Never,” she hissed. “I’d never go out with you even if you were the last wizard on earth.”

“Ouch. Tough break, mate,” Sirius said.

Behind them, the spell holding Snape captive was slowly wearing off. Spitting out soapsuds, he began to crawl inch by inch towards his fallen wand.
James was staring at Lily with a wounded look. “Come on, Evans,” he said, holding his hands out beseechingly to the side. “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking, and I won’t ever bother old Snivelly again.”

“I said no,” Lily repeated firmly.

“I told you all she could say was no,” Sirius chuckled behind James.

James scowled darkly in defeat. Turning away from Lily, he glanced back at Snape. But just as he began to turn, a flash of light cut the air and a bright red slash appeared across his cheek. Snape was slowly pushing himself to his feet, still unsteady from the lingering Impediment Jinx, with his wand aimed directly at James’ face.

Murder flashed through James’ eyes, and before Harry could really follow what was happening, Snape was suddenly dangling upside down in the air, his robes falling down around his face to reveal two skinny white legs and a pair of graying underpants.

The surrounding crowd broke out into scattered laughter and cheers. Sirius, James, and Peter laughed uproariously.

“Let him DOWN!” Lily screamed. Her face was a dangerous shade of red, glaring at James with utter loathing.

“Of course,” James said, and flicked his wand sharply. Snape fell into a crumbled heap at his feet, shouting an unintelligible string of swearwords and hexes as he did. Quickly untangling himself, Snape scrambled to his feet and aimed his wand at James.

“No you don’t! Locomotor mortis!” Sirius shouted, and Snape once more fell to the floor, paralyzed.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily screamed. With only a flash of movement to warn them, Sirius and James suddenly found themselves staring down the length of Lily’s wand. They both exchanged wary glances.

“Come on, Evans. Don’t make me curse you,” James said.

“Then take off the curse,” she said.

Huffing quietly, James turned and murmured the counter curse to release Snape. “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus,” James said as Snape scurried back to his feet. “Next time she might not be here to help you.”

“I don’t need help from some filthy little Mudblood like her!” Snape shouted. Then turning to Lily, “Mind you own business!”

Lily blinked, as though she’d just been physically hit. “Fine,” she said, briskly turning away. “I won’t bother next time. But you should think about washing those pants of yours…”

“Apologize to Lily!” James shouted, his wand aimed threateningly at Snape.

“I don’t want anyone to make him apologize, and least of all by you!” Lily said, rounding back on James. “You are just as despicable as the worst Slytherin.”

James sputtered for a moment before hastily blurting, “What? But I’d never call you a- you-know-what!”

“Oh really? Going around messing up your hair because you think it makes you look cool like you just got off a broom! Picking on other people when their outnumbered and helpless just because you can! Showing off with that stupid Snitch! Honestly, Potter, you and your friends make me sick! It‘s a miracle that broom of yours can even get off the ground with that enormous ego of yours!” Then turned sharply on her heels, Lily stocked off, leaving James staring after her.

“Evans! Evans, come on! Come back!”

But Lily didn’t even glance back at them.

James helplessly looked at Sirius. “What’s with her?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Don’t know, but I think she might be a little bit stuck up if you asked me,” Sirius replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, maybe…” James murmured. With a vindictive fire burning in his eyes, he sharply turned back on Snape. Before the Slytherin could even put up a defense, he was once again disarmed and dangling upside down with his robes around his face.

“Who wants to see me take Snivellus’ pants off?” James called to the surrounding crowd. Several cheers answered his question, but Harry never found out if his father actually de-pantsed Snape or not; for just then, Harry felt a vice-like grip grab his arm.

Harry was abruptly spun around and found himself - with a stab of horror - staring up at a fully grown, extremely angry looking Severus Snape.

“Having fun, Potter?” he hissed dangerously.

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say, fear freezing his tongue and mind. “I- I-”

He suddenly felt himself rising. The sunny hallway slowly dissolved away, then with another strange head-over-heels sensation, Harry felt his feet connect with the damp stone floor of Snape’s classroom.

Snape’s hand was still wrapped around Harry’s upper arm, squeezing so hard Harry‘s hand was starting to go numb. Snape’s bottom lip was quivering, his face flushed red with rage.

“So… did you enjoy what you saw, Potter?” he snarled, gripping Harry tighter. “Think it was funny?”

“N-no. I-” Harry weakly stammered, but Snape cut him off. His grip on Harry’s arm got (if possible) even tighter.

“Funny man your father… A true comedian. It’s no wonder he was so popular in school…”

Harry was man enough to admit it: he was scared. Terrified, actually. He’d never seen Snape look so angry, like he was mere seconds away from literally turning Harry into chopped Potions ingredients…

“Did you laugh, Potter?” Snape said, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slid down his nose, threatening to come off. “Did you think it was funny to see your father and friends outnumber and attack someone else? Did you?”

“No! I-”

“Get out!” Snape screamed, pushing Harry away from him with all his might. Harry hit the ground hard, landing on his rear. “Get out of here, and don’t you dare repeat anything you saw here to anyone else or so help me-”

“No! No! I won’t- I’d never-” Harry stammered, quickly backing away from Snape.

“GET OUT!” Snape roared, murder burning in his eyes. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Harry didn’t need to be told again, and all out ran for the exit. As he wretched open the door and flew into the hallway, he heard something shatter above his head against the wall - probably one of Snape’s bottled potions ingredients. But he didn’t stop to see.

Harry didn’t stop running until he’d put more than three floors and several dozen potential witnesses between himself and his enraged Potions master. Leaning against a wall panting for breath and waiting for his heart to stop pounding, Harry felt a sick feeling begin to slowly well up inside him.

Besides the wave of self-loathing he felt for doing something so disrespectful and violating as looking at someone else’s private memories, Harry felt physically sick by everything he’d just seen. He knew what it was like to be picked on and teased - the Dursleys had seen to that very early on in his childhood. But what really twisted Harry’s gut was that from everything he’d just seen, he now had to wonder if Snape really wasn’t right when he said his father, James Potter, was as arrogant as he’d always said…