He sat up and stared into nothingness for a short while, glancing once at the silent mirror before turning to stare at the far attic wall again. What would James do in this situation? Who cares, he thought to himself, he's not my father anymore... he never was. James would go give Severus Snape a piece of his mind, Harry was sure, but now all he had to think was, what would Severus do? It was then that the realization hit him... he really didn't know what Severus Snape would do. As a teenager, Snape was sometimes a pushover, and sometimes had a fist as solid as iron. As a young adult he brooded and yet was a softie at heart, at least with Lily. And as an adult, he was often ruthless, or so it seemed to Harry... and everybody else.
After almost an hour of sitting in silence, Harry's bladder bade him to rise and find a bathroom. He didn't give a glance back at the silent mirror as he left, although he was sure it was watching him as he walked out, feeling weak and ill.
"Harry, where have you been?"
He had been walking in such a daze after using the bathroom that he hadn't realized he'd somehow made it back to Gryffindor common room.
"We've been looking everywhere for you! We were just about to tell Professor McGonagall you'd disappeared!" His eyes grazed over Hermione as she scolded him, and passed her by. Ron was saying something now too, and even Fred was asking him something, but Harry didn't hear a word as he climbed the stairs. There was only the sound of the door that Harry closed, and the beating of his heart in his ear as it nestled into his pillow, his only comfort in this world.
His final thoughts before falling asleep again, were that he had traipsed into the past and mucked about long enough that Snape should have remembered him... remembered Harry Potter... remembered his son. And yet, he had still been cruel and unkind to him for the past four years. Their fifth year had just started a month before, and this year didn't look as if it had any promise to be better than the last ones. Snape knew Harry was his son, and he still hated him. He had still left him with the Dursleys, and that was not a comfort, to know you were not wanted, by your own father.
Harry was in a fitful sleep when Ron came in a minute later.
* * *
"Something must have happened."
"But what? He looks fine."
"He's been gone for two days Ron. Nobody just disappears on Friday night and comes back Sunday afternoon without saying a word."
"Sure they do, Harry does."
Hermione was about to open her mouth again, but noticed Harry sitting up and staring across the room.
"Harry?" she asked tentatively.
"Huh?" He turned his head to see that she had sat down next to him on the bed now. She took in the appearance of his skewed hair and dusty clothes.
"Harry, where have you been?"
"Don't know," he said, wishing it were true, but how could he explain he'd been to the past? They'd never believe him... nobody would.
"You- you don't remember?"
Harry shrugged.
"Harry, you had detention with Mr. Filch and Ron said he overheard Professor Snape taunting you in the hall, and then you were just... gone."
"Went to the attic," Harry said.
"Until this morning?"
Harry stood up, tired and achy from so much sleep and too much hurt inside to explain to his friends.
"Where are you going mate?" Ron asked, standing now too, as if to block his escape if Harry decided to disappear again.
"Food," Harry grunted, indicating on his watch that it was time for dinner. He didn't bother to flatten his hair when he glimpsed himself in the full-length mirror on the way out, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that if he had the chance to stand still in front of it long enough, he might see a Snape.
* * *
"Pay attention Potter!"
Harry jumped as his father slapped a ruler down on his desk. He had been staring off into space again. Hermione had already gotten on his case several times over the last couple days about not paying attention in class, and he'd overheard her and Ron talking with Fred and George about what must be wrong with their friend. Harry didn't care. Let them think what they wanted.
He looked up into the eyes of his father, and noticed the surprise in the older man's eyes at the emptiness of his own. "If I have to bring you back to the present again Mr. Potter, you will suffer a severe loss of points and detention, do I make myself clear?" His voice wasn't sharp, but the words cut Harry... back to the present. He did know, and he didn't care.
Harry swallowed hard and nodded, casting his eyes down to his cauldron. It was near the end of class and he hadn't even started yet. Hermione nudged him and he threw a couple of ingredients into the cauldron, not caring if he finished before class was out... or at all.
* * *
"Harry, come on. You're going to be late for practice." Fred nudged him as he headed towards the portrait hole with his Quidditch gear on and broom in hand.
Eyes glazed over as they frequently had been over the past few days, Harry looked up and tried to figure out what it was that his friend had just said, because he hadn't been listening.
"Oh," he said, seeing the broom. It was Thursday afternoon, and they had practice. "I- I'm not going. Let Ginny play for me."
"But you know the rules. If you miss a practice you can't play in the game next week."
"I know," Harry said. "Tell Ginny she can play for me. I- I won't have my head in the game." Harry stood up and moved off, leaving Fred and a few others gathered there looking dumfounded. Harry had never missed a game yet.
* * *
"Potter!"
Harry didn't jump this time, he just looked up into the angry eyes of his father, who towered over him looking venomous.
"Did I not warn you that if you failed to pay attention you would be receiving a heavy loss of points and detention?"
He looked down to his halfhearted page of notes and didn't say anything.
"Detention then, tonight at seven and twenty points from Gryffindor!" He heard the swish as his father stalked away, angrier than ever. What would James do? He would say something about it being unfair, Harry was sure, but he wasn't James's son anymore. Not knowing what his real father would do, Harry remained where he was, feeling emptier than he had ever felt before. What do I do? What do I do?
* * *
Harry's arms ached from scrubbing the dungeon floors with the hard bristled brush. Chores and hard work were so ingrained in him that it didn't matter what his father would have done, Harry just did it. How could he live with the Dursleys and not jump to do what he was told to do if it involved manual labor? He could tell the wooden back of the brush he held would leave calluses on his already rough hands, and groaned as he stopped scrubbing for a moment to pull out several splinters. When he was done, he got caught up in not knowing what to do again, and just sat there on his knees feeling lost, eyes glazed over. He didn't notice his Potions Master enter the classroom behind him, arms crossed and looking poisonous.
"Slacking are we Mr. Potter? I cannot leave the room for but five minutes and I come back to find you staring off into space?"
Harry looked up, arms still down at his sides, to see the man glaring down at him. He picked the brush up and started scrubbing again, although not as vigorously as before, his mind still somewhere else.
"Oh how very alike your father you are Potter, unwilling to put in even the tiniest hint of effort. It is a wonder you are even able to lift a fork to your mouth to feed yourself."
Something of the old Harry stirred in him then, a burning sensation in his chest. It felt of anger and injustice, and it felt good to feel something other than numbness, but he did not know what to say.
"I know nothing of my father. I don't know what he'd do." He knew his words came out bitterly, but they felt mellowed to him, as if he couldn't muster the energy to be properly angry.
"Let me enlighten you then Potter. Your father was a worthless, lazy, good for nothing, bully who enjoyed picking on-"
"YOU ARE MY FATHER YOU STUPID IDIOT! DON'T YOU REMEMBER ANYTHING?" Harry looked around, unsure how he had ended up standing with his fists clenched, chest heaving hard and heart pounding in his ears. He slumped down to the floor, totally out of sorts, unaware of the curious look that was replacing the angry one on the face of the man above him.
As Severus Snape watched his student slump down to the stone floor, a memory came flooding back to him, of a forgotten traveler through time, standing up to his father in a concrete park near Spinners End. A traveler popping in and out of his life to hear any details he could get of his family... a boy he wanted to erase because it would ensure Lily's safety.
"It was you. I thought it had all been a dream." Severus' voice was quiet, but reflected his awe.
"No... just your stupid son." Harry scrambled to his feet then and ran from the room. He ran from the Dungeons, he ran from the Great Hall, he ran clear out of the castle. It wasn't until Harry was well off of school grounds... on the hill near the Shrieking Shack in fact, where he had once appeared to his 16-year-old father, that he collapsed in a heap in the darkness, and breathed in the deep, fresh air.
His father hadn't known. He hadn't left him with the Dursleys to be starved and beaten and kept in a cupboard intentionally. And it wasn't all a dream.
He lay back on the grass in the too cold October air and stared at the stars. He had run again. Isn't that what the mirror had first accused him of? ‘And if you don't like what you learn? What will you do with the knowledge imparted to you? Will you run from it? Or will you finally embrace what you have been missing for so long?' The calm male voice played again in his ear. He would have to make a decision, regardless of what his father would do.
James Potter was courageous. He would stand up to the challenges presented.
Severus Snape seemed to be courageous as well though, Harry pondered, the smell of the dewy grass lulling him into a sense of calm security. Hadn't Snape set out to do everything possible to win Lily back, despite the fact that her supposed son with James Potter kept popping into his life saying that Lily would never be his? That was courage, to pursue something so earnestly that every person wished you to fail at.
Still unsure of his decision, Harry picked himself up off of the grass and began the slow walk back up to the castle. He had a lot to think about, including the fact that he no longer felt so numb... just different.