Harry Potter 1. The Tragic Misfiling of Merryweather

I don't own anything.

I found my inspiration for The Spinner's Tale mostly in the seventh book. Severus Snape is too good a character to kill off and Harry Potter had far too much potential to just leave in the epilogue. So I'm taking them, I'm starting back at the beginning, and I'm writing something new. This is a prologue to a story about Harry and Snape and how sometimes family is something you make and the future is sometimes something you choose to have.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**The Tragic Misfiling of Ingrid Merryweather**

Sixty-four year old Ingrid Merryweather was a fourty year veteran of the Department of Mysteries Secretarial Pool. She had been chosen to work in this particular office at the tender age of twenty-five because even then had been an upstanding citizen and moral authority. As with most people with these particular virtues, young Ingrid was also a bit of a goody-goody. This was unfortunate but unavoidable; she was destined for an isolated, boring life because, when it came right down to it, she was no fun to be around. She had never had a friend aside from that one girl in seventh year, Minerva Mc-something-or-other, that needed tutoring in Transfiguration. It had not been a pleasant thing to wake up one day in the middle of her twenty-fifth year and suddenly know that the best (and most exiting) years of her life were rapidly passing her while she stood on the sidelines, without her even realizing it.

Then in came the Ministry.

Though Ingrid was, first and foremost, a goody two shoes this is not the reason that she was recruited by the Department of Mysteries. She had been working at a mid-level accounting job at Burgan Sorenson (Hats for the Dapper Wizard) since graduating from Hogwarts and was exceptionally good at her job. At a time when most wizards were resorting to obscure Arithmancy theory to balance their books, Ingrid used logic along with addition and subtraction and other such ridiculous things to figure out exactly how much money people were making. It was a revolutionary concept. It also turned out to be an extremely marketable job skill once news of this 'logic' spread. The Department of Mysteries offered her the questions of the universe and possibly the answers. More importantly, they offered her adventure and the absolute, ironclad promise that she would never again have a normal day.

She started work and immediately loved it. The chaos that swirled around her office, through every room, every crack in the wall, was exhilarating. The magic outside her walls was dulled to muted grays and browns in comparison. As time passed, she worked later and later hours, coming in earlier and earlier in the morning. It was like a drug and with nothing to anchor her back in the normal world, she was consumed by it. After nine months she had moved into her office, setting up a cot underneath her desk. She felt as if this was her rebirth. This was her life and it began now.

Fourty years later and the unusual was normal, the bizarre and impossible as probable as anything else. Ingrid was bored again. Not that she didn't love her job, because she did. But she was still a goody-goody. Her coworkers, while happy to engage in idle conversation, were not really her friends. They had lives outside the department where they went home to wives, or went out for drinks with their boyfriends, or even just collected chocolate frog cards. She had lived a full life, an exiting life, but she had still missed out.

This is why, ten days after Lord Voldemort was laid low by an infant Harry Potter, Ingrid woke up, crawled out from under her desk and carefully began to pack everything she owned into a small green carpetbag. Never one to leave anything undone, she finished labeling the latest batch of 'ancient and mysterious' objects for permanent shelving before writing a short letter of resignation. She was going to leave and return to the real world; she had had enough of chaos and wanted to have what all those other normal people had. She wanted someone to laugh with and someone to fight with and someone to love. Maybe, if she were lucky, she would find someone who felt the same way.

Ingrid kissed two of her fingers and then raised them to touch the doorframe. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye and she whispered, very softly.

"I will miss you."

Then she walked to the departmental doors and out past them, into a great hall flowing with witches and wizards and even children (_my god, I'd forgotten the children_). She followed a small group of night shift workers into a strange metal cage. She had heard about these new-fangled lifts and wanted to give one a try. It was fun; a very diverting contraption if she did say so herself.

She looked up and watched as they ascended into a world of sunlight.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

An innocuous book, bound in black leather, sat upon a desk. It had a tag on it that would direct the next person who arrived in the former office of Ingrid Merryweather to file it in the 'archive of the ancients' in row Z, shelf #345 (the room didn't extend side to side, but up and down, which had caused the shelves on each row to number in the thousands). It is important to note that at this juncture no one knew what the book actually did, or what it was for, or even where it was from. It was standard procedure to file magical bric-a-brak from centuries long past in the Archive of the Ancients. It wasn't like there was a great call to 'uncover the mystery' behind Ghengis Khan's magical nose-hair clipper. Things just sat there, gathering dust.

It was an unfortunate improbability that instead of writing 'row', Ingrid wrote 'section'. As a veteran of the Department of Mysteries, she would have caught her mistake before she went to file it. Having left the office for the real world a few hours ago, she did not.

The temp who came in saw the tag and was immediately confused: there was no 'section z'. Anywhere.

In that moment the lowly temp had a profoundly brilliant and simultaneously utterly stupid idea. Ingrid's handwriting was somewhat messy; the 'z' could just as easily be a '2'. And there was a section 2 in the ministry, just in a different department. He grabbed to book and made his way over to interdepartmental trolley. The Office of Estate Management was all the way on the other side of the building and he'd be damned if he was going to walk the whole way.

Shelf #345 had been cleared the previously week to handle the property of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, just recently deceased. All the family heirlooms and effects had already been sent off to the Potter vaults so the arrival of the book was rather unwelcome news.

"Look, we already sent the stuff off. The estate is closed. It is only to be opened when, and only when, the Boy-Who-Lived starts school."

"Thanks for the lesson in red-tape, but what the hell am I supposed to do with this for the next decade or so?"

The manager gave him a hard stare. He had closed off everything; there was nothing getting in and out of the Potter vault for a good long while. He saw to that. Now he's got some rookie paper-pusher telling him off. What happened to today's youth? When he was a lad, he respected –

"Hey old man!"

A vein stuck out on the manager's head. The temp didn't notice because he was too busy staring at the book. He had opened it up to some random page in the middle. It contained line after line of small, cramped writing. A small wizard photo (stuck between the pages) displayed the smiling face of a baby boy with messy black hair and shinning green eyes.

"I think this is some sort of journal or photo album or something," the temp said quietly.

They both watched as the child started to suck on his foot. Two parents had come into the frame, laughing together as they tried to extract the boy's new chew toy. The child responded to their antics (fussing) by just shoving it deeper into his mouth. The man threw up his hands in exasperation. The red-haired woman just smiled gently and brushed her son's soft hair away from his face.

"We could send it to him; to the boy," the temp suggested just as softly as before.

The manager nodded absently. It had never occurred to him that the Boy-Who-Lived, celebrated hero of the wizarding world, was an orphan now; that a child this young could not possibly remember his parents when he grew up; that a child this young was without a family. He swallowed past something painful in this throat and lifted his eyes to meet the steady, pleading stare of the temp.

_This kid is not going to make it far in the Ministry. He cares too much. But I think we can bend the rules this once. This boy should know his parents, even just through their journal. Besides, we owe them one._

"I suppose. Here's a contact address for his guardians. Send it muggle post; there are still too many owls in the air from the fall of You-Know-Who. It will be quicker, especially if you don't spend half a day tracking down a bird that can carry heavy loads."

The temp nodded once and then left.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A package arriving at #4 Privet Drive had been a relatively ordinary occurrence. At least it was until a young baby was delivered to their doorstep.

Still a bit confused about what to do with the the young boy, they were wary of any other kind of mail, correspondence or even owls in the neighborhood. So far there had been no sign of those freaks, which was good and it was with a tentative sort of hope that Vernon and Petunia re-established their day-to-day routine. The boy didn't take up that much space and was pretty quiet. If they raised him properly, if they taught him the value of humility and hard work, surely he wouldn't turn into one of them. They would start from the cradle and stamp that nonsense out.

So when a black leather bound book arrived, they were nervous. If books just started showing up all willy-nilly how could they possibly be expected to raise this boy properly? Freakish deviants with their freakish books and freakish chants (they refused to say wizards for fear of invoking them).

But they ended up opening it to the first page (just to check, just to make sure) and it wasn't like those disgusting spell books that Lily used to bring home at all. It started out a bit like the bible actually. 'In the beginning, there was darkness'. For all they knew it could be a Bible (they were avid churchgoers, but not exactly what Jesus had in mind when he said 'faithful servants of God').

That's it. Someone must have sent the boy a Bible, hoping that he would repent; that he would not follow his parents down their path of sin. Why someone didn't just stamp 'Bible' across the front was anyone's guess.

They placed the book on a shelf when the boy learned to read. Dudley had ripped their old copy apart in an adorable little fit of pique a few months ago. They needed a replacement anyway.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

In a place both very far away and very close by, three sisters watched as Vernon Ashley Dursley shelved the book between a Webster's Dictionary and a beat-up Tom Clancy novel.

They sat upon a craggy rock rising out of a black and endless ocean, huddled around a tidal pool they had created in the center of their small island. Through the pool they watched, mesmerized in a kind of horrified fascination, the events of the day unfold. They didn't blink once and wouldn't have even if they had eyelids. It was like watching a car crash right from the beginning. They _saw_ it. It started as the transmission fell out of the beat up Ford Angelina and the driver swerved in surprise, only to face an oncoming semi. It hadn't happened yet, in the technical sense, but it was TOO LATE (in every sense).

A Law of the Universe: There is no escaping fate. It consumed all things; defined them within a grand and infinitely complex pattern of life. There was no way to deny it; there was no way to escape.

"Well. . .shit," sighed Koltho, "This might be a problem."

Atropos started hitting her head against the nearest outcropping. Lakhesis just stared straight ahead.

"Fucking free will."

Free will was the source of many problems for the three daughters of necessity. Fate was implacable and inescapable; the end result was always known. It was the getting there that gave them headaches. Free will was that bit of chaos that you always had to factor into the equation. Since most mortals tried to find ways to escape their destiny, the sisters had to cook up these twisted, convoluted paths to travel so that everyone got to where they were supposed to be, whether they liked it or not. Oedipus alone had been a nightmare of winding possibilities.

Now, after decades of planning, centuries of convergent events, they had been blindsided by Ingrid Merryweather: Revolutionary Accountant.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

In case you missed it, "the daughter's of necessity" are actually the three fates, the names of which are Koltho, Lakhesis, and Atropos. They will play a fairly large supporting role throughout the story. Also expect to see more traditional supporting characters (Ron, Hermoine, Draco, Dumbledore, etc.) in the coming chapters.

I'm updating each of my stories weekly. Please email me if you have any ideas or directions you might want me to take. Due to the nature of this particular plot, I'm pretty flexible.

hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Meet the Dursleys

I don't own nothing.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Meet the Dursleys**

"Albus, for the last time, I want nothing to do with that little cretin. I don't care if the other professors are busy. I don't care if I can have the rest of the day off. Merlin help me, I don't even care if you're going me a direct order! I am not hiking all the way out to some hellish suburb in Surrey just to check on the Potter Brat!!!"

To say that Severus had a few issues with his boss would be a bit of an understatement. Really, he had 'had issues' with the man since he was a cute little eleven year old malcontent complaining to the headmaster about Black and Potter. First week of classes and they had drawn these stick figures doing . . . sexually explicit things to each other in his charms text. By the time they had gotten to 'wingardium leviosa' Severus ended up having to burn the book for fear of being labeled some sort of blooming sexual deviant. Flitwick had caught a quick look before the whole thing went up in smoke and he still looked at Snape funny sometimes.

The great Headmaster Dumbledore had laughed off such a casual, childish display of cruelty and told Severus it was all in good fun. It was obviously not fun, he had ranted to Lily later that night. A poor half-blood in Slytherin; as if I didn't have enough problems already. Why not just add harassment and mortally crippling embarrassment to the mix! It was like an unholy trinity: Black and Potter and their horrible, good-for-nothing son (and godson) who he couldn't even hate properly because the killing curse bounced off his thick skull and took out the Dark Lord. God dammit!!!

He was obviously working on some other issues as well.

"Now Severus," began Dumbledore, in that slow, patient you're-being-a-bullheaded-moron tone of voice. Snape felt a migraine coming on. "You're being unreasonable. You don't even need to speak to young Harry, or his family for that matter. Just go to the house, check to make sure the wards are at full strength and are working properly, then come back. It's not that bad."

It was that bad. He signed a contract to teach at Hogwarts. He read all the fine print. There was nothing in there about re-securing wards for child stars with egos the size of the sun. They turned a corner into a long hallway and Snape quickened his pace and attempted to outrun the headmaster's follow up. He knew there was a card the old coot had yet to play and he didn't want to stick around to hear it.

"He has her eyes."

And there it was. He steps faltered and his heart clenched. Nine years from her death, eleven from her marriage, thirteen from that horribly bright, sunny day when he called the love of his life – from when he had destroyed his happiness more completely than any other had ever managed. That wily old man, of course he would use that.

Snape loved well and loved fiercely. His love was a weapon against which there was no shield. Sometimes it seemed as if it remained buried in his heart, giving of twinges of remembered pain as he shifted from one memory to the next.

He made this about Lily. It had always and will always be about Lily. He would check on the brat and, when the time comes, protect the boy with everything he had left. It is penance for his sins. It is done in her memory.

It didn't mean he had to like it though.

Snape recovered himself from his thoughts and, simply for the sake of being an obstinate git, snarled, "I become your errand boy the day pigs fly."

It was rather bad luck on Snape's part that, at that moment, one of the recent assignments from the transfiguration classroom escaped and shot past the two professors, an irate looking McGonagall and two sheepish looking sixth years in red and gold ties following close behind.

"Ah yes. I heard they were going to be working on the pig-swan transformation, but I didn't think that would start until the week after next," the headmaster observed, voice filled with quiet amusement.

Snape did what he does best.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry was not a normal boy. He tried, really, he did. There's just no hope for it. He is a short, skinny, messy-haired, green-eyed kid who lives in a cupboard under the stairs. He likes asparagus. He does all his chores. He likes to read.

A child who likes to read: freaky.

And had you asked just about any member of the magical community, they would have been able to tell you that he was the first (and only) living being to ever survive the killing curse. Harry, having been isolated from his parent's world since the age of one, did not know this.

What he did know was that the Dursleys were mean, stuck-up, horrible excuses for people. He knew that there was something off about the 'bible' he got for his fifth birthday present (the first and only one he had ever received). He knew that his parents were dead (but would not give up the dream that someday some obscure relative would come and whisk him away). He knew that acting like a normal boy was what everyone wanted, even though he wasn't.

He knew that magic didn't exist.

The world as Harry Potter knew it came crashing down around his ears at six o'clock that evening.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Bloody hell, it's worse than I thought.

He stared down row after row of cookie-cutter houses. Each one was painted either pastel blue or pastel green or pastel gray. If they were feeling really risky, they went for pastel yellow. He could literally feel his brain congealing with the trite, sugary quaintness of it all. Eewww.

Severus stalked from hedge to hedge, searching for #4. Even without the wards, the boy would be well hidden. They'd have to burn down the entire neighborhood just to make sure they got the right house!

He sneered. His old house might have been shabby and rundown and chock full of unpleasant childhood memories, but at least he knew it was his. Did people ever get them mixed up here? He could easily imagine two families swapping houses, exchanging cheap books and tacky furniture without ever knowing the difference. Artless, emotionless crap the lot of it.

His internal rant was interrupted by an obscenely fat boy on a bicycle barreling past him.

Brown hair, right age, right attitude: it could be. So he followed the little miscreant home, which turned out to be no further than five houses down. He read the number on the doorframe. Number Four Privet Drive. Lovely. I can't wait to see Albus's face when this lard ball sits down and tries on the sorting hat. As if called by his thoughts, the ball of lard turned.

"Quit following me you creep! You a pervert or something?" The boy gave a quick glance at his robes, "Or are you just a mental patient?"

Sarcasm. Cute. But not as witty as he thinks he is. Snape gave a slow, terrifying smile that was somewhat reminiscent of a crocodile. The boy took a hesitant step back.

"I have come to see Mr. and Mrs. Dursley."

The boy shook, then bolted into the house. As Severus walked up the front steps, he could hear the stupid creature inside yelling at the top of his lungs.

"MOM!! DAAADD!! There's some weirdo outside that wants to talk to you!"

Well, nothing for it now. He'd get in a few choice insults at Petunia and the whale then slink back to Hogwarts and proceed to laugh himself silly over the complete and utter idiot Potter's son had become. He grinned to himself (which only served to make him look that much scarier). Really, it was so sweet of Mr. Dursley to allow Potter to call him dad. Darling family.

The front door opened and he got his first good look at Vernon Dursley. He was impressed. He didn't think someone could actually get that fat without exploding, but this man had managed.

"Mr. Dursley -"

He didn't get any farther than the name. The man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him bodily into the room before sticking his head out, looking both ways to check if anyone had seen them, then slammed the door. Snape was a bit shocked by the unexpected manhandling, but recovered himself nicely. He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the pathetic little man.

Or not; 'little' wasn't really a word he would use to describe Vernon Dursley.

"What are you doing here?!"

Snape spared him an incredulous glance, "You pulled me in here, shouldn't you be telling me?"

"Shut it. You know what I mean. The old man said he would keep the rest of the freaks away and now here you are, on our doorstep, dressed like goth transvestite! Look what you've done to poor Petunia!"

Snape thought it would just be better for everyone if he ignored the transvestite bit. If the man couldn't tell the difference between a robe and a dress, that was his problem. He chose instead to look over the man's shoulder at the former Miss Petunia Evans, his first and most annoying enemy. He narrowed his eyes.

Petunia, for her part, looked to be sinking into some sort of shock. He wondered if it was because he was a wizard, because he was Severus Snape (that nasty boy from her childhood), or because he was a (recently accused) sexual deviant. As she fainted to the floor, he toyed with the notion that it might be all three. He turned back to the tub of lard.

If Petunia was out cold, the only real entertainment he could find in the situation was gone. As was he, as soon as the elephant stopped blocking the door moved out of his way (if he wanted to be technical, the girth was blocking off the entire front of the foyer).

"I just came to inform you that the wards are re-enforced so you and your beloved," insert extra sarcasm, "son have more to fear from heart attacks than attacks from dark wizards."

Meaningful pause as he aims an assessing glance at the man.

"Much more."

He shoved past Dursley and, catching a view of the stairs, noticed that elephant jr. was eavesdropping at the top. He opened the door, turned back to nod once at each family member.

"Mr. Dursley, Mr. Potter -"

"Yes?"

He froze in the middle of his goodbyes.

The voice was small and curious and directly behind him. The voice was also answering to the name of Potter. It had never really occurred to him to check if the fat kid's eyes were green, or even if he had a scar.

Oops.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry started as the tall imposing man in the doorway whipped around and stared down at him. But before he could ask what was going on, the man grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into the house, practically propelling him into the living room. He was used to this sort of thing from Uncle Vernon so he kept his balance pretty well but he still almost tripped over Aunt Petunia, who was laid out on the rug in the middle of the foyer.

Well, that's unusual – I'll add it to the list.

The dark man looked at him. He looked back.

He was wearing some sort of tunic that was reminiscent of a period costume from the 1700's. Harry's eyes caught on the long row of small black buttons that went from the bottom of his coat all the way up to his neck, where a small bit of white cloth poked out from behind the high collar. The man's face was as harsh and austere as his manner of dress. The lines of his face were set in a habitual frown; his (rather large) nose bent slightly at the bridge, as if it had been broken before. Eyes as black as night glared out from behind a curtain of greasy hair.

He fidgeted. This man was strange, which begged the question: Why did Uncle Vernon invite him in?

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he's one of those 'people who need help' that Mrs. O'Reilly had warned them about. As if sensing his thoughts, the man glared harder and pointed to the couch in the living room.

"Sit."

Harry obeyed. He didn't know who this man was, but he could recognize a command when he heard one. As he was rushing to follow the order, he noticed Uncle Vernon turning beet red and starting to splutter incoherently.

This should be interesting.

"Mr. Dursley, please have a seat."

It was not an invitation. Harry held back a laugh at Uncle Vernon being bossed around in his own home. He pulled Aunt Petunia over to the couch, apparently to shocked to ignore the command.

"Now we are going to have a civilized conversation. I am going to ask a few very simple questions and you are going to answer them. Then I am going to leave. Whether I turn your entire family into frogs before leaving is entirely up to you."

Vernon puffed up like balloon, Dudley let out a small squeak from the top of the stairs, and Aunt Petunia just sat there, slumped up against the armchair, still out like a light.

Harry looked at the man like he had grown a second head. Alright, we've gone from Victorian drug addict to escaped mental patient. There was no such thing as magic.

As if in direct contradiction to his last thought, the stranger pulled a stick out of his sleeve and muttered something under his breath. Aunt Petunia's fine china tea set flew into the room, followed quickly by the teakettle off the stove. Both settled on the low living room table. He taped the kettle once and, after a second, it let out a hiss of steam and he began pouring out four cups.

Well. The night just got a bit more interesting than previously expected.

Uncle Vernon snapped out of his stupor.

"HOW DARE YOU BRING THAT FILTH INTO OUR HOUSE!! YOU ABOMINATION -"

The man lazily flicked his . . . wand at him and his yelling immediately stopped. His jaw was still moving and hands were still waving furiously, but there was no sound. This magic thing was pretty cool.

The man in black turned to him.

"My name is Severus Snape. I am a full professor at the prestigious Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will address me as Professor Snape, Professor, or Sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"I am going to ask a few very simple questions and you are going to answer them in the place of your Uncle, who is currently unable, and your Aunt, who is currently indisposed."

"Yes sir."

"Are you currently suffering from physical abuse?" he asked bluntly.

Harry was confused for a moment, until he remembered what he must look like. He was skinny as a rail, wearing baggy clothes that were far too worn out to be anything but hand-me-downs, and was sporting a black eye, courtesy of a particularly vicious round of Harry Hunting earlier in the week.

"No sir."

The man must have taken his surprise for hesitation because he just leaned in.

"Don't lie to me boy. I know you didn't walk into a door."

"Honestly professor. Dudley and I just roughhouse sometimes. Bruises happen."

Bruises happened to Harry a lot. But Harry was smart enough to know that complaining to this man would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Dudley?"

"My cousin," Harry answered, then quickly tacked on, "Sir."

They both took a moment to turn and look at the staircase. Dudley had climbed halfway down and stuck his head between the bars so he could hear better, but gotten his head stuck between them. At the moment, he was pulling backwards with all his might, hands gripping the bars on either side tightly with the effort. The man – professor – sneered.

"Lovely."

Harry declined to comment.

"Alright. Have you ever encountered another wizard?"

"There was someone dressed like you who bowed to me in a grocery once, but Aunt Petunia called him a 'psych patient'. Are you a psych patient professor?"

This time, professor Snape declined to comment. Although, if you asked him, the glare spoke for itself.

Aunt Petunia took that opportunity to come to.

"YOU!"

"Me," the professor agreed.

"What are you doing here!?" she sneered, matching his facial expression with eerie accuracy.

It sounded a bit like they already knew each other.

"The headmaster requested that I check on Lily's son."

They did know each other! Even better, professor Snape knew his mum, before she died. Wild fantasies of rescue danced to the forefront of his mind. He suddenly looked at the professor in a new light. The man wasn't a long lost relative, but he did know my mum.

Harry tried to swallow down the desperate well of hope that rose within him. It didn't matter; it shouldn't matter. Very soon this man would be gone. He said so himself.

But still.

"You've seen him, he's fine. Now leave," his Aunt spat.

"Yes. I have," he said softly, almost to himself.

The professor sat his tea back on the table and got to his feet. He dusted off his long black robes, and began to head towards the door.

See, nothing worth getting hopes up for.

As the professor made for the door, Harry hugged his heavy black book to his chest. He had been out at the library reading it again; Dudley never went within a mile of that place, so it was a relatively safe way to spend to afternoon, especially when he was still smarting from Monday. He had read a story about the founding of the ancient city Nippur, which was built around two massive ziggurats that stood at the top of a mountain. Its first ruler, Halima-Abassan, had envisioned the two towers in a state of religious ecstasy and immediately ordered them built in an effort to become closer to the gods. The two towers became the first of the great temples of Mesopotamia and were renown throughout the world, even hundreds of years after they had collapsed back into the earth.

The book was filed with such stories but so far, no mention of Jesus or the apostles or anything, like that priest at church was always going on about. He was also beginning to notice that no matter how many pages he turned, he always seemed to remain in the same place. The paper was thin, so that might be it, but it was still strange. It didn't matter though; the book was jammed with so many different stories and characters that it was impossible to keep it all straight. Mostly he just opened to a random page and started reading.

It was a comfort to him now. The only thing that was well and truly his (mostly because no one else wanted it). It didn't matter that his clothes were five sizes to big and he barely got to eat and his room was technically a closet. It didn't matter that his best chance at rescue was walking out the door. He had his book. He could escape into whatever world he chose: from the wild Mayan jungle to the great grass fields of the Uumboro Serengeti. He didn't need the professor.

Harry hugged his book tighter.

He didn't need anyone.

As professor Snape stood in the hall, on hand gripping the doorknob and about to turn, several things happened in quick succession.

Aunt Petunia, though still sitting on the floor, lifted her nose high in the air and in her most imperious, insulting tone of voice, pronounced:

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!"

Uncle Vernon, still flustered and angry that one of them had come into his house (his house!) and ordered him around like some sort of . . . some sort of . . . well, some sort person who could be ordered around!

Dudley, extracting his head from between the railing by pure chance, scurried up the stairs and into his room to get away from the creepy man.

The hair of the back of professor Snape's neck rose and he turned his head to look back into the living room.

The book in Harry's hand began to glow.

"Weren't you leaving?"

"Petunia dearest! Let me help you up."

"This can't be good."

As Uncle Vernon attempted to pull his Aunt up off the floor, the book rose up into the air. Harry and Snape stared. Harry, because apparently, his book was also magical. What a night of surprises. Snape, because he felt another migraine coming on and that was never a good sign.

As the glowing book started to rotate in the middle of the room, the Dursleys finally noticed.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!?!"

"A sign from God! Be gone, foul demon!!"

Snape stood rooted to the spot; Harry stayed rooted to his seat.

The book spun faster and faster, the glow from the pages erupting in a bright spiral of light that eclipsed the dull shine of the floor lamps. A low hum built up in the walls, vibrating in sympathy with their heartstrings. The air echoed with the sweet song of magic.

The book suddenly stopped, and slowly opened.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley watched, shocked, as the boy and the wizard were sucked into its pages right before the book closed, fell into itself, and disappeared in a swirling vortex of light.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"There it goes," sighed Koltho wistfully.

"And here we go," responded Atropos, shoving a very large fur coat into a very small suitcase.

This was one of those rare instances when something had gone so wrong down on the mortal plane that they had to go down there and run direct interference. If they didn't do something soon, something in time, someone was going to miss their appointment with destiny. As previously stated, Fate was absolute and unavoidable. It was a Law of the Universe for god's sakes. You defy one of those and the whole system breaks down.

Usually, it wasn't a problem. But the boy and the wizard had somehow gotten a hold of The Book of Three.

"I told you we should've never kept a diary," pouted Koltho. "But no. It was all 'truth' this and 'posterior' that."

"Posterity," corrected Atropos absently as she tried to shove down about fifty pairs of clean underwear on top of the coat.

"Doesn't matter," continued Koltho, as she poured The Sacred Water of Seeing into an old Mountain Springs water bottle. "We're already fucked. Just get the book, get those idiots back on track, then get back home."

"Easier said than done."

A true statement if there ever was one. They knew all, saw all, and presided over ALL. That is, until they wrote The Book of Three. Ironically, their diary fell outside the normal jurisdiction of space-time and now, so did the two people who had it in their possession. Goddesses they may be, but finding a needle in a haystack the size of the multi-verse was no easy feat. However, they were understandably reluctant to be responsible for the destruction of the universe, so they were going to try anyway.

"What do you think?"

Right now they were trying out disguises for the mortal world. Atropos was in the form of a cute little eleven year old girl with blonde pig-tails, wearing pink sundress (with orange flowers) and a pair of opaque sunglasses. No matter what form the Fates took, they were always blind, and the blank, all-seeing white eyes tended to freak people out (in their experience; Caligula had actually wet himself).

". . . cute."

Lakhesis just shook her head.

She was wearing the more sedate disguise of a woman in her early thirties. Since they would be primarily focusing their search on the wizarding world, she wore soft gray robes, hiding a modest ladies business suit underneath. Lakhesis also had sunglasses but they had thin wire frames, designed to highlight the delicate lines of her face.

Koltho had opted for her usual guise of an old woman. She held a white cane in front of her and wore the round style of glasses commonly associated with blind people. This was her favorite get up because she could be a nasty, sarcastic, little old blind lady and no one would dare say anything for fear of looking bad.

The fact that she could whack other people over the head with the cane was an added bonus.

"Alright then!" exclaimed Atropos. "You guys ready?"

The other two nodded.

"Then let's go!"

She lifted her bottomless suitcase in one hand and with the other, she reached up to pinch her nose. Letting out a shout of joy, she broke into a run, reaching the edge of a large outcropping in the rock before diving feet-first into the deepwater below.

Koltho was quick to follow, taking a running jump off the same spot and performing an elaborate swan dive that should have been impossible for a woman her age.

Lakhesis followed sedately behind them, shaking her head in amusement at her sister's antics. She strolled down the shallow bank, walking steadily through the ocean waves lapping against her, smiling softly as her head disappeared slowly beneath an infinite tide.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Nippur was a real city, but the rest I made up. I got inspiration for "The Book of Three" from the book "The Black Cauldron" by Lloyd Alexander, so I decided to keep the name in homage to him.

See you next Friday.


	3. Gods and Monsters

I'd like to start off with a big Thank You to my new Beta, Theowyn. You Rock!

And Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Gods and Monsters**

There was a very cold sensation, like walking through an industrial freezer, then a distinct kind of 'pop' that signaled their arrival. _Where_ they arrived was mystery, especially since neither of the two really chose to embark on the journey in the first place.

Harry returned to himself.

He was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling of a girl's lavatory. He was also vaguely aware of a heavy black object that was probably the professor appearing five feet above him and slightly to the left before falling onto the floor space next to him with an undignified 'thwump'. When he'd finished pondering all those silly esoteric questions like 'What happened?', 'Where am I?', and 'Am I dreaming?' he asked himself one very pertinent one:

"Why is there a girl crying?"

The sniffles that were emanating from a stall on the far end immediately cut off. There was a click, like a latch being pulled back. Very slowly the wooden stall door opened, squeaking horribly as it was pushed forward inch by inch. A girl about Harry's age poked her head out.

She was wearing a robe, like the professor, but it had this badge with a blue eagle on it. Her hair must have been in a neat braid at some point, but it had become half-unwound, allowing her naturally bushy brown hair to surround her face in a sort of demented halo. Tear tracks ran down her face and her eyes were red from crying (and now also wide with shock).

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Before she could respond, she caught sight of his fellow victim of Sudden Dimensional Vortexes.

"P-Professor Snape!"

Huh, she knew him too.

Harry abandoned contemplating the reason why so many strangers seemed to know him all of a sudden. He had just caught a whiff of the most horrible smell; like Dudley's old socks and his Aunt's 'tuna surprise' casserole rolled into one. There was also this disconcerting thumping that was getting steadily louder.

He had a bad feeling that it wasn't his heartbeat.

The girl was still goggling at them so Harry, feeling awkward and having no clue what to do in this kind of situation, gave her a timid smile and a half wave.

The girl paled further, pointed over his shoulder, and screamed.

The smell got much worse.

He knew, deep in his bones, that he was going to sincerely regret looking over his shoulder to where the hysterical girl was pointing, but he did it anyway. There was really no avoiding it.

He turned around and came face to face (or face to knee) with a huge creature – ogre, Harry's stunned brain supplied helpfully - holding a spiked club twice his size. The head on top of the moving mountain (oddly enough, exactly the same size as his) looked down at him, peeking around it's massive bulk and not inconsiderable beer-belly. Two beady black eyes blinked at him in confusion. He could practically see the brain behind them attempting to recalibrate (to incorporate the presence of the three little people in its simple world).

Harry was doing some recalibrating of his own, but was much quicker about it. By the time the ogre had finished, he had already grabbed a hold of the unconscious lump that was Severus Snape and started to drag him back away from the thing's reach.

As the giant raised his club in preparation to strike, the door to the girl's loo slammed open and in burst a red headed boy and . . . himself, wands held high and robes flapping, to the rescue.

There was another rather confused pause.

The ogre, fed up with all this insanity, just went nuts. He turned to the two boys and started swiping at them in a fit of confused anger. Harry sympathized. There were only so many surprises you could take in a single day.

The boys, despite having wands, looked like they were utterly clueless when it came to fighting with them. His counterpart rushed the ogre and jumped on its back in an effort to buy time, going so far as to stick his wand up the creature's nose. The red head finally managed to stutter out something in bastardized Latin and the war club slipped out of the monster's muscled hand and into the air over the it's head. As said monster was turning this way and that in an effort to find its missing weapon, the other Harry slid off the broad back and the red-head released the spell, knocking the ogre to the floor. It fell spread eagle on its back, dazed but not quite out for the count.

The head lifted inches off the ground in an awkward attempt to recover but, before anything else could be done, a black leather-bound book appeared in a flash of light and fell directly onto the rapidly forming bump on the top of it's head.

Ding, ding, ding! Knockout!

"Ah! I was wondering where that went."

Harry smiled as he recovered his book from where it had fallen. The other three just stared at him.

"What?"

The door to the girl's third floor lavatory banged open for the third time that day as Professors Minerva McGonagall, Quirinus Quirell, and Severus Snape barged in, wands at the ready.

Professor Snape (his Professor Snape), with timing almost as good as his Aunt's, chose that moment to return to the world of the waking. He shot up from his place on the floor and hunched over in a sitting position, holding his head in his hands while letting loose impressive string of swear words.

Harry, standing beside . . . well himself, really . . . blushed.

The older woman, dressed in tartan, shouted in offended outrage.

"Severus! Language!"

The professor's counterpart raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips in an amused smirk. The reedy looking fellow in the overdone turban fainted dead away. The Snape still on the floor lowered fingers from his temples and glared at Harry.

"This is all you're fault."

"How was I supposed to know that'd happen?" Harry defended. "It's never done anything remotely magical before!"

Snape grit his teeth and the glare intensified.

"All. Your. Fault."

"Excuse me."

They both turned to the other Professor Snape. They followed his eyes as he looked from his double, to the two Harry Potters, to the monstrosity laid out on the floor.

"Do any of you care to tell us what's going on?" he drawled in his softest, most dangerous tone of voice.

Harry froze like a deer in the headlights along with the three other children. The professor just snorted and rose to his feet.

"What's going on? The bloody universe is conspiring against me, that's what's going on!!" He let out a rant about Potters and curses and Fate that was not suitable for young ears.

When he concluded, he stalked over to the door.

"Hurry up brat!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped over the unfortunate Professor Quirell, accidentally (or not so accidentally) kicking him in the process. "The quicker we see the headmaster the quicker we get this sorted out. Then we can all go home to our nice, normal little lives."

Harry, clutching his book in comfort, followed after him.

The two remaining head's of house glanced quickly at the remaining three troublemakers and ordered them back to their respective common rooms before running to catch up with Harry Potter and Professor Snape, dimensional travelers.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Back in their home dimension, Headmaster Dumbledore was encountering similar confusion.

"So you're saying that they lost your diary?"

Lakhesis thought carefully before answering.

"It's more like our diary lost them. We're hoping that they just went forwards or backwards. It'd make our job a lot easier."

"I'm sorry, forward or backwards in what, exactly?"

"Time."

"Ah, I see."

He really didn't. Three hours ago he had sent his Potions professor to check the perimeter wards around Privet Drive and now he was sitting in his chair watching The Three Fates rummage around his office, looking for 'that little whirly-gig thing that old Acies used to play around with'.

"Ah hah!" the little girl exclaimed in victory as she extricated herself from a fallen pile a thaumoscopes, holding a tarnished silver sphere covered in blinking lights high above her head. "Found it! Fell behind the book shelf."

"Well give it here," insisted the old crone, who was sitting in the In-tray on Dumbledore's desk. "Let's have a look."

The girl, Atropos, handed over the globe and Koltho held it up to the sunlight streaming in through the window, examining the artifact as one would a precious jewel.

"It's our lucky day girls, the tile is still green! They stayed in this dimension!"

The headmaster started in alarm. This dimension?

Lakhesis leaned over to get a look.

"That's not green, it's mold. Here."

She rubbed off the grime and dust of centuries with a swipe of her hand, revealing a bright purple tile with three orange blinking lights.

"Bad news girls," Koltho amended sullenly. "Looks like they jumped diagonally."

The nature of time is not as simple as quantum physicists would have you believe. From the beginning of the universe, time had traveled forward in a natural progression. From this, the ancient cycle of creation and destruction was made.

When life started, they had been forced to factor in Free Will, so time split with every possible individual choice. It was very confusing, all those realities running parallel with each other, branching apart like some great, overgrown tree.

To keep the universe from flying off in every direction, Fate was created. Destinies wove a unifying pattern through the souls of every man, woman and child on every world; tying them together in brilliant designs of sky blue, sunshine yellow and blood red.

If jumping forward or backwards on a string was the equivalent of traveling through time, jumping sideways was to travel to a different string (world) altogether. Diagonally was the worst thing that could have happened because it was a combination of the two.

"I suppose that means we'll have to divide and conquer," said Lakhesis.

Atropos nodded and reached into her suitcase, pulling out a ridiculously thick map. When she finally finished unfolding it, it covered half the room. She dragged the top over to Koltho and motioned Lakhesis over from her perch by the side of a plush padded armchair. The three sisters looked over the map, heads bowed together in contemplation and completely blocking the headmaster's view.

"We'll split up. Start at the three great divergent paths and work our way in."

Koltho nodded enthusiastically.

"I get the middle one!"

"O.k., I'll take the left. Atropos, you get right."

"Right!"

The girl snatched the map back and, not bothering to fold it, shoved the mass of paper back into her suitcase. The small bit of it that Dumbledore saw before it completely disappeared looked like a giant, tangled ball of multi-colored string.

He had given up understanding any of this.

"Don't worry Mr. Dumbledore Sir!" Atropos shouted; giving him a thumbs-up and a smile that took up half her face. "We'll find them!"

It would take some doing, but they had to. Like any other tapestry, cutting a single thread would eventually unravel the entire thing. Despite its infinite size and scope, the universe was a very delicate thing.

Koltho hopped off the desk and tapped her white cane on the floor twice. There was a great flash and a strange sort of sucking noise as the three rather disturbing goddesses disappeared in a swirling vortex of light.

This called for a lemon drop, Dumbledore decided. And maybe a shot of whiskey.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Off in another dimension, his counterpart was way ahead of him.

The headmaster decided to indulge himself as he (and the four heads of house he had summoned) listened to a ten year old Harry Potter trying to explain, exactly, what he and (an alternate) Professor Snape, were doing in the girls loo.

"Yes, yes. But what about the troll?" asked McGonagall.

"That was a troll? I'd have gone with ogre."

Sitting off in the corner, the professor was hitting his head against a convenient side table.

Thunk, thunk, thunk . . .

"Um, yes," confirmed Sprout.

"Don't play dumb with us Potter! We know you let it into the castle."

"So this is a castle. Rather big; I just thought your decorator was going for a sort of medieval look . . . or something."

Thunk, thunk . . .

"Oh no, dear boy. This is Hogwarts Castle."

Flitwick was met with a blank look.

"Hogwarts. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Surely you've heard of us?"

"Oh yeah. That's where the professor said he works," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

The steady thunking paused as Snape lifted his head and glared holes in Harry's back.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The 'three great divergent paths' referred to the three major routes the history of the wizarding world had taken.

In the age of heroes, a young sorcerer named Mervin had a choice to make:

He could either have a ham sandwich, a cheese sandwich, or a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch. He was wholly unaware of how his decision would shape the future of his people. He was just hungry.

The left path (cheese) was one extreme. The worlds within it tended to be almost completely dominated by light. They also tended to be dead boring. Lakhesis didn't mind; she wasn't here to have fun. She had a job to do. Besides, she was less likely to get arrested for public indecency (or some other sort of stuffed-up law) than the other two. Being a blind old woman or a cute little girl could only get you so far, especially in a society where swearing was a capital crime.

The right path (ham) was the balancing extreme: world upon world dominated by darkness. They were not particularly hellish, just . . . wild. The wizarding worlds there didn't have an organized government so much as a loose coalition of magical clans and organizations. Atropos enjoyed playing around in this one; she was the only one of the three sisters who thought chaos was fun.

The middle path was a combination of the two. It was pretty much just a miscellaneous category that resulted in the mixture of both the 'ham' and 'cheese' choices presented to the young mage. At the time, it was highly unlikely that Mervin would think to combine the ingredients together to create a third choice. It was a good thing that he did though; the results were abundant and . . . colorful.

Into these rich, vibrant, unsuspecting worlds, Koltho dove.

She wore a smile that was somewhat reminiscent of a crocodile.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

After the incredibly long and, in Snape's opinion, frustrating meeting, the headmaster offered to let them stay in one of the guest rooms on the fourth floor while they tried to figure out a way to get back home. The professor made a beeline straight for the library and Harry, having nothing better to do, followed him.

It was a stroke of luck that not five minutes after they had arrived, Hermione entered. Dumbledore had given Harry a crash course in the magical world as they were being 'debriefed', but he still had tons of questions about the school. Only one more year and he'd be a student here! That was, if they ever got back to where they belonged.

Besides, he liked Hermione. Apparently, she had been really smart growing up and didn't have many friends (read: any). He could sympathize. Any kid nice enough to try to make friends with the weird skinny kid in overlarge glasses (held together with tape) was immediately scared away by his cousin, the whale. Once you got past her pedantic lecturing, Hermione actually had a wicked sense of humor. They spent the rest of the day taking pot-shots at various wizards. It was limited mostly to the professors and whoever they could find in _Hogwarts: A History_ since they didn't actually know that many people in common.

Snape sat in a dusty corner, surrounded by a mountain of books, ignoring them. As intriguing as trans-dimensional theory was, he seemed incredibly reluctant to be a test subject in the field. Occasionally he threw out an insult, as if in reflex. But at this point, they were half-hearted at best. He was so intent on his reading that he couldn't be bothered to work up the necessary ire for a nice nasty one.

Harry and Hermione were laughing over the particularly ridiculous outfit that the twenty-third Headmaster of Hogwarts had been painted in when the clock over the library desk struck six. Hermione shot a quick glance at the time, surprised that she had spent so much time here without doing an ounce of research. It was nearing dinner.

Nervously, she turned to Harry.

"Would you like to get some dinner? I think there's roast tonight," she offered, hoping against hope the first that nice person she'd talked to since coming to school would agree.

"Yeah sure," Harry smiled. He hadn't eaten since lunch on his world, which seemed like ages ago.

As Hermione gathered her books into her bag, he turned to the professor.

"Professor Snape, do you want some dinner?"

The professor, who's upper body was hidden by the pile a of books by this point, raised a hand over the stack and waved him off. Harry shrugged and followed Hermione down to the great hall. He got quite a few odd looks from the student body, but that was to be expected. This might be a magical school, but it still wasn't normal to have a younger version of a classmate pop in from another dimension.

Harry and Hermione sat at one of the four long tables, decked out in blue and bronze. Ravenclaw colors, he recalled. That made sense; Hermione was certainly brilliant enough.

He watched, amazed, as food faded into existence right in front of him.

"Wow."

"I know. I was so amazed when we were sorted. It was even better than this; they have a huge banquet at the beginning of each school year. There was every dish I could imagine laid out along the table. I ate so much I thought I would burst!"

Harry laughed along with her.

"And the ceiling, I couldn't stop staring at it!" she continued.

"It's enchanted to look like the sky outside, right? There was a side-note in that book about it."

Hermione looked slightly taken aback, but in the next moment she was smiling again.

"Yes. It was the first book I read about the wizarding world. There are all these fascinating little tidbits of history involved with the founding of Hogwarts. As one of the major wizarding institutions of Europe, it played a huge role in progressive politics."

"There are other schools?"

"Dumstrang, which is somewhere on the eastern edge of the continent and some school in France that has a fancy name I'm always forgetting.

"Eh, who cares. It's French."

They both giggled as a ripple of thunder passed overhead. Harry looked up.

"It does just simulate lightning, right? I don't want to be fried."

"Probably works the same way as rain. The effects come about a third of the way down off the ceiling before fading out."

"Wicked."

They continued the conversation for a while, until the people around them started to get up and go back to the dorms.

"I've got early classes tomorrow so I need to leave now. I still haven't finished my Potions assignment. I miss that and professor Snape will have my head."

"I don't doubt that."

"You seem to be doing fine with the one from your world," she observed.

"Well, when he starts ranting I can just sort of nod my head and tune him out. Otherwise he's not so bad. I've learned a lot of new words and I've only been with him a day."

"No doubt," Hermione said sarcastically, remembering the professor's rather . . . eloquent speech in the bathroom.

"And he definitely beats the Dursleys."

"Dursleys?"

"The people I live with." He gave a dramatic shudder.

Hermione gave him an odd look but let it go.

"If you say so."

They got up from the table and began to leave.

"Oh, hold on a second!" Harry said and ran back to the table. There were a couple of clean plates on the end so he grabbed one of those and started it loading it with food.

"Do the plates still disappear after dinner if they're not sitting on the table?"

"I don't know, I never thought to ask."

"Then I'll cross my fingers," he responded as he stacked a sweet roll on top of the pile of roast and potatoes and headed back towards Hermione and the exit doors. "He may be a miserable bastard, but that man is too skinny to miss a meal."

"And I'm sure it never occurred to you that sucking up to him might get him off your back," she grinned.

"Never."

Late that night as Hermione bent over her Potions essay, frantically revising, and Harry, tucked into a soft queen-sized bed enjoyed the first good night's sleep he'd had in ages, Professor Severus Snape shifted in his chair to stretch out. As he lifted his arms and turned his head to the side in an effort to work out the kinks, he encountered a plate of dinner. After a short internal debate about the ethics of eating in the library, he reached out and grabbed the sweet roll off the top of the pile.

Sweet rolls were one of his favorite desserts, but they always seemed to be gone by the time he made it to the staff table.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next morning Harry went straight back to the library, only to find Professor Snape asleep in the same chair from last night. He was drooling on an ageing copy of _Mortimer's Guide to Quantum Dispersion for Dummies_ but Harry was hesitant to wake him up until he had a nice big cup of coffee he could use as a peace offering.

In a strange coincidence, he also encountered his double, who had gotten up early to finish something for a Transfiguration assignment. Hermione, predictably, had gotten about four hours of sleep before waking up and heading back to her favorite place in the castle, so they met up pretty quickly.

Hermione started upon encountering the older Harry, and looked as though she was about to turn away until the younger one flagged her down. Shyly, she walked up to them and offered her help with the Transfiguration homework, which the frazzled Gryffindor gladly accepted. Between the two of them, they finished off the essay, with time to spare, before breakfast, so they sat together at a table near the door, talking and laughing. The Harrys shared stories about Dudley's stupidity, which varied slightly with the different realities. The story about the zoo and the boa constrictor was particularly amusing. Next time he saw a snake, Harry decided would have to try talking to it. It sounded like a cool power to have.

It was about ten minutes before breakfast when the librarian came over and started berating the professor for damaging her collection, rousing him from his deep slumber. Snape looked on grouchily as she started tidying up and putting away the books he had selected, fussing over the tomes as if they were her children (they may as well have been).

"Don't give me that look Irma. I know for a fact that you use _The Mysteries of Udolfo _as a pillow."

Pince blushed, but ignored the comment pretending not to hear him as she picked the next book up off the stack.

She frowned, not recognizing the binding. There was no title or author (or any sort of heading) on its cover.

This time she was so intent upon her task that she really didn't hear the professor as he desperately shouted:

"No! Don't -"

She opened it to the first page and a whirlwind of light erupted from it's confines, surrounding Professor Snape and the young Harry before pulling them in.

"Here we go again," Harry sighed as reality bent around him.

Magic was an amazing, life changing thing but sometimes, it seemed like a bit more trouble than it was worth.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Yes, Mervin is my version of Merlin. Kudos to those of you who caught that. _The Mysteries of Udolfo_ was a risqué romance novel published a few decades or so before Victorian England. It is the pretentious literary equivalent of porn.


	4. A History of Violence

**A History of Violence**

Harry raised his hands in a pacifying gesture as he tried to talk down the (obviously completely deranged) house elf.

Shortly after appearing in the middle or his room, it had bowed to him in worship, foretold his certain doom and severely injured itself in rapid succession. This would have been fine if it had stopped there. Harry's life, locked in his room, was completely devoid of any good diversion. Dobby the house elf was not exactly what he had in mind, but being the first friendly face Harry had seen since the start of the summer, he decided the little fellow was quite welcome to pop into his room and have a hissy fit as long as he had to stay at Privet Drive.

Harry was, however, quickly revising his initial assessment as Dobby stood on the kitchen table carefully levitating the four layer chocolate supreme cake that Aunt Petunia had prepared for the fancy dinner party currently taking place in the dining room. The cake hung in the air like the sword of Damocles, balanced perfectly, waiting for the slightest wrong move to be made.

Harry froze; Dobby stared.

"Harry Potter cannot go back to Hogwarts."

Harry had a choice. He knew that his family and Uncle Vernon's important clients, the Masons who were chatting in the next room would hear the noise of a seven pound layer cake going 'splat' against the kitchen table and come running immediately to investigate. He knew that they would find freaky Harry Potter, escaped from his room, trying to contain an elf that seemed to have no concept of common sense. No concept of mercy either, apparently; Dobby had to know what he was doing (and what the Dursleys would do to Harry).

To fix this, to save the cake and his one chance at getting that permission slip for Hogsmeade signed, all he had to do was tell Dobby that he would not go to Hogwarts. Such a small white lie; it would not be hard. Harry was a good liar. It was an unfortunate legacy from growing up in this house. Just two little words and his life would go back to normal.

Harry never had been very good at normal.

Twelve years spent oppressed under the iron fist of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley had only forged his stubborn streak into an iron will. And there was no way he'd lie to appease a blackmailing house elf just to save a fancy dinner party. There were times when you had to bend rather than break, but this was not one of them. He summoned up his reckless courage and braced himself for the fallout.

It was what he did; he was a Gryffindor after all.

"I can and I will. Do your worse."

"Dobby is very sorry, Harry Potter."

With a crack and a bright flash of light the house elf disappeared, the magic previously holding up the cake leaving with him. Harry watched as the cake, as if in slow motion, hung in the air for a single moment before accelerating down . . . right onto top of Severus Snape's head.

"Professor Snape! When did you get here?! And why?" blurted Harry, too shocked to be politic. His questions stuttered to a stop as he realized that Severus Snape, dreaded Hogwarts Potions Professor, was covered head to toe in a heavy layer of chocolate frosting.

He didn't know whether to burst out laughing or run screaming in terror.

Snape slowly and very deliberately raised his hands to his face, wiping the larger chunks of cake off his eyes before opening them. His patented death glare was as potent as ever.

"Professor," said an impossibly familiar voice to Harry's right. "I think we're back at the Dursleys."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I'm sorry, but could you point me in the direction of the Department of Information?"

The clerk looked up from his filing, annoyed at the interruption, and glared at the woman in front of him. Without a word he pointed over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Lakhesis said, though her polite smile failed to reach her eyes. Then she turned and marched off in the indicated direction.

Lakhesis was having a bit of trouble finding any information relevant to her search. So far there was no sign of any dimensional travelers and no reports about any doubles popping out of the woodwork. This could mean anything though. It turned out that in this world, standard procedure in the event of an extra-dimensional encounter was to obliviate all witnesses and cart off the subjects to the nearest holding facility for monitoring. Her quarries could be in a cell at this very moment and she wouldn't know it. Time to get some help.

The Department of Information was essentially a giant government propaganda machine, but it did have its uses. For example: it kept complete and detailed records on every single magical artifact ever recovered, which would include object #35-41-11/b or, as it was more commonly known, 'that little whirly-gig thing that Acies used to play around with'.

Acies Evans had been a brilliant inventor and one of the rare 'true' seers; able to know incredibly specific details about events in the far future, but absolutely nothing about what was going on around her. If she had, she might have been able to stop her ex-boyfriend before he stuck a basilisk in a hidden chamber underneath her school. As the first Headmistress of Hogwarts, she was duty bound to prevent that kind of silly nonsense from happening.

Among her many creations was the 'universal adapter'. It was originally designed as a sort of magical remote control to use as a teaching aid in classes. She was tired of listening to the teachers complain about students using practice as an excuse to hurl hexes and jinxes at each other (with their full power behind them).

Unfortunately, the experiment didn't quite work out as planned. Instead of creating something that could remotely control the intensity of magic, she got a small multi-colored sphere that could track dimensional anomalies through space-time.

Go figure.

It wasn't a particularly useful item, so when the three fates came along and politely requested that she store it somewhere safe in case anyone ever needed it, Acies complied. Hundreds of years later Lakhesis was thankful for her foresight. Sitting on the shelf in front her was object #35-41-11/b, keyed to the sister's use alone.

"Can I help you?" asked an annoying nasal voice. She turned.

Percy Weasley had been destined for a Ministry job since the age of five, when he had asked his mother to fill out a series of request forms (in triplicate) if she really wanted him to clean his room. His presence in the stuffiest, most bureaucratic department in this world was not a big surprise.

"Just retrieving an item."

"May I see your B1-11/12 check out form?"

She had seen that one coming a mile away, and had prepared accordingly.

"Why yes, here it is," she said, wearing the same rigid smile as she handed over the stack of papers.

He inspected them carefully.

"Well, everything seems to be in order."

Lakhesis was about to let out a small sign of relief, but then he continued, "Now all you have to do is fill out the C21-11 check out procedural certification."

He dropped a ream of paper into her arms. Her legs buckled with the effort to support the extra weight.

"I'll be in my office if you need any assistance." He smiled politely, but his eyes clearly stated 'if-you-have-questions-figure-it-out-on-your-own-I-have-much-more-important-things-to-do-than-help-you-write-your-name-you-ignorant-halfwit'. (Percy's eyes were very expressive)

Lakhesis, fed up, dropped the huge stack of paper on his foot, grabbed the sphere and disappeared in a swirl of light.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Was that really necessary, sir?" asked Harry.

"By all means Potter, feel free to join them."

"No thank you, Professor; I'm fine where I am."

Snape smirked in amusement.

Hearing strange noises emanating from the kitchen, the Dursleys had immediately investigated. Snape, a naturally angry man who was still in a foul temper over the whole cake incident, was in no mood to deal with them on top of everything else. They were quickly stunned and left for the two Harrys to deal with as Snape went out to greet the Masons.

Harry and his older counterpart made quick work of their relatives. After all three were bound to the kitchen chairs with duct tape, the boys crept out into the living room to see how Snape was doing with the guests. They arrived just in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Mason walking calmly out the front door, eyes glazed over like zombies. The professor was walking behind them, waving his wand back and forth like a conductor and humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata under his breath. By all appearances, he was having the time of his life.

As soon as the drones stepped out onto the stoop, he cut the spell and slammed the door closed, turning and walking back into the kitchen. The two Harrys followed.

They now sat around the kitchen table in a strange sort of domestic scene.

The Harry from this world was gaping alternately at his unconscious relatives, still taped to chairs arranged next to each other on the far end, and the dimensional travelers in complete shock. Snape occupied himself with wiping the chocolate out of his already greasy hair since there were apparently messes that even a rigorously applied 'scorgify' couldn't clean. Demension-hopping Harry was over near the stove preparing some tea for the conversation that was about to take place. He had a feeling at least one of them would be needing it.

"Tea anyone?"

Snape motioned for a cup.

"Cream? Sugar?"

"Dollop of milk."

"Right." Harry reached into the fridge, grabbed the milk jug, and poured a small bit into the cup.

The other boy looked on, eyes wide. Snape took a fortifying sip of the tea before pointing at him.

"From now on, you're Potter. It will help cut down on the confusion."

"Does that mean I'm Harry?" Harry asked as he slid into a chair.

"No. You will continue to be referred to as 'brat' or 'boy' until further notice."

"Joy."

Snape gave him a stern look.

"I mean 'Joy, _sir_'."

The professor gave him an approving nod before taking another sip of tea. The slight quirk of his lips was hidden by the cup.

Harry's counterpart – Potter – piped up.

"Um, sir? What's going on?"

Snape shot Harry a look.

"Your fault; you explain."

Harry complied, giving a quick summary of the last two days, skimming over the information about Hogwarts since it looked like Potter was already a student there. He finished about the same time that the professor finished his tea.

"Wow. And I thought my life was weird," Potter said.

"Normal is overrated anyway," Harry smiled.

"I hate to interrupt Harry Potter bonding time," Snape said, "but is there any way to contact the Headmaster? Perhaps an owl?"

"There's Hedwig, but Aunt Petunia padlocked her cage. I haven't been able to break her out."

"Lead the way."

Harry busied himself with the dishes while the other two broke the lock on the owl cage and came back down the stairs.

"You live upstairs?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.

Snape looked at him oddly and Potter glanced at the professor nervously before turning away.

"Yeah. I was moved after I got my first Hogwarts letter. It was addressed to specific rooms in the house and when Uncle Vernon saw the 'cupboard under the stairs' written on the front, he flipped out." Potter smiled softly in remembrance.

"I got moved to Dudley's second bedroom, but the address just changed. When he saw that it didn't work, we left the house. Took a week for Hagrid to track us down; by that point he'd dragged us all out to a miserable little island shack in the middle of nowhere. Watching him flip out over a period of seven days; it was the most fun I'd ever had."

"Hagrid. Isn't he the groundskeeper?"

"Yes. Apparently he helps deliver the acceptance letters in the off season."

Snape cut in, handing the finished letter requesting help from Dumbledore to Potter.

"Tell her to be quick about it," he said as the boy took the roll of parchment. Potter dutifully tied the letter around Hedwig's leg and the beautiful white owl flapped her wings, sailing gracefully into the night.

"With any luck he'll be here within the hour."

Snape motioned for the two boys to take a seat then reclaimed his own chair. Folding his hands carefully in front of him, he stared down at them and began speaking calmly.

"If you will recall, the first time we met I informed you that you would be answering a series of questions. I also warned you to answer truthfully, for I have several very effective methods for detecting lies."

Harry assumed that he was the one being addressed despite the fact that the professor was still staring down at his hands.

"Yes sir."

"It was therefore somewhat remiss of me that I failed to ask the _correct_ questions."

"Professor?"

"The question I asked was 'are you currently suffering from physical abuse' when it would have been much more prudent to ask 'have you ever suffered abuse'. A simple but important grammatical error."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that and his counterpart across the table looked equally stumped.

Snape raised his eyes to look directly into Harry's. Green met a deep and endless black as the professor gazed into his soul. It was rather disconcerting.

"So now I am left intensely curious as to the extent of your relative's hate for you. Tell me Mr. Potter, why was your letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs?"

The older boy, feeling a strange need to stick up for his younger self, answered the question so the other wouldn't have to.

"We - I lived there. The Dursleys set up a cot and, well, I've always been small so I fit pretty well. It's cozy but not claustrophobic. And no one bothers you in there," he added, trying to make it sound like his old 'room' had at least one redeeming quality.

"I wasn't asking you."

"You said, 'Potter'".

Snape took the opportunity to shift his penetrating gaze towards the older boy.

"You're one of those smartass students that I absolutely hate, aren't you?"

"Yep."

The more things change, the more things stay the same.

There was once a time when a skinny little black haired boy sat at a kitchen table just like this one. The man who had interrogated him, asking a few of the same questions, had been the muggle father of a brilliant green eyed witch. He had been ashamed of his weakness and resented the fact that anyone would try to pry into his life in such a way.

That anyone should care.

That it was him now caring for this green eyed, black haired child was absurd. The son of his enemy! And also, as Severus was beginning to realize, the son of the only person he had well and truly loved. He managed to push past the suspiciously familiar tightening of his chest when he looked upon the boy, scared and alone and as lost as he had been so long ago. But for once he could not control his eyes as they softened minutely.

Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Atropos was encountering a different problem than Lakhesis – though one not wholly unrelated.

"Look, I don't give a crap if I'm a minor. If you don't hand over object #35-41-11/b this instant I'm going to go medieval on your ass."

"Object #35-what?"

"The sphere, you ponce!"

"Ah, no."

The Ministry was reduced to a small hut manned by three clerical interns, paperwork was virtually outlawed, and Percy Weasley was still a pain in the ass.

"Look, I'm on a mission to save the universe. I need that sphere!"

"On whose authority?"

"By the Divine Authority of Destiny, the Purview of the Daughters of Necessity, The Three Fates that Hold Dominion Over All Within the Natural Order!"

The dramatic effect of Atropos's words was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was half the man's height and was wearing a pink sundress and pigtails. It was very difficult to take anyone wearing pigtails seriously.

"Yes, but are you a certified member of the British Ministry?"

"The Ministry is three guys and a filing cabinet!"

"Four, if you count Irwin," he stated proudly.

Atropos leaned to the side and looked around Percy into the small cluttered room. Apparently Irwin was the molting owl that was glaring balefully from its perch next to the window. She turned back to the red-head.

"Irwin?"

"Yes. We've almost managed to convince him to deliver our mail!" he said in an impossibly upbeat tone.

Atropos decided to give up and make due without help. There was no use bargaining with crazy people.

"If you apply for a job, you would have access to Ministry resources."

. . . unless the crazy people bargained with you.

"Would you like to see my resume?"

"You're hired."

Wow, that was easier than she thought.

"You're going to head up our P.R. campaign for the Minister."

"Minister?"

"Yes. We need one. We would have one too, if anyone voted."

"What about you?"

"Sub-chapter 2634, part J, prohibits current Ministry employees from voting or running for office, to prevent corruption."

A perfectly understandable law, unless said Ministry was a joke.

"You're going to target the younger generation, using an aggressive marketing campaign to convince people that voting is 'cool'."

"English?"

"Join a band, become a hit, say 'voting is awesome' before and after each performance. I call it 'Rock the Vote'. What do you think?"

Atropos was thinking about backing away again; this man was clearly off the reservation (and over the mountains as well). But hey, it was only a week and then she could grab the sphere and get out of this world.

Besides, she had always wanted to learn how to play the guitar.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Ha. Teach you to disrespect you elders."

Percy let out an inarticulate grunt from his place on the floor.

"Honestly," she huffed in righteous indignation, "telling an old lady like me where she can and cannot go. As if an idiot like you could boss me around."

The muffled groans grew louder as Koltho stepped on Percy's stomach on her way out of the Department of Information. He recoiled into a ball after her passing, covering his head with his arms.

"Youngsters these days," she said to herself as she tossed the sphere in her right hand. "No manners to speak of. Really, what is the world coming to?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Snape, Harry and Potter traveled back up to Potter's room and began packing everything the older boy owned into a beat up magical trunk in preparation for Dumbledore's arrival.

The Dursleys still hadn't woken up, but when they did, no one wanted to stick around for the ensuing rants and yelling and general unpleasantness. Since the headmaster was coming, Snape had decided to argue Potter's case in a rare gesture of kindness. Blood wards or no, the boy was probably better off at Hogwarts. Besides, after hearing a bit more about life with the Dursleys, Snape couldn't leave the boy here in good conscience.

If he had one of those, that is.

Professor Snape wasn't so bad really, Harry decided. You just had to get past the glares and the insults and the swearing and the impenetrable icy disdain he held for everyone and everything around him. Not hard at all.

In fact, out of all the things that had happened since meeting the man, Harry still felt that Professor Snape was actually the biggest mystery of all. He was simultaneously nastier, meaner, and infinitely nicer than Harry's own flesh and blood had ever been. He was obviously smart, brilliant even, but he seemed to have no idea how to interact with other people. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. Harry was also pretty sure that the professor had a sense of humor rattling around in there somewhere (if the smirks were anything to go by), but never voiced his jokes. And definitely freaky, just like him.

Speaking of which, the professor had just stopped using his wand to help pack and now wore a curious expression.

"Mr. Potter, are you by any chance acquainted with a member of the Weasley clan?

"Yes. Why?"

"Because there are three of them hanging out of a flying, sea-foam green Ford Anglia right outside your window."

Both boys turned to look. Their gaze was met by two very confused identical faces staring back at them through the bars.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Down in the kitchen, The Book of Three appeared in a brilliant flash of light.

Unfortunately for Snape and Harry, it appeared inside a microwave.

There was a reason magic and technology didn't mix. This was one of them. The electronics, frazzled by the output from the most magical book in the multi-verse, clicked on automatically, counting down from ten.

The fact that the power cord was not plugged into the wall was of no consequence.

10, 9, 8 . . .

The Black&Decker 3000 Deluxe Model Microwave was first put into production three years prior.

. . . 7, 6, 5 . . .

It had since been retired from operation due to a massive civil suit over the disproportionate number of freak accidents it was involved in.

. . . 4, 3, 2 . . .

Some of the more superstitious factory workers thought it might be cursed.

. . . 1. Ding – ZZZAAPP!

Ten o'clock, London time, the Dursley's microwave became self-aware.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The fact that the Harry on this world knows about house elves before third year is a deviation from the norm, not a mistake. Believe it or not, both Acies Evans and the microwave will play small, but pivotal roles in the plot, hence the mention of battling 'kitchen appliances' in the summary.


	5. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts

Sorry this took so long everyone – just got back from surprise vacation in  
the mountains. Apparently there are still some places in the world not  
plugged in. I'm going to try to get some extra chapters done to make it up  
to you guys and should be caught up by this weekend. For now, just hope you  
enjoy.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Chapter 5 - The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts**

"Messrs. Weasley, what a pleasant surprise."

The Weasley brothers didn't appear to agree with that assessment. Or at least not with the 'pleasant' part. The two older boys, who had to be  
twins, were left gaping in horrified silence as if their most terrible  
nightmare had suddenly come to life. Knowing the professor, that may have  
very well been the case. The younger brother was sitting in the driver's  
seat – Ron, if he remembered correctly – and seemed to be struggling with  
an instinctive 'fight or flight' response, emphasis on flight. All the  
blood had rushed out of his face leaving him as white as a corpse. Even his  
fiery red hair paled at the sight of the Potions Master, bane of every  
Gryffindor that ever attended Hogwarts. 

Potter, who was caught off guard by his friends' arrival, spoke quickly to  
reassure them.

"Don't worry, he isn't Snape. I mean, he is Snape, obviously, just not  
. . . our Snape. He came to check on me, the ten year old me that is. And I  
– he has this book. Harry thought it was a Bible, but it wasn't. It was  
magical, and it sucked them into this vortex where they keep on jumping  
realities which is how they ended up here. Which is rather odd, because they keep on changing location, too. And unfortunate; because when they arrived  
this house elf dropped a cake on Snape . . ."

The professor raised a single eyebrow and Potter decided to quit while he was  
behind. His life had become far too complicated in the last couple of hours  
and if he could barely understand it, there was no chance that he would be able to  
explain it anytime soon. He turned to Harry.

"You should probably explain it."

The professor interrupted before Harry could go through the story again.

"It would also be an excellent idea to land that piece of scrap metal  
before the headmaster arrives. While I am sure my counterpart would be eternally  
grateful if you three were to be expelled from Hogwarts, I, for one, do not  
feel like adding the reason why three minors were breaking dozens of Statute  
of Secrecy bylaws onto our explanation."

Harry looked up at him in consternation. 

"You could have just said 'park the car'."

"Yes. I could have."

Potter attempted to stifle a small smile. Snape's insults were actually  
rather funny (not to mention creative). He was finding this fact easier to  
appreciate as, for once in his life, the professor's ire was not aimed  
directly at him. Strangely, he found himself identifying with Draco. No  
wonder the blonde always enjoyed Potions class so much.

The Weasleys nodded and Ron, who was regaining some of his color, shifted  
the wheel. The Anglia floated away from the wall, arching gracefully over a  
patch of carefully pruned azaleas, and came to land right behind Uncle  
Vernon's car. The three boys got out of the car and slowly made their way  
up the front path. Their heads were hung low and their shoulders set in defeat as  
if walking to their execution. Upon finding the front door unlocked, they  
entered.

Since Potter hadn't had much to pack the job was finished about the same  
time that Ron and his brothers entered the house. Potter immediately  
ran down to meet them and Snape followed sedately after. Judging from the  
quiet, sibilant sounds emanating from the living room, he was tearing into the  
Weasleys. 

Harry was left to lug the trunk down the stairs. It was large and unwieldy  
but not completely unmanageable thanks to the added benefit of gravity. He  
almost lost control of it a couple of times but with his quick reflexes and a  
bit of luck he got the luggage (and himself) to the bottom in one piece. He  
arrived just as Snape was rounding off his lecture on 'the misuse of muggle  
artifacts' so he decided to make himself known.

"That reminds me. What are we going to do with the Dursleys?

The professor turned to him.

"I mean if we want to make a good impression on this headmaster we should  
probably untie them."

Both Potter and the professor started, as if they had forgotten that they had  
knocked out the owners of the house and tied them to chairs in the kitchen.  
It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to forget, but it was understandable; no  
one really liked to think about the Dursleys if they could help it.

"You kidnapped -"

"- Harry's relatives?" asked the twins, now looking at the professor  
with something akin to hero worship.

"Depends on the definition of 'kidnap'. We haven't actually taken  
them anywhere," said Harry.

"And we're not demanding ransom either," added Potter.

Ron snorted. "Yeah. As if anyone would pay it."

Harry thought about that one for a minute. The only person that came to mind  
was Aunt Marge who, aside from being the most horrible woman on the planet,  
seemed to hold a certain fondness for her nephew Dudley. But he even had to  
admit that if it came down to a choice – the Dursleys or money – there  
wasn't really a question about which one she would choose. 

Come to think of it, the professor could probably get away with leaving them  
in the chairs over the weekend. No one would really notice (or care) until  
Uncle Vernon failed to turn up for work. It was sad in a way. They spent  
their entire lives trying to be normal, trying to fit in, and were so busy  
covering up anything different (i.e. Harry) that they missed the fact that the  
differences made them human. A family without imperfection was unnatural. 

"No one's ransoming anyone," groused Snape. "There is just a finite  
amount of idiocy I'm willing to deal with in one sitting."

"With the addition of the twins, you would think you'd have hit your  
quota," muttered Ron.

"An excellent point. Potter, is there any duct tape left?"

"Oi!" shouted one of the twins.

"Don't encourage him!" finished the other, hitting his little brother  
over the head for good measure.Potter glanced quickly at Harry and made an abortive gesture with his hands.

"Nope; fresh out. Took half the role to cover uncle Vernon," Harry lied  
through his teeth.

"How unfortunate."  
"Er, sir? The headmaster should be arriving any minute now. Shouldn't  
we be untying the, er, hostages?" ventured Ron.

The professor just glared.

"Maybe we could -"

That was as far as Harry got before he was cut off by a loud screeching  
sound, like twisting metal, emanating from the kitchen. 

The lights above their heads dimmed, flickered, and then went out. Through a  
crack under the kitchen door they could make out a faint and erratic strobe of  
faint white light, as if it was being cast by a sparking outlet.

Potter, alarmed, whispered, "There's something in the kitchen."

"Congratulations Potter. You have just proved that you have at least the  
intellectual capacity of a flea," sneered Snape, slipping his wand into his  
hand. 

The Weasleys retreated behind the couch. Potter, grabbing Harry by the back  
of his shirt, took refuge with his younger self behind an armchair on the other side of the room. 

Snape crept silently to the door and pushed it open slowly. The kitchen was  
as dark as pitch and the living room, now illuminated only by the streetlamp  
outside, was rapidly becoming uncomfortably eerie. 

The sparking effect had disappeared and the house was silent as the  
grave.

"Look Out!"

Out of the void flew a twisted form of metal and machinery. Snape quickly  
raised a shield and deflected the monster to the side where in landed in a  
pool of shadows under the stairs. All that was visible was a band of gleaming  
steel and two small glowing red dots. They looked like eyes possessed with  
the burning fires of hell.

"What is that?" Fred exclaimed.

"Demon?" George offered.

Fred shook his head. "No way. Those things take years of complex rituals to summon."

Ron looked at his brothers suspiciously. "How would you know?"

Fred instantly looked sheepish while George affected an innocent expression.

"Never mind. Don't want to know."

"He is wiser than he appears," one of the twins whispered to the other.

"Shut up you guys. It's coming around for a second attack," whispered  
Potter, holding tightly to his younger self. 

Harry was leaning forward trying to get a better look.

"It looks familiar."

Snape tensed; right before the thing sprang. This time he was ready with a  
containment spell. As the professor trapped the creature in a sparkling blue  
bubble of magic, the terrified victims got their first good look at their  
assailant.

"Is that . . . the microwave?" Harry said.

He knew it looked familiar. He had spent his childhood in the kitchen  
cooking and cleaning; he knew every appliance inside and out. The microwave  
had always been one of his favorites simply because it was the easiest to  
clean. But looking at it now was like looking at a stranger with a familiar  
face. The white enamel had peeled off to expose a scratched metal surface.  
The stainless steel sides had taken on a vicious gleam, if such a thing was  
even possible. The electrical cord whipped back and forth impatiently, sparks  
flying out the end in agitation. Even more troubling, there was a steady  
pulsing glow emanating from inside where, clearly visible through the little  
window in the front, the black book rested on the heating tray.

"This is exactly why mixing muggle technology and magic is a bad idea,"  
Snape re-iterated, harking back to his earlier lecture. "Sooner or later,  
it takes on a life of its own."

The Weasley twins, getting up from behind the couch, nodded dumbly.

"Don't mix."

"Got it."

The microwave snapped at them from inside the bubble. That it had no  
discernable mouth did not appear to be an issue. The two ready lights on the  
side glowed a malevolent red. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that the microwave was glaring at him.

…

Lakhesis stared at the sphere, trying to decipher the strange markings.  
There was a small square of blue stars within a sea-foam green chariot. The  
stars she knew were the symbol for the Gemini twins. Could it be indicating  
the month they jumped to? Then the newborn phoenix – that symbolized new  
life. What was that supposed to mean? And there on the side; if she was  
reading this right it was a warning: 'beware of metal boxes'. It didn't  
make any sense!

And here, around the top, two white lights had lit up. That meant that they  
had traveled to two worlds so far. Hopefully they would have enough sense to  
stay in one place long enough to be found. 

Lakhesis, however, was nothing if not realistic. She knew counting on any  
human to have enough sense to do the right thing was a waste of time.  
Sometimes it seemed like the nature of Free Will meant that nothing anyone did  
really made sense, including this ridiculous contraption. If only there was  
some sort of manual. But Acies, the designer, had created it by accident and  
probably had less of an idea of how to work the thing than Lakhesis did and all Lakhesis knew was that Acies's vision had indicated that the Universal Adapter  
would be an instrument used to direct people in the preservation of the  
multi-verse. 

This meant that the Universal Adapter would only reveal what Lakhesis needed to know only when she was meant to know it. That way she would act as she must act to save everything from going to hell in a hand-basket. If she knew too soon, she might misstep. Too late and it would be TOO LATE.

Lakhesis let out a dejected sigh. She was starting to realize why so many  
mortals cursed fate.

…

Headmaster Dumbledore arrived to find not only his student and his Potions  
Professor (whom he could have sworn was on sabbatical in Germany), but three  
members of the Weasley clan and a younger duplicate of Harry Potter, who were all  
engaged in a staring contest with a metal box hovering inside a class five  
containment field.

"Severus! What on earth is going on?"

"The brat will explain. I have to go check on . . . something. In the kitchen."

The professor shot a quick glance at the two Potters and went to make sure  
the Dursleys stayed quiet. Obliviation was relatively easy when one was a  
world class Legilimens.

Harry, who was now practiced in the art of telling their strange story,  
proceeded to outline the last couple of days, starting with the professor's  
unlikely visit to number four Privet Drive. He included all the information  
he had on the book that had caused so much trouble on the off chance that the  
wizened old headmaster might know how to work it, or at least counteract  
its effects. Unfortunately the man had no more idea than his counterpart  
had had in the last dimension. He offered a lemon drop in consolation.

"This is a most unfortunate situation. I am, however, somewhat heartened  
to know that you have a qualified member of the staff to look after you."  
Harry decided not to point out that this particular 'qualified member of the  
staff' was currently covering up the fact that he had attacked the Dursleys in  
the next room over. "Would you like to live at Hogwarts during your stay?  
The school library is certainly more comprehensive than Professor Snape's  
personal collection."

There was a muffled clang from the kitchen and the sound of a heavily laden  
chair being dragged slowly across the floor. Dumbledore looked at the door  
and frowned.

"What on earth is that man doing?"

The five boys were silent for a moment, each frantically composing a  
plausible cover story.

"Soup!" burst out Potter suddenly. The other occupants of the room jumped at  
the exclamation and stared at the boy in varying measures of surprise and  
confusion.

"Soup?" enquired the Headmaster.

"Left the soup on . . . boiling. It's a heavy pot you see," Potter  
hedged, now committed to an absolutely ridiculous explanation. "You have to  
sort of drag it along. Very hard work." He shut his mouth before he could  
dig himself a deeper hole. It seemed to be a theme tonight.

Harry sighed and hung his head. He could have sworn he was a better liar  
than this. Fortunately the twins came to the rescue.

"Um. I don't think that thing -" said Fred, gesturing towards the  
containment field.

"- is going to hold," finished George, nervously backing away.

The twins appeared to be right. The field was starting to shudder and crack  
as the . . . microwave beat against the sides in agitation. It wanted out.

The Headmaster's eyebrows lifted over the rim of his half-moon glasses.  
"Oh dear."

Snape took the opportunity to re-enter the living room. It was a good thing  
the older man was distracted; Harry managed to catch another glimpse of his  
family, who were now re-secured with a coil of thick rope, before the kitchen  
door swung shut again.

Dumbledore addressed the professor without turning away from the creature as  
the shield continued to weaken. "Severus, the field is collapsing. Whatever  
signature that book is giving off, it is too strong to be contained within a  
simple four dimensional barrier ward. We need to get the book then re-seal  
it."

That didn't sound good. Getting the book meant getting it out from inside  
the mutant microwave. More specifically, in meant releasing said microwave.  
Without prompting, Harry backed up behind the armchair. This time he was the  
one to reach up and pull Potter back to safety.

"On the count of three. One, two -"

CRACK!

The barrier came down a second before they planned to release it and the  
microwave, spurred on with maddening purpose, sailed straight into the face of  
the man who had trapped it. A great deal of muffled cursing ensued as Snape  
held the sides and tried to pry the metallic monster off of him.  
Unfortunately, the electrical cord had wrapped around his neck and was  
tenaciously trying to choke the life out of him. As the professor grappled  
with the microwave the Headmaster was reaching around the back (at an  
extremely awkward angle since he was a head shorter than the potions  
professor) and wedging the door open to get to the book, using his wand as a  
sort of crowbar. 

Many years later (and comfortably removed from the unspeakable terror that he  
would be eaten by his own microwave) Potter would look back on this as the  
single funniest moment of his life. For Harry, it was just another in a long  
line of ridiculous situations.

Dumbledore finally pried the door open with a loud pop and quickly snatched  
the book before it could close back on his hand with a vengeful snap. It was  
around this time that Snape, largely unsuccessful in fighting off the  
microwave with his hands alone, gathered enough willpower (and breath) to  
exhale a forceful, "_Sectumsempra_". The spell, usually debilitating in its  
ability to cut through skin and bone, met its match in the stainless steel  
armor of the Black&Decker. It did not manage to slice any deeper than a  
couple of centimeters into the metal, but luckily it severed the electrical  
cord so as it was blasted back against the far wall by the force of the spell,  
the professor was not dragged along by the neck.

The microwave, apparently deciding that it, too, had had enough, recovered,  
dodged the three containment spells sent its way, and hurled itself out the  
nearest window, flying off into the night like a vengeful, if somewhat boxy,  
poltergeist.

"Well. I suppose I'd better contact Arthur," sighed Dumbledore. "And  
warn him to bring backup," he added, staring out the rectangle shaped hole  
in the glass. "This has to be the most extreme case of muggle appliance  
tampering since the infamous 'toaster of doom' back in '54. Left three  
Aurors in St. Mungos." At Ron's stricken look he added in a comforting  
tone, "Don't worry my boy, they managed to reattach the poor man's  
nose."

Ron swallowed thickly.

Snape stood off to the side, glaring a hole in anything dumb enough to come  
within his line of vision. His mood had been steadily worsening over the past  
couple of days and being repeatedly assaulted by a kitchen appliance had not  
improved his disposition. Harry emerged from behind the armchair to pick up  
the book and then wandered over to the professor.

"Is your neck all right, sir?" 

Snape swung his head to glare at Harry, but did not erupt into another rant which Harry took as a good sign. After a moment the man's face relaxed into a mild  
frown which Harry identified as a standard scowl, a default expression for the  
cantankerous professor.

"Is it possible that the boy and I might move ahead to the school?" Snape  
asked, addressing the Headmaster. "I, for one, am anxious to put this day  
behind me."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes, by all means. I just need to contact Arthur  
- and Molly to retrieve the boys. I'll be along shortly."

The professor nodded tersely and signaled for Harry to follow him. Potter  
waved goodbye to his counterpart and smiled. 

"Nice meeting you Harry," Potter said. "It's been . . . eventful."

Harry grinned back, suppressing a laugh. "That's one word for it," he  
called as he walked out the door, trailing after the professor.

…

After breaking several finger nails trying to get the hang of working guitar  
strings, Atropos decided that she had really always wanted to learn to play  
the drums instead. She wasn't half bad either. Apparently she was a  
natural percussionist. There wasn't much to it, just hit the drumhead as  
hard as you could as fast as you could. Nodding your head up and down helped  
for some reason. It was certainly much easier than scouring the multi-verse  
for two wizards and a particularly troublesome diary before the very fabric of  
existence unwove itself. Much less pressure as well.

As least theoretically.

There was this whole thing about getting up on stage and performing for a  
bunch of strangers in a strange dimension with Percy Weasley constantly  
reminding her that the fate of the British Ministry of Magic rested on her  
slender shoulders that had her a little freaked out. The fact that she  
didn't really know (or even understand) what she was doing was no help  
whatsoever.

So the biggest question in her mind was not 'where is the book?' or  
'how do I fix this?' but rather 'does this dress make me look fat?'

…

"So are we going back to Hogwarts, now?"

"Yes. There are several theories I did not have an opportunity to try out  
and, if the last world was any indication, the school library should remain  
relatively unchanged. If we can manage to avoid any more of these idiotic  
accidents for the next week or so, there is a good chance that we will be able  
to get ourselves home," said Snape wistfully. Harry, who was in no hurry to  
return to life at the Dursleys (trolls and possessed microwaves aside), was  
less enthusiastic. There wasn't any arguing with the professor though. The  
man had been dragged through two dimensions already and was starting to look a  
little frayed around the edges. It didn't help that he still had not yet  
managed to get all of the chocolate frosting out of his hair.

"What should I do with the book?"

"First and foremost: Do not open it again. In fact, it would be a good  
idea to seal it shut. Hand it over."

Harry passed him the thick leather volume carefully. With his luck he'd  
end up dropping it and they would both be back at square one. 

Snape grabbed the book with his right hand and gathered his wand in the  
other, poised to cast a spell.

"Er, sir?"

"Yes Mr. Potter?"

"Should we really be doing magic with that thing? It reacts negatively  
with pretty much everything it comes in contact with."

The professor frowned in thought then granted the point with a small nod.

"We'll tie it shut for now then figure out a better alternative once we  
reach the castle." He handed the book back and began to unbutton his  
overcoat.

"S-Sir?" stammered Harry, alarmed at Snape's bizarre behavior. He was  
graced with a brief look, one that clearly stated he was an idiot, and the  
professor stripped off his belt and, after winding it around the book, snapped  
the buckle tightly into place.

"Why not just conjure up another rope?" asked Harry as he handed the book  
back to the professor, his curiosity overriding his embarrassment.

"Wizards are capable of using non-magic solutions. When the occasion  
merits, I prefer the simple solutions. Too many become dependent on their  
wands to the point where they are essentially helpless without them." At  
this his lips curled into a disdainful sneer. "I do not wish to count  
myself among them."

Harry could understand that. It was too easy to break a skinny stick of wood.  
Or a pair of glasses, he reflected ruefully. There wasn't much he could do  
about that; he was half-blind without them. But given the professor's  
choice, it was only sensible; even if he could never in a million years  
picture the tall, dark, intimidating man being anything close to helpless.

"That makes sense. Are there a lot of things like this, that magic can't fix?"

Snape looked at him oddly then. There was a haunted look in the dark  
recesses of his eyes for a moment before he turned to face ahead again. 

"Yes. Some would argue the most important things," Snape trailed off for  
a second before resuming his usual lecturing tone. "Magic itself is an  
embodiment of chaos. It is specifically designed to defy all natural law.  
The spells and potions designed to harness it must follow the same pattern of  
unpredictability, which is why it is so hard to create a new formula or  
solution. I myself am one of the youngest Potions Masters and inventors to  
ever be registered, but still did not finish the necessary training for such a  
field until my late twenties. The solution to our problem, for example, is  
not as easy as waving a wand and shouting 'there's no place like home.'  
The book that brought us here seems to be some sort of powerful magical  
artifact, no doubt a nexus of wild magic. We need to find a way to harness  
this chaos to our advantage and use it to create a very specific path through  
space time. And since I am by no means a genius at Arithmancy, we will need  
the help of someone experienced in the field to plot our course as well."

"Is there someone like that at the school?"

"I'm not sure. Possibly; if Professor Vector didn't go on that  
exchange program to Brazil as did the one in our world. Though even if she  
still went to Rio there are a few others we can contact," the professor  
answered, holding out his wand at arms length. "Stand back."

Harry would have enquired further, but all of a sudden there was a great clap  
like the sound of compressed air being released all at once, and a great big  
purple double-decker bus shot out before them. He fell over backwards in  
surprise.

"What the . . .?"

"The Knight Bus," said Snape, by way of explanation. "Horrible way to  
travel but relatively cheap when compared to the cost of floo powder."

"What's a Floo?"

The professor just snorted and retrieved a small bag of coins from his  
pocket, counting out several of the small silver coins into the palm of his  
hand. Harry, annoyed at being ignored, allowed his attention to wander. He  
gazed through the windows of the peculiar looking bus. Were those beds?

His speculation was cut short, however, when he glimpsed a metallic flash in  
the corner of his eye.

"DUCK!"

Snape reacted with startling speed, whipping around to face their assailant,  
wand already in hand. 

The microwave, instead of fleeing, had apparently just made a strategic  
retreat. It flew out of the overcast night sky, door snapping like the jaws  
of death. With painful clarity Harry watched as the steel monster, as if in slow motion, fell from the sky and the book, which had been clutched underneath the professor's arm, fell to the ground. 

The air around them was strangely silent as the buckle on Snape's old belt  
clicked and released and swirling light surrounded the three combatants.

The world went white. 


End file.
