Harry Potter and the Time Fluke

Accused

Harry's eyebrow twitched as a group of Gryffindor girls two tables over collapsed into another, particularly loud, round of giggles. He now understood how Hermione must have felt during fourth year when Krum's fangirls invaded the library. Only, the girls currently annoying Harry weren't there for anyone in particular. They were just there, led to the library by a higher power hoping to seek some sort enjoyment in Harry's dwindling patience.

And where's Madame Pince anyway? I distinctly remember a few weeks ago when she threatened to kick me out of the library for sniffling too loudly. It's prejudice against the Slytherins I tell you. Prejudice!

Once of the girls gave a screeching cackle at exactly that moment, causing Harry–who really should have been expecting it but wasn't–to puncture his parchment with the sharp tip of his quill and leaving a stain on the wooden table. Growling in frustration and shooting the girls a look that could kill, he packed up his things and moved to a work station further back in the depths of the library. One of the few hidden in the darker corners of the room, obscured by the towering shelves unless you were looking at it from just the right angle.

Oh how I wish I had the eyes of a basilisk...or the power of a glare Snape so often wielded.

Harry sighed as he plopped down into his new seat, rubbing his face dejectedly with his hand. It had been two weeks since his fight with Tom, two weeks since the Chamber had been opened, and Tom had yet to come up to him and attempt to restore their presently broken friendship. Though, there hadn't been any attacks either, but Harry couldn't be sure if that was Tom being moody and depressed about their fractured relationship or completely normal. He would have thought Tom would try to exterminate all the muggle-borns from the school as soon as possible, but it could have just been the older boy being cautious. It wouldn't do for him to become overzealous, make a mistake, and get caught.

Harry had come to terms with his anger towards Tom for keeping him so deeply shrouded in the dark the other day, but hadn't gone back to his friends yet because he was embarrassed. Rage and anger, stirred to a boiling point by jealousy, had eventually simmered down and all that was left in its place was a burnt up pile of flustered shame. He was, quite frankly, slightly appalled by his behavior. His body might resemble a fifteen-year-old, but his mind was that of someone in his late twenties. It really wasn't acceptable for him to be throwing temper tantrums solely because he wasn't included in something. It was embarrassing.

Harry ran a hand through his messy locks, frowning down at his parchment and pushing the rest of his unnecessary thoughts from his head. With all his new free time that used to be devoted to his friends, Harry was able to dissect his book on creating Latin spells at a fairly quick pace. It had taken him a while to remember the exact words of the spell that had brought him back in time, and in the end he'd needed to create a makeshift pensive so he could view the memory of the event from third person, copying down the words as his memory read them aloud. Once that was done and he'd gotten the correct words, he looked them up in the dictionary portion of the tome. So he could understand exactly what he'd said, of course. But he hadn't liked what he'd found. Not. At. All.

The spell, which he'd discovered in a text devoted to warding, was supposed to keep his home safe from unwanted persons, standing strong and impenetrable though time until the day he died. What it had instead done was transport his soul through time to a "safe place"–though why it had chosen 1932 London was a mystery he wasn't even going to try and unravel.

The rest of his afternoon that day was spent doing homework and creating a formula for a return spell. But there wasn't a real hurry to do so. He had thirty-five years until his mother would give birth to him.

When he left the library to go to dinner that night, he heard of the newest attack. It was on a girl from Gryffindor. A muggle-born, one year below him. She'd been found on the third floor, ironically, down the hall and around the corner from the hospital wing. It was as he was walking down the staircase that the announcement was made by Professor Dippet, his magically magnified voice booming through the halls, for everyone to immediately return to their respective common rooms where dinner would take place. Harry only knew the details about the girl because he passed her on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons.