Revelations

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Headmaster of Hogwarts, was quite used to interesting problems. One could not supervise the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world (his opinion) without coming across strange and wondrous things on a fairly regular basis. This was especially true when said school was so close to a place like the Forbidden Forest. However, this current situation bid fair to become one for his diary.

He explained the situation, as he understood it, to his staff. They were, for the most part, the finest minds ever assembled under one roof, and he had every confidence in them. There was a pause when he was finished speaking. Then chaos erupted, with each voicing his or her thoughts. Riddle listened, picking out snippets.

"A Time-turner! Really, Headmaster, the boy should be punished for using such a thing! Students aren't supposed to have them." That was Minerva McGonagall. The headstrong and stubborn Gryffindor was an excellent teacher, particularly in her field of Transfiguration, but she lacked people sense, particularly when the people were Slytherins.

"Oh Minerva, give it a rest. The boy has likely been punished enough already. Besides, he's not exactly a student here." Now that was, predictably, Lucius Malfoy, the Head of Slytherin House. He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, and chaperoned the Dueling Club.

"The Magician! A most auspicious card, Headmaster." Despite working for him for nearly six years, the Divination professor still made Riddle just a little nervous. Sybil Trelawney knew all the tools of her field as any Seer should, but the one she excelled at was reading the Tarot. She had the cards spread out before her on the table, one long forefinger tapping the one in question.

"Pish-tosh!" Filius Flitwick considered Divination to be a field for charlatans. "The question is, what are we to do with the boy?" Trust a Ravenclaw to pick out the important point.

"'e's got no past 'ere, Perfessor Riddle. 'e don't belong 'ere. Can yeh send 'im back?" Another good point, and one he was surprised Hagrid had thought of. The half-giant Groundskeeper wasn't the brightest candle in the box, but he had a heart of gold. He and Riddle had been at school together and served more than one detention in each other's company – not that anyone else knew about that.

"Are you sure his Oath was valid, Headmaster? A powerful dark wizard might be able to fool you." Sirius Black, the Potions professor and head of House Gryffindor, put his two knuts in. That was something Tom Riddle hadn't thought of. He considered briefly and shook his head.

"I didn't get any sense of Evil from him, Sirius. I think he's telling the truth." He shrugged. "He's just a boy, and it would be highly unlikely that he could mask a Wizard's Oath at his age."

"Or at least, he's telling the truth as he sees it," Black replied. "We should hand him over to the Aurors and let them sort it out. He's not our problem."

"Tom, let's bring the boy in and question him ourselves. We should be able to determine if he's who and what he says. Then we can decide what to do with him." Ah, the voice of sweet reason. Argus Filch served as caretaker for Hogwarts. He might be a Squib magically speaking, but he had proved more than once that he could talk to the castle itself – and that it would answer him. He was also an astute student of human nature, and very few wizards could lie to him.

There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the staff, and Riddle dispatched Lucius Malfoy to fetch the boy from the Infirmary.

~*~

To say that Severus was bored in the infirmary would be an understatement. Perhaps 'totally, completely, quite unutterably bored' would be closer to the mark. So he was almost relieved when a crowd of boys about his own age shuffled in. There were eight or nine of them in Quidditch robes – Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Madame Pomfrey hurried over to them and clicked her tongue angrily. "Honestly! I'm going to recommend that the Headmaster suspend Quidditch if you keep getting hurt like this! Two broken arms, a sprained wrist, and who knows how many bumps and bruises. Mr. Pettigrew, if you don't hold still, I'll break your other arm." She began patching them up, whilst treating them to a non-stop rant on the dangers of this so-called sport, and how it really wasn't good for anything.

Once the minor injuries had been treated, three boys remained, all Gryffindors. The others had been sent back to their Houses. Madame Pomfrey shooed them into beds on the other end of the room while Severus studied them stealthily looking for Pettigrew's unmistakable fat face. He wasn't above getting some of his own back now that he had one of the Marauders handy without his bodyguards. He was disappointed to find that Pettigrew must've sneaked out of the infirmary. It would've been nice to hex him. He was also extremely startled to realize that he didn't recognize any of the three Gryffindors; he thought he knew every student near his age in the school.

A tall blond man who stopped at the foot of his bed and regarded him with cool grey eyes, his arms folded across his chest, jerked his attention away from the boys. "Master Snape?"

"Sir?"

"Get dressed and come with me."

"But Madame Pomfrey..."

"Madame Pomfrey will release you from the infirmary for this."

Severus got out of bed slowly. "Sir... I don't know where my clothes are."

"Tchah! We can't have you meeting the staff in your pajamas." He looked around for the mediwitch. "Poppy!"

She hurried over, looking a little frazzled. "What now, Professor Malfoy?"

"The staff wants to meet our young friend here. He needs his clothes."

Severus wasn't listening any more. Malfoy? Professor Malfoy? What in Merlin's Name is going on here? He took the clothes that Madame Pomfrey handed him and got dressed mechanically, his head spinning. This made no sense at all. All thoughts of hexing Pettigrew deserted him. He sneaked another look at the wizard while he twitched his robes straight. He looked a lot like Lucius' father, or perhaps a much older Lucius; he had the same grey eyes.

"Excuse me, sir, but who are you?"

"Eh? I am Professor Malfoy. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts here. Come along now."

He trotted along after the long-striding professor, mind whirling with confusion. Up until Professor Malfoy had introduced himself, he'd been almost positive that this was all some cruel and elaborate hoax set up by Black and Potter. But now he wasn't nearly so sure. In almost no time he found himself in a room full of adults. He recognized most of them, but a few were unfamiliar. The Headmaster gestured him towards a chair, and he sank into it.

"Now, Master Snape, suppose you tell us what happened."

"You won't believe me. I don't understand it. I don't think I can explain it." With that, he launched into the story. He told them about being in the infirmary for two weeks – though he didn't explain why, and how one of his Housemates had offered him the use of a time-turner to help him catch up on homework. "So, I put it on, and spun it like he said. The next thing I know, I'm in the infirmary again and everything has changed! There's no professor Malfoy at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore is Headmaster. I don't know some of you at all, but others I do!"

"Interesting," Riddle said. "Who do you recognize here, and what positions do they hold?"

Severus looked around the room. "Professor McGonagall, of course. She teaches Transfiguration, and is the head of Gryffindor House. She's also an Animagus – a cat. Professor Flitwick teaches Charms, and is head of Ravenclaw. Professor Sprout over there is head of Hufflepuff. She teaches Herbology. I don't see Professor Slughorn – he's head of Slytherin and teaches Potions." He ground to a halt under the combined stares. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, young man, you didn't. We're just a little surprised."

Severus whirled around to stare at the gaunt figure of Argus Filch. "I know you – I think! You're Mr. Filch, the caretaker. But you're somehow different..." He couldn't think of a tactful way to say "you're not scowling".

"Go on, Master Snape," Professor Malfoy said. "Who else do you know here?"

"Hagrid the Groundskeeper, and Madame Pomfrey, the school mediwitch. No one else." He looked at the floor for a long minute. "I don't understand what's going on." It was almost a wail.

"What year are you in at Hogwarts?" asked Professor McGonagall gently.

"Fifth year, professor." The softly spoken question made Severus feel just a little better.

"Who's your best friend at school?" Professor Sprout asked.

"Slytherins don't have friends. At best we have temporary allies."

Professor Malfoy looked a little annoyed. "I'm not sure I care for that generalization."

"Sorry, professor," Severus apologized quickly, not wanting any of these adults angry with him. A thought struck him. "You're one of the real oddities here, sir. The only Malfoy in Hogwarts that I know is Lucius – the seventh-year prefect."

"My name is Lucius, and I was indeed a prefect in my seventh year here at Hogwarts – but that was in 1975."

Severus' jaw dropped, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally, in a tiny voice, he whispered, "What is today's date?" Someone handed him a copy of the Daily Prophet and let him read the headlines. "Oh Merlin!" He swallowed hard. "The time turner must have thrown me into the future! It was 1975 when I used it, and now I'm in 1996!"