In the face of defeat, Harry Potter performed an ancient Wiccan Ritual, one that sends him spiralling back to 11 years old. Faced with a chance to change the future, Harry vows to take a different approach. Armed with the knowledge of 25 years, he dives into the snake's den. Perhaps, the only way forwards is to crumble it from the inside out. Albus Dumbledore does not agree.
Perhaps the only man strong enough to win this war is long dead and perhaps the trio isn't so golden anymore and perhaps Harry isn't quite with it. But it's all the light side has left: a morally dubious headmaster, a fast diminishing child army and a crackpot duelling protege of a boy. It is prophesied after all.
Hogwarts falls, leaving only a handful of students, locked down in the dungeons with no escape in sight. A ragged gaggle of kids, prophesied to save the world and yet wasting away into bones. Are they the final hope of a "light side", or are others surviving on somewhere hidden in the depths of Hogwarts? Who do you turn to when the bodies have been dragged down to the lake?
A mindless One-shot on learning Occlumency. Mentor!Snape
"You're dead. You should be dead- I watched you die," he gestured wildly at Sirius with one hand, though his gaze never once swayed from Severus, "Maybe I'm dead..? But I'm not dead, am I? Because you sure as fuck aren't, Severus." Sirius snapped. "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Dimension Travel.
At 11 years old, Harry Potter is thrust into a ruthless world: a world where there is a boy-who-lived and yet no man who died, a world where the manipulative benevolence of Albus Dumbledore is a time to look back on with wry smiles, a place where children march like soldier through Hogwarts halls. Driven with a faltering moral compass, Harry was a hero carved of scars. An Elite.
Severus was not made to be a father, he did not want to be made a father. And yet, somehow, he ended up with something of a child. A strange child that soaks up his knowledge like a sponge, a strange child with an uncanny ability to read him, a strange child that acts as a beacon for all those who wish to kill him. Harry Potter's life could never be simple. Mentor!Severus
Tom Riddle did not die that night back in 1981, merely injured. Fleeing the house with a Albus: dead on the floor and sanity intact he was intent on creating himself an empire. And such, the war raged on. Rankings, Horcruxes, Child Soldiers: Severus Snape was not the headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore was and nor did he strive to be. Set in Harry's 7th year at an AU Hogwart.
Harry is removed from the Dursleys at a young age and moved to Beauxbatons, with little idea of his heritage, Harry returns to England in 6th year- as a part of the Twi-Wizard Tournament- in an attempt to unravel what occurred on that fateful night, back when he was only seven, and what- or who- lead him to be the man he is today.
Fifth year is fast arriving and life is catching up The resilient front he put up for so much of his life is finally crumbling to pieces. And yet, life continues on oblivious, leaving Harry with a quickly disintegrating sense of ease in his surroundings. Voices in his head that are no longer his own, a pink bleached maniac hounding his every move. Life fucking sucks.
When Draco is forced to spend summer of fifth with Harry Potter and his family, he is forced to discover an entirely different side to the boy. One he struggles to detest. Blood spills, white feathered plea, alliances form and lessons are learnt in vivid purple and green. It's hard to fight nose to nose, eye to eye, stuffed in an understairs cupboard. (TW: abuse, slash, SH, EDs)
Draco watched his lips part, breathing out a thick plume of smoke. It swirled through the crisp dawn, taking up the harsh air in a lethargic pirouette before dissipating into a haze. Acrid behind his teeth and bitter on chapped lips, a sliver of tongue that darted out- chasing the lingering scent. Draco watched the dark bruise blotted through darker stubble. Draco watched Harry.
Draco watched his lips part, breathing out a thick plume of smoke. It swirled through the crisp dawn, taking up the harsh air in a lethargic pirouette before dissipating into a haze. Acrid behind teeth and bitter on chapped lips, a sliver of tongue that darted out- chasing the lingering scent. Draco watched the soft bruise blotted through dark stubble. Home- oh the irony. (Drarry)
Severus doesn't like the boy, he never did, but as he stares down at his crumpled form nestled amongst the hospital wing covers, he concludes that perhaps he loves the boy all the same. A tale in which Severus falls for a quiet boy lost in a field of snakes. A story in which Harry learns why some days Severus doesn't leave his office. An account of the real Tom Riddle.
They were Children-Of-Death, self labelled by Hogwarts population many years past. It was an ironic joke, a little dark humour to lighten up the crimson stained days and to them, their ranking meant the world. Hand picked, the best of the best. The children that would win the war, their own lives little in comparison. AU- Voldemort didn't die Halloween, Hogwarts crafts fighters.
Snippets from a Potter childhood, from Petunia's point of view.
Sirius Black was never a child, never a teenager, never an adult. Sirius Black simply existed. You simply watched. Extracts from Sirius Black's and Remus Lupin's relationship, love that never spoke. Dark and sorrowful, a far more pessemistic take on the traditional wolfstar. I hope I have done them justice.