History Repeats Itself
By Asha Dreamweaver
Chapter 1: The stage is set
Summary: Harry Potter is called as the Vampire Slayer. His new
responsibilities, new powers and the fact that Voldemort is still intent on
killing him lead him to change his whole outlook on life. His personality
suffers radical changes as well as he copes with being an assassin of the
undead. When a fight with a demon goes terribly wrong and Harry is hit by
an unknown spell, he is sent back into the past - to the time when the
Marauders still wreaked havoc on Hogwarts. Will he give into the temptation
to change the past, thereby changing the future. What will happen when he
falls for his future nemesis? SS/HP. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
A lone figure casually leaned against the wall of an ornate tomb,
impatiently scanned the old graveyard with all his senses on full alert.
Black clothes helped him to blend into the shadows, until he was as much a
part of the darkness as the unseen spirits that haunted the area. He
glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time, trying to curb his annoyance
at his friend. It really wasn't in his nature to lose his temper with his
friends but in cases like these, he found it very hard not to. He cursed
both himself and Wesley for agreeing to this little meeting. Why couldn't
they just have met at the Bronze? He could almost sweat that the elder man
had never heard of the old adage 'safety in numbers', which was
predominantly true in this place.
Wes was already late and was coming alone, not a very smart thing for a
mortal to do in this particular town, no matter how much experience they
had dealing with the things that went bump in the night. No, it was better
by far to stay at home, cheerfully oblivious to the darkness that infected
every square inch of land in, around and near Sunnydale. He
stiffened/tensed imperceptivity as his sharp hearing caught the sound of
footfalls - from two people. He reached for the stake in his jacket and
pulled it out, craving the safety that the sharp stick of wood brought to
his kind. He hoped that they weren't vampires; he really didn't want his
watcher to have a run in with a nasty little bloodsucker. The guy had grown
on him; it would be a pity for him to end up as one more statistic towards
Sunnydale's extremely high mortality rate. Not forgetting the fact that if
Wes was harmed, the offending demon would have hell to pay.
There was a loud thud, followed by some extremely colourful cursing and a
feminine giggle. Harry relaxed and pocketed the stake.
"You have all the grace of a bull in a china shop Wes," he teased the older
man, voice warm with amusement. His watcher picked himself up the ground,
reluctantly accepting a helping hand from his companion, "Not all of us
have supernatural abilities, you know," he retorted but the red tint to his
face gave away his abject embarrassment.
"True, but not all of us can wake the dead. Literally." Buffy chimed in,
years of teasing Wesley providing her with a wide array of witty comebacks.
"So Harry, you're still in one piece. That's usually a good sign. Since
you're leaving soon, I thought I'd come with Wes to see you off."
A genuine smile softened the stern look on his face, "I appreciate it B.
Did you bring the books?"
"Yes, they're in the bag with a shrinking charm placed on them." Wesley
said as he handed the bag to Harry. "You'd best be careful. I doubt your
teachers would be happy with your choice of reading material."
"Definitely not. Plus Hermione would throw a fit, most likely after reading
them all of course."
"This is not funny Harry. If your identity as the slayer is revealed, it
could put you and those around you in great danger."
"'Fraid I got to back him up on this one Harry. Talking from experience,
there will be a hell of a lot of things you won't be able to explain
because they won't understand."
"I wasn't planning on advertising it in the Daily Prophet. Like I need
people to find out how 'different' I really am."
"Yeah, that's a bummer. It sucks when they run in the other direction."
Wesley drew himself up to his full height and tried to look imposing to the
two slayers. Keyword; tried. "Now Harry, I hope I don't have to remind you
of your responsibilities, your duty. If you have any problems you are to
send word to me immediately and whatever you do don't let Voldemort find
out! If the wizarding world found out about the Watchers' Council, it would
be an unqualified disaster. I hope you have fun at Hogwarts and for God's
sake, try not to get yourself killed!"
The younger slayer's lips quirked upwards in a smile at the lecturing,
"Will do. Good luck to both of you. You know where to find me if you need
any help with the current Big Bad."
"Goodbye Harry!" they chorused as he touched the portkey around his neck
and said "Diagon Alley."
People stared at him as he made his way through Diagon Alley and for once
not because of his scar and not because of the late hour. He'd changed in
appearance over the summer and he was betting that even Ron and Hermione
wouldn't be able to recognise him at first. He had shot up in height, going
from being the shortest boy in his year to five foot eight and growing.
Unfortunately, he was most likely still shorter than Ron but at least it
was a respectable height for a sixteen year old. He had gotten more
muscular, though it didn't show like the guys in Sylvester Stallone movies.
It tended to come with the whole slayer package. Speaking of being the
slayer, thanks to him being called his eyesight had improved overnight and
he no longer needed his glasses.
It had been a huge shock for the Watchers' Council when they found out
Harry Potter had been called as the next Vampire Slayer. His name meant
nothing to them; no it was the fact that he was a boy that shocked them. It
seemed that he had a talent for performing/doing things that were
considered impossible. He was the first boy to be chosen. Ever. The
watchers were still trying to figure out how it had come about. He was the
first and only boy to be called as the Vampire Slayer. He chuckled darkly,
he just had to be the first to do everything, didn't he?
He didn't really like the Watchers, they reminded him too much of Cornelius
Fudge and the Ministry, especially that prat Quentin Travers. He respected
his own watcher, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce because he didn't follow the rules and
he respected Buffy's watcher, Rupert Giles for the same reason. Also, Giles
in 'Ripper' mode was damn scary. The man had some serious backbone. As for
the rest, he considered them pompous idiots.
He entered the Leaky Cauldron and gave a nod of greeting to Tom, the
innkeeper? before heading to his room. He changed out of his clothes, which
were now nearly all black - a side effect of having to stick to the shadows
and skulk around in dark crypts and graveyards - and got ready for bed.
Tomorrow the Hogwarts Express was leaving and he had to get to Kings Cross
Station in time to catch it.
After a solitary breakfast, he shrank his trunk and stuffed it in his
pocket. He paid his bill and stepped into the back area that housed the
entrance to Diagon Alley. He cast a subtle notice-me-not spell that would
make people think of him as inconsequential and a disguising charm to mask
his features and his famous scar. Tapping the bricks in quick succession,
he watched the wall melt away and rearrange itself into an archway that he
The wizarding shopping area was as busy as usual; somewhat surprising
considering it was nine o'clock in the morning. Passing the bright, well-
populated stores that wouldn't have failed to hold his attention last year;
he headed for Knockturn Alley, which in most peoples' opinions was Dark
Magic central. Even the Quidditch store didn't slow him down.
Knockturn Alley's reputation didn't bother him as much as it had before
when he still saw things in black and white and completely ignored the grey
areas in between. The grey area which he now inhabited [found himself in].
He purposefully entered Borgin and Burkes, bell clanging as he pushed open
the door. The oily Mr Borgin slowly approached him, "Good day sir! Looking
for anything special? We have just received some fine items..." he trailed
off as Harry glared at him, clearly conveying that he didn't want to be
bothered. The stooping shopkeeper abandoned his sickening charm and
scurried behind the counter.
Harry delved into the book stacks, grimacing at the thick layers of dust.
As if he didn't have to put up with enough of the stuff in crypts... He
searched for a good fifteen minutes, ending up with a stack of Dark Arts
books to suit his needs. He brandished his wand and levitated the rather
substantial stack over to the counter. Mr Borgin started adding up the
total cost, not blinking an eye at some of the titles, well used to the
type of things his clientele bought on a regular basis. Harry lazily
examined his watch. Good, there was still plenty of time to get to the
He indifferently glanced around the cluttered shop and a flash of metal
caught his eye. Wandering over to the source of the gleam, he found that it
was a pair of intricately crafted silver blades. The hilts were in the form
of serpents and they were inlayed with emeralds that represented the eyes
of the snakes - the exact same shade as his own. He picked one up and
studied it. It was a surprisingly perfect grip, as if it was made for him
to hold. He couldn't explain his fascination with the weapons; they just
seemed to call [out] to him. Slowly, as if underwater the snake moved, a
silver tongue tasting the air and it seemed to hiss at Harry. "Massster..."
He nearly dropped it in surprise and only his newfound skill in hiding his
emotions ensured that he retained his composure.
A shuffling sound to his left alerted him to danger and before he could
register it, he had spun around, serpent blade raised and poised to strike.
Mr Borgin stumbled backwards, "I didn't mean to startle you good sir. I
must congratulate you on a fine choice of weapon. Will you be taking those
as well?" Harry's eyes remained locked on the blade; he swore it had to be
magical. "Yes, I will be." His free hand reached across and removed the
matching knife from its stand. Something like an electrical shock skittered
up his spine as he held them. He put them into the spare holsters strapped
to his wrists. "How much?" "That will be 150 Galleons." Harry handed over
the money and shrunk the books, placing them into his pocket.
He paused at the exit to the shop, "Tell anyone that I was here Mr Borgin
and I shall come back to rip you limb from limb. Is that understood?" The
man's face paled, "O-of c-c-course. I n-never s-s-saw y-you," he stuttered.
Harry stepped back out into the dingy alley and immediately disapparated.
Reappearing in the men's toilets at Kings Cross, he checked himself over
one more time before realising that he would have to remove the disguising
spells on himself. Carefully scouting the area to see if there would be any
witnesses to his little display. When he was satisfied that there was no
people and no security cameras in sight he removed the spells. He glanced
at his reflection in the mirror and mentally compared the Harry Potter that
had left Hogwarts last term with the Harry Potter now returning for his
sixth year. Groaning, he realised that he was going to be pestered with
questions until people got used to the changes in him, which would probably
take a long time considering that it wasn't only his looks that had done an
about turn, his personality had radically transformed as well. Some would
say for the better and some would say for the worse but it was here to
stay. The slayer couldn't afford to be naive and trusting if they wanted to
live, which he did. Very much so.
He left the bathrooms, walking at a steady pace so as not to attract undue
attention. He was a half an hour early for the train so that he hopefully
wouldn't run into any other Hogwarts students. Harry really didn't want to
have to deal with the inevitable questions and stares. He'd had enough of
that over the summer. Vanishing through the wall separating the muggles
from platform nine and three quarters, he was pleased to see that he was
one of the first people there. He boarded the Hogwarts Express and moved to
the end of the train to find a suitably secluded carriage. Once he had
found one to his liking, he cast a few subtle spells to make everyone walk
right by it without noticing it or its inhabitants.
He didn't want to be disturbed, especially not by people who acted as if
they expected him to crack and attack them at any moment. Thanks to
Minister Fudge, most people seemed to think he was on the verge of
insanity. The rumours had gotten steadily worse during the course of his
fifth year and his last encounter with Voldemort hadn't exactly helped his
reputation. The Dark Lord had managed to infiltrate the castle and Harry
had been forced into another duel for his life. The majority of the school
had witnessed Harry using Dark Magic to stave off Voldemort's attack.
Even though Voldemort had been driven back and had eventually fled, the
general opinion was that Harry was a Dark Lord in training and something to
be shunned. He'd been hurt, confused and angry and he still was. He wasn't
evil, he had just realised the necessity of learning the Dark Arts when you
were being hunted by the strongest and worst Dark Lord of all time. He'd
soon found out that most people didn't see it that way. That bumbling idiot
of a minister, Fudge had finally had to admit to Voldemort's return and of
course, in true Fudge fashion, he had laid all the blame for the Dark
Lord's revival and Cedric Diggory's death neatly at Harry's feet. The only
good thing to come out of the exposure of his secret had been the grudging
respect from the Slytherins. They seemed to have re-evaluated their view of
him as Gryffindors' Golden Boy.
The experience hadn't put him off the Dark Arts though and after he was
called as the Slayer, he'd thrown himself into his studies with a
vengeance. As well as with a dedication that put book-fanatic Hermione to
He was bitterly disappointed in Dumbledore and for him he felt a fury that
not even his hate of Draco Malfoy could rival. The old wizard was keeping
vital information from him that was for certain, using him like a pawn and
he was sick to death of it. After many attempts to pry some facts out of
the man, he had given up and decided to just go and research it himself.
Preferably without the headmaster knowing.
He pulled out 'The Standard Book of Spells Grade 6' and began to read it
over, even though he had already memorised the material. Hedwig had already
flown to Hogwarts so he needed something to occupy him during the ride to
the castle and he really couldn't afford to be caught reading up on the
Dark Arts. His reputation had suffered more than enough damage last term.
The train ride was reassuringly uneventful and his spells had ensured that
he received no visitors. He could easily spot Ron's vibrant red hair, the
Weasley trademark when he approached the horseless carriages. Not wanting
to deal with his friend's anger at the moment, he hopped into the first
available carriage which happened to contain some Hufflepuff second years
who squeaked with fright when they recognised him. The ride to the carriage
was spent ignoring the terrified and hate filled eyes of the Hufflepuffs.
They never had acknowledged his innocence about the death of Cedric and
continued to dredge up memories of the Triwizard Tournament that he'd
rather forget thereby compounding the guilt he felt over the rival
He hurriedly made his way to the Great Hall, aware that Hermione and Ron
were looking for him and dreading what he knew he would have to do. He
strode to towards the Gryffindor table and saw that he was one of the last
to arrive. There was an empty seat beside Ron and Hermione, which they had
obviously kept for him but to their surprise, he didn't join them. Instead,
he sat down at the end of the table, as far away from his friends as he
could get. He tuned out [spaced out during] the Sorting and Dumbledore's
annual start of term speech. And once the food appeared, he concentrated on
eating, not looking up from his plate or contributing to the spirited
conversation around him once. In truth, he was silent, not speaking even
one word to anybody around him.
About halfway through the feast, he felt a niggling sensation at the back
of his neck and so he stretched out his senses, which quickly came to one
conclusion. He was being watched. Discreetly looking around, he soon found
the source of the stare and inwardly groaned. Professor Snape seemed to be
glaring at him again, the same as every other year except this time it was
disconcerting because he could actually feel it and it couldn't be ignored.
The emotions swirling through his dark eyes were unreadable. It made him
feel uncomfortable. The Potions Master suspected something, though Merlin
knew what, which was so very very bad for the both of them. If Snape found
out his secret not only would the professor end up as a demon's midnight
snack but Fudge would be willing to use any excuse to further discredit
Harry and get him thrown into Azkaban.
Going to that hellhole would not be beneficial towards his already short
life expectancy, especially if Fudge ordered the Dementor's Kiss, something
the sadistic politician would enjoy doing no doubt. He shuddered to think
about the effects Slayer's blood or worse; a Slayer's soul would have on
the foul creatures. Since it seemed to have a strengthening effect on
nearly every other demon on the planet, he really didn't want to find out
what sort of a power boost the terrors of Azkaban would receive.
Severus studied the young Gryffindor intensely from his place at the Head
Table, the time should be about right and he should have been called. He
was proved right when Potter walked into the Great Hall for the start of
term feast. He moved with too much grace, had too much of a dangerous,
watchful air to be anything but the slayer. Butterflies made his stomach
queasy; it would happen soon if he remembered the dates correctly, which he
was sure he did. It would be impossible for him to forget about that.
He tried to concentrate on eating his food but his gaze kept being drawn
back to Harry. It didn't take long before the boy noticed and began to
covertly look around the hall. Eventually his eyes locked with Severus',
annoyance visible in the green orbs but his face was blank. He quickly
turned back to his plate and didn't look at the Potions Master again or at
anybody. Harry obviously thought that Severus was plotting to get him
Severus, on the other hand felt a small amount of joy. He had avidly but
covertly kept track of Harry's progress since he started Hogwarts. For the
first four years, Severus had seen very little to show Harry was the
Slytherin he knew him to be. Only after the Triwizard tournament had Harry
started to become a force to be reckoned with and no one knew exactly how
powerful the Boy-Who-Lived would become better than Severus Snape.
He remembered the first year that Harry had come to Hogwarts. He had
expected the powerful, confident wizard with the brilliant mind that he
knew. Instead he had found an academically floundering, naive young boy who
bore very little resemblance to the Harry Potter that existed now. He had
been very disappointed and had taken his anger out on the boy in his
treatment of him. The Potions Master had felt an inordinate amount of
relief when Harry had begun to let go of his inhibitions and started
harnessing the power that existed within him. Started to behave more and
more like a Slytherin until he existed in no mans land - not feeling
comfortable with the Gryffindors and unwelcome to the Slytherins.
It would happen soon he knew and he both looked forward to it and dreaded
it. It had been both the best time and the worst time of Severus' life but
he had had nearly twenty years to mull it over. How would Harry take it
when he got back? Would he be disgusted that it had ever happened? Would he
want nothing to do with him? Severus didn't think he could handle it if
that happened. He didn't think he could handle it if his one hope for the
past two decades was quashed.
Harry stood up and left the hall with his head down, not really paying
attention to his surroundings. His slayer senses would make sure he didn't
crash into anything, it wasn't as if he needed to look where he was going.
A shout came from behind him, "Harry! Wait up mate!" Ron and Hermione ran
up to him, "Harry! Why weren't you on the train?! It wasn't You-Know-who
was it?" Hermione babbled at the same time that Ron said, "Why didn't you
sit with us?! We saved you a seat and all!" One of his hands rubbed his
temple slowly; he could feel a very big headache coming on.
"Will you please be quiet?!" he snapped at them and they abruptly shut up.
"I was on the train, no it wasn't Voldemort and I didn't want to sit with
Ron's face went an alarming shade of red that quickly turned into purple,
"Harry, what is wrong with you?! First, you learn the Dark Arts without
telling us, then you won't answer any of our letters all summer! We were
worried sick! You wouldn't sit with us on the train or in the Great Hall
because you didn't want to! Now you won't even talk to us! We're supposed
to be your best friends!" he bellowed.
"That is debatable." Harry answered. "What do you mean by that?!" Ron
yelled. Hermione decided to add her two cents in and back up her boyfriend,
"Harry, if you won't tell us what's going on, I don't know if we can still
be your friends."
Harry looked at the duo sadly, he really didn't want to lose their
friendship but he had no choice. They would never understand the role of
the slayer and remaining friends with them would only make them targets to
his numerous enemies.
He couldn't risk it so he said the damning words, "I don't have any
friends. We are not friends, I don't even remotely like you let alone care
about a mudblood and a weasel." He could see the hurt and shock mingling on
their faces, swiftly tinged by anger but he continued, "Do leave me alone.
I have no wish to have two losers harping on at me."
Without a glance backwards he strode from the hall, leaving most present
dumbfounded, save a few sharper people, who sensed something more behind
He went straight to Gryffindor Tower; he had a lot of work to do before the
rest of his housemates came back from the feast. Stopping in front of the
Fat Lady, he gave her the password, "Caritas." The portrait swung open and
he clambered inside. He had never been more thankful that prefects got
their own rooms, as then his dorm mates couldn't keep track of his comings
He ran a hand through his unruly hair, spiking it up even more, trying to
remember the words to the incantation. Raising his right hand, palm first,
he stepped into the centre of the room. Runes painted themselves on the
floor as he muttered a stream of rapid Latin. There was a golden flash and
the runes disappeared. He stretched out his magic to see if the protective
wards would hold, which they did. That should stop any busybodies from
entering, namely Dumbledore, Hermione and Ron.
Flopping down on the four-poster bed, he surveyed the room in slight
disgust. It had been fine in his fifth year before he had started
appreciating the darkness but now the bright shades of red and gold were
revolting. He thought they were garish, dark colours being better matched
to his tastes at the moment. After all, wearing horrendously bright and
vivid clashing colours were not suited for fading into the crowd or into
He flicked his wand and everything changed from Gryffindor colours to muted
shades of black and dark emerald green. Much better. He melted into the
downy softness of the black duvet he was laying atop of. Full marks to the
house elves; they sure knew their stuff.
His mind drifted back to the incident in the Great Hall; no doubt it would
be all over the school by tomorrow. It had hurt, like a hot poker through
the heart but he'd dealt with it. Ron and Hermione just wouldn't fit into
his new world, wouldn't understand it and he'd have been offended if they
had pretended to. There was no understanding the shadows unless you spent a
considerable amount of time in them. They'd all be better off breaking ties
with each other, he wouldn't have to worry about them getting killed
because of them and they wouldn't have anything getting in the way of a
His eyelids drooped, being the slayer was a nocturnal job mostly and he'd
gotten too used to sleeping during the day and hunting at night, much like
the demons he killed. Deciding that it wouldn't hurt to let himself take a
short nap before his patrols that night and the questions he was bound to
be bombarded with that evening, he fell into a deep sleep, still on top of
Harry's internal clock woke him up as the sun went down. He shucked off his
robes and changed into his regular slaying gear - black leather pants,
black polo neck, three quarter length black denim jacket and his own
arsenal of weapons. He chose leather for his clothes because it didn't tear
easily and gave him some protection from cuts and abrasions, especially
when aided by a few judiciously applied strengthening and defensive spells.
Fluidly, he jumps out the window, nimbly scaling the outside walls. His
feet make no sound as he drops to the ground. The Hunt is on.