The Fifth Marauder

By Alarun

Disclaimer:  I own none.  I just like to juggle with JK's apples.  And I don't mean for that to sound dirty, you sicko.

Brief And Vague Synopsis:  After an incident with a Weasley Twin Practical Joke, some surprising discoveries are made …and, of course, danger and plot twists ensue.  A response to Severitus' Challenge.  

Prologue

Fred and George Weasley chortled to themselves as they sat in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, a very-well-used prank-idea notebook open in front of them, pages thick from the extensive amount of writing contained within.  As George slowly turned the crinkling pages, a grin of maniacal glee formed on Fred's identical face.  George stopped turning pages and looked at his brother.

"See something interesting in that head of yours?"  George asked his twin.

"Why, George, I've just gotten the perfect idea for a prank."  Fred laughed evilly as George raised an eyebrow.  The two leaned closer and began whispering feverishly.

*          *          *

They used Moaning Myrtle's bathroom stall to brew the potion, having heard about it from Hermione after The Polyjuice Potion Incident in her second year.  Myrtle wasn't a bother; she had become used to students brewing the odd forbidden potion in her bathroom, and had most likely decided it was the only willing company she would get.  And thus she continued talking to the Weasley twins as they attempted to add a teaspoon of ground frogs' eyes to their bright orange, bubbling potion. 

The twins learned that ignoring her was their best option.  She couldn't physically do anything to them, anyway; just scream shrilly and cry loudly.

So the two redheaded, freckled seventh years continued brewing their concoction, which they had lovingly been calling 'the prank potion.'  Not a very original name, they conceded, but gave up after a week of thinking about what to call it.

"Ah, the wonders of adolescence," Fred mused quietly, over the soft bubbling of the thick substance.

"I hope it works," George cackled.

"It will, George, my boy."  Fred patted his brother on the back reassuringly.  "It will."

They laughed evilly, growing louder and louder until Moaning Myrtle joined in.  They stopped and looked at her.  The ghost stopped, adjusted her thick glasses, and hid quickly in the S-pipe of one of the vacated toilets, crying loudly.

*          *          *

The twins had decided to try out their Nearly Perfect Potion (they had to admit, they weren't certain of what it would do …precisely…or how long it would last, among other, er, subtle details.  But this didn't miff them.  It wouldn't kill anybody, would it?  And if it doesn't kill anybody, it's bound to be terribly amusing…)  one day three weeks later, right after it was completed, in case the potion changed effects the longer it was stored. 

Traveling quietly to Hogwarts' kitchens, they asked Dobby to put the orange goop into the faculty's pumpkin juice goblets for the next meal.  Dobby, all too happy to comply with Harry Potter's friends, convinced the other house elves into it.  The twins left the kitchens without qualms, excited to see what the effects of their potion would be like.

*          *          *

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were unaware anything was going to be different during lunch.  They were busily talking about Quidditch maneuvers (Hermione was pretending to listen as she read a book placed strategically on her lap) as their tables were magically ladled with food of every kind.  Hermione silently buttered a warm roll as she reread a particularly interesting paragraph on advanced charms, pointedly ignoring Fred and George's sniggering to her right.

The Great Hall's dull roar abruptly skidded to a halt, making Hermione look up.  Most of the students' mouths had fallen open, and every eye was focused at the Head Table.  Even Harry, who usually recovered from shock rather quickly since his recent life-or-death situations, was still gawking.

Frowning, Hermione looked toward the professors to see what the amazement was about.  At first, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, except that the teachers were no longer eating lunch, but standing and looking rather startled.  She felt her own mouth drop open as she recognized what wasn't right.

All of the professors were teenagers.

Chapter I

Albus Dumbledore stood in the middle of the group of 16 year olds, trying to decide where he was.  It looked like Hogwarts, but it didn't look like his Hogwarts, from the mid 1860's.  There were no professors anywhere.  As a matter of fact, he was sitting in the Headmaster's seat!  Albus was fairly certain he wouldn't do that under normal circumstances.  He took a lemon drop out of his Gryffindor robe pocket and looked around.

He didn't know any of these people, he decided.  The tall, gangly teenager with the long black hair looked a bit familiar, but not enough to draw any memories.  He looked a bit like his Gryffindor year-mate Sclera Snape, but more like a relative.  Others didn't look at all familiar—one young witch, wearing glasses and a pointed hat bent at an odd angle (he wanted to fix that hat, but was afraid of seeming rude), was looking him up and down, obviously trying to discern who he was.

Maybe he had time traveled again.  It had happened once, when his time turner had gotten out of control …but he hadn't even been wearing his this time, he was fairly certain.  He checked for it around his neck, just in case. 

Nope.  No time turner.

*          *          *

Severus Snape was wearing his school robes, though why he found this odd, he couldn't remember.  He looked down at the Gryffindor Prefect badge on his chest, feeling slightly reassured.  He recognized Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall —though they both looked about a hundred years younger.  He noticed Hagrid and Filch, too, but they were strangely young looking as well.

He noticed that he was standing at the Head Table, looking down at the Houses, who seemed to be gawking open-mouthed.  Frowning, he scanned the tables for somebody familiar.

James Potter was sitting down at the Gryffindor table, talking with an unfamiliar Weasley and a bushy-haired girl, so he went to talk to them.  Maybe James knew what was going on.

*          *          *

"Hey, James!  What--" Severus of The Younger Years cut off abruptly as he approached the Potter.  "Hey, you're not James.  Who are you?"

The student seemed taken aback, he mouth opening as he took in his younger Professor's Gryffindor Prefect badge, the loosened red and gold striped tie, and the unusual disarray of black school robes.  "P-Professor Snape?"  He asked quietly.

"Professor?  No.  It's Severus Snape, but my friends call me Sev."  He held out his hand, which was taken timidly by the James-look-alike.  "You look like James Potter.  You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

He answered very quietly.  "James Potter was my dad.  My name's Harry."

The teenaged Snape raised both eyebrows, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, his mouth trying to form words again.  "Oh," was all he said.

"Sir, I thought you were a Slytherin.  You're the Head of Slytherin House, even."  The bushy-haired girl asked him, standing up. 

He frowned.  "I'm pretty sure I'm a Gryffindor.  I've always been one, anyway, and I'm in my sixth year."

Her mouth snapped shut with a loud clack.