A future upside down


PriestessNahuel and ItzabellaOrtacelli

"Traveling in time has always been dangerous.

Especially when you wake up to find that everything is upside down.

What have you done, Sirius?

It is the question that Harry will not stop asking in this story."

All characters mentioned here belong to J.K. Rowling

Note: This fic begins in the middle of the fifth year of Harry and his friends.

"This one goes for you, Genaro"

Dear readers:

This fanfic is originally written in Spanish. But following a review received from an English speaker, found an interesting exercise to translate it into English.

What's going on? That it won't be perfect. We rely on Google Translator. Thing that should not be done: a professional translation is recommended. But due to our very basic level of English, and not having a budget, then, we used this tool.

We hope your eyes don't bleed! And, if you have writing tips, they are welcome!

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1: Seek and Find

For a few seconds, Harry felt helpless.

Standing in the darkness of the cupboard, he stared at the door that Sirius had just exited. Despite having told the man in great detail about the dream-vision of the attack on Mr. Weasley, having complained about Dumbledore's lack of attention, about his sudden intention to throw himself on the old wizard's neck, he got Sirius to pat him on the shoulder and advise him, like the rest of the Weasleys, to go to sleep. As if he, so easily, could sleep after turning into a murderous snake in dreams.

However, he did not have the strength to reply to Sirius. Or he could ask for help from Mrs. Weasley who, with iron strength, tried to get everyone to eat and be quiet until they could go to St. Mungo's.

He came taciturnly down to the kitchen. Sirius served him bacon and eggs with a jovial demeanor, happy not to be in the only company of Kreacher, who had barely peeked through the doorframe for a few seconds before retreating as he complained about the red-haired filth invading the Noble and Ancient Black House. Harry found impossible to eat. So he dropped the plate as soon as he had a chance and sneaked into the room he shared with Ron the last weeks of the summer.

His friend fell flat on the bed, but Harry stayed dressed, leaning against the metal bar headboard. He was terrified of falling asleep. Dreaming about the snake-him again. Or worse: turn into a snake and strangle everyone in their sleep. He was in such a state of alert that he jumped as soon as he heard the creak outside the room.

He slid off the bed and peered out into the hall. He frowned at Sirius who, as a night owl (or day owl, if the animal existed) was rushing forward, not looking to the sides. Harry slipped behind him, silently. At first, he thought Sirius was heading to the Buckbeack hippogriff room. But the man was not carrying a sack of dead rats. The only thing he was able to glimpse in his fist, was a golden glow.

Sirius strode into a room. Harry took up position behind the crack in the door, just long enough to see his godfather brandishing an unusual, gold-colored wand. He gave a rickety closet three taps, after which he opened it wide. With one leap, entered on it, closed the door. And he did not come out again.

´What the hell…?´ The boy whispered. ´Sirius… what…?´

Harry entered the room and went straight to the closet. He kicked it, and the structure rattled dangerously as the doors swung open. Not knowing if it was the right thing to do or not, he mimicked Sirius's movements (except using a golden wand) and locked himself in the cabinet.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. He felt the open air, the scent of wildflowers, heard the din of teenagers. Stunned, Harry realized he was standing next to hedges trimmed into fanciful shapes. He remembered Sirius's wishes to do something for the Order, not to be locked up in the house he hated with the horrible Kreacher. Because Sirius was a man who loved adventure and danger. But Harry never thought that he could disobey Dumbledore in that way: create a magical passageway that would lead him outside whenever he desired.

He understood perfectly the anguish of his godfather, because not infrequently he had felt the same. Just to understand that, in the end, he was nothing more than a necessary protective measure.

Without looking back, without checking to see if there was any magical way to get back to Grimmauld Place, Harry ran to look for any sign of Sirius, preferably a huge black dog. Because he didn't think his godfather was so reckless to come out in his human form.

´Sirius!´ he yelled, but covered his mouth with hands as he thought about it. ´I mean... Padfoot! Padfoot!´

As he left the hedgerow he had a stomach upset, as if everything that had happened that day was not enough. For the first time, he identified the castle, the grounds, the uniforms. He was at Hogwarts. Harry stopped running and gaped at the path to the lake and the students sprawling, enjoying a brief break in class.

´What have you done, Padfoot?´ Harry whispered. ´Here ... here there are no clues as to what is happening to me ... or are there?´

Late, he detected the laughter, the hubbub. He felt a shove on his shoulder and he staggered he read to the side. The boy with unruly black hair and glasses barely turned back and waved a hand:

´Sorry!´ He exclaimed.

Harry's breath caught. It was him. But later, he realized that it was impossible. Because of his size he seemed smaller, besides, his friends were Ron and Hermione, not three unknown teenagers. He slyly followed him and listened to the jokes, the comments about the classes, the names: James, Sirius, Remus, Peter...

Harry started to feel dizzy and needed to stop until he leaned against a beech tree, or he thought he was going to pass out. He couldn't be in the past. It was impossible. It must have been a memory of Sirius. The wardrobe, the golden wand, functioned as a makeshift Pensieve, where he and the adult Sirius had dived to relive happy moments. But in the Pensieves no one would yell at you, no one would bump into you and apologize. The trees weren't palpable; the other students weren't looking suspiciously at another lanky teenager in muggle clothes.

Harry was going to explode (in the next minute, somehow) and he did. Something struck him with devastating force on the back of his neck. His vision darkened, his whole being was lost within himself until the light touched his eyelids and the subtle call tore him out of unconsciousness.

He opened his eyes. It took a few minutes to idealize that he was lying down, as if had slept for hours. A restful and peaceful sleep. The sun was streaming in through the window. He raised his hands and looked at them, even though they were blurry. He saw no sign of having turned into a snake and sighed in relief. Perhaps the closet-Pensieve, his reptilian self, the dejection of the Weasleys, the desire of his godfather to escape from confinement... perhaps it was all a dream.

´Harry, honey, get up, we're going to be late for the station!´ A woman's voice insisted from somewhere in the room. ´Your father woke up hours ago ...´

´Father?´ The boy repeated. ´Station…?´

He sat up so fast that he got everything spinning. He was aching behind his head and he reached up to feel the small bulge from the blow. Someone stuck his glasses on his nose. He blinked once, twice, three times. A red-haired woman with green eyes (his eyes!) was watching him with a smile.

´Good morning, sleepyhead´ she whispered softly. ´Come on, have breakfast and then get dressed ...´

Lily Potter kissed her forehead and left the room. Harry just sat there, more confused than ever. He held down the painful ball with his fingers to make sure it was not a dream, not an illusion spell, not a Pensieve, not a bad joke. How was it possible that he was at the end of summer vacation, when it was already Christmas? He got off the bed and ran to the window Lily had just cleared. No sign of snow. Instead, sun and heat.

It took him a few minutes to detach himself from the glass and turn around. He stared at the room that was alien to him, but at the same time, in a strange way, was not. He had a Quiddicth poster of Viktor Krum sitting on his broom, with his arm raised and the golden wings of a Snitch sticking out of his fingers. A chair in the corner held a pile of summer clothes, as if he'd been lazy to pick them up at some point. An empty cage full of gray feathers. A well-kept desk stocked with scrolls, ink, a quill, plenty of magic books. A new closet with mirrors on the doors.

He saw himself leaning against the window frame, pale under the mop of dark hair, with an expression of collapsing at any moment. In his mind swirled the life that he knew and another, that he presented every time he looked around a corner. A life in parallel that vibrated at every moment, mixing with his original memory. He wanted to renounce the room he was in, deny it, destroy it with all of his being, but he felt it as his own as the corner under the Dursleys stairs, or the space he shared with Ron in Grimmauld Place.

The sense of her truthfulness, that his mother was alive, shook him too.

He had no idea how Sirius got himself some magical object capable of opening portals to the past, what he wanted to change precisely in his time as a Hogwarts student, although he was able to get an idea: warn his parents not to be killed by Voldemort…?; He also had no clue as to who had hit him. Maybe Sirius himself, so he wouldn't inadvertently ruin his plans? Because it was likely that he was a variable not considered in the incursion of his godfather. But in that instant, Harry felt his chest swell with so many emotions that he was unable to separate them.

Lily had talked about his father, about James. Between excited, scared and shocked, he left the room and rushed down the stairs. As with the room, he knew the house. His house. Vague memories floated toward him every time he looked at a wall, at the carpet, at the cozy little room. Broke in the kitchen with agitation. The back of his neck throbbed. Lily finished preparing breakfast, while a man sitting at the table covered his face with the Daily Prophet.

´Mom, Dad?´ He called.

Lily turned to him, again with a wonderful smile. The man lowered the diary and Harry's soul fled from his body.

It was not James Potter who was at the head of the table, but Severus Snape.