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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9	By : lovetoseverus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 25605 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 26
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Chapter 27: Draught No. 8

“Prodeo quod strenuus sanctimonia animadverto.”

It never got any easier to say, but thankfully Harry had managed to get through the incantation without issue, just as he had every other time. It was a small victory, but an important one – to the degree that careful pronunciation could prevent him from getting stuck in some unreachable corner of his mind, he was keen to pay close attention to it.

Seconds after the spell words left his mouth, the distinct tang of Evochi hit his tastebuds, and he curled his tongue around its thick ribbons until the last drop fell from the lip of the vial. Then he swallowed hard, the imperceptible touch of the potion’s magic working so quickly that he barely had time to lower his arm before his eyes closed and everything went dark.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

It was disorienting waking to something the eyes couldn’t focus on, but Harry knew the construct’s grey mist was only temporary. He closed his eyes while waiting for the scene around him to paint itself true. For a brief, heart-stopping minute, he couldn’t remember what it was he had held in his mind before imbibing the potion, but then it quickly came back to him: to give himself the experience of being happy. A place with no wars hanging over his head, no prophecies to fulfill, no friends or students or general Wizarding public to save. He wanted to see what life could be like without those things. He hoped the intention wasn’t too vague, but figured it’d be hard to go wrong if happiness was on the docket.

Suddenly, Harry felt the scene shift below him and he opened his eyes. He was lying on something comfortable, and above him he could just make out the drape of a red, velvet canopy. It didn’t take long to realize where he was, and he smiled. How many times had he opened his eyes to this exact visual, after all? Turning his head towards the window, he watched as dust motes danced in the sun beams streaming in through the stained glass. It looked to be about midday, the warm light bathing the hardwood floors and heavy furnishings in a cozy, multi-color glow.

His dormitory in Gryffindor tower was just as he remembered it.

Getting out of bed, Harry began to take in his old room, raking his gaze greedily over a place he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. He walked slowly around the room, letting his fingers glide idly along the wood post of a bed or the cluttered surface of a nightstand. Memories began to flood him: echoes of voices and laughter rang in his ears and remembered visuals of Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ron appeared in his mind’s eye. It felt like only yesterday he was here, returning from dinner amid some on-going, boisterous conversation, or just after a Quidditch match, celebrating yet another Gryffindor victory with his friends. But it also felt like a lifetime ago. And in some ways, it had been. He was no longer that person, that boy who had last called Hogwarts his home eighteen long months ago.

He sighed, a wave of nostalgia settling over him. That part of his life was over now, never to be reclaimed. Would he even if he could? He doubted it. So then why had the potion sent him here? True, he had been happy at Hogwarts, but that was in the past now.

Sitting down on his bed again, he considered the objects next to it. His trunk was there – the ‘HP’ carved into the end as familiar as the first time he’d seen it – but the closer he looked at the rest, the more he noticed there were some details that didn’t seem quite right, yet he couldn’t place why. It was little things, like an object he had no recollection of or an article of clothing he’d never worn, but the differences were there. Confused, he began to wonder if this was even his room. Perhaps this construct wasn’t a memory after all, as he’d initially assumed.

He was just about to explore more when a noise from outside the door pulled his attention. Moving towards it, he stepped out onto the staircase and peered over the railing. The common room seemed empty, but he could tell someone was there.

“Hello?” Harry ventured, slowly descending the steps.

“Yeah, down here,” came the response. “Have you seen a stole, by chance?” The voice was male and so eerily familiar that it sent a shiver of recognition up Harry’s back. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn it was…

Jumping down the last few steps, Harry rounded the corner and came into full view of the room, but froze abruptly when he realized he was standing face-to-face with… himself.

“You made it.” It was like looking into a mirror, only that mirror was now talking to him. Harry blinked.

“I… what? Where am I?”

“Surely you recognize this place.”

“Well, yeah, I just meant… why am I here? Why are there… two of us?”

Harry’s doppelgänger just smiled and pushed the cushion he had been holding back into place on the sofa. Then he knelt down to look underneath the massive frame.

“Harry? You in here?” The voice was loud but distant, as though it was coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the portrait hole.

“Yeah, come in, there’s someone I want you to meet!”

“Okay, but the ceremony is about to star—”

Harry turned towards the entrance to the room just as a young man – a student, he assumed – barreled into the room and stopped mid-sentence, blinking owlishly as he looked back and forth between the two Harrys.

“Harry, what is going—”

Harry – the other Harry – just grinned. Harry decided to think of him as ‘Potter’ from now on so he could make sense of their interaction in his head.

“Dev, I want you to meet Harry. He’s from another reality. Harry, this is Devon Glyn. My boyfriend.”

Surprised, Harry turned to stare at Devon. He was trying hard to appear like he wasn’t blatantly sizing him up, but wasn’t sure how successful he was. Curiosity and confusion were nearly overwhelming him already, and now he was adding to the list by wondering who Devon was – he knew of no such person in his own time.

Dressed in a striped shirt and denims, Devon stood slightly taller than Potter but had a similar, lean build. His brown hair was set in a soft, tousled style, longer in front and swept full across his forehead, just above his brows. Below that glinted a pair of grey-blue eyes, sociable and warm, the corners wrinkling due to his wry smile. Harry could see the appeal right away. In a word, he was adorable.

Fortunately, Devon didn’t seem fazed by the attention at all, and rather seemed to be doing some assessing of his own. Apparently he was amused by this development, whereas the implications of it were just starting to hit Harry. So I’m gay in this reality, too.

“It’s another you,” Devon said with a small chuckle, as though he was the one dreaming but had just decided to go along with it for now.

“No, he’s not me, he’s his own Harry.” The two Harrys exchanged a glance, and Potter smiled encouragingly.

“Is he staying? Are you staying?” Devon corrected himself as he turned to address his question at Harry.

The words may have been in Turkish for all Harry understood of it. His mind was fuzzy beyond measure and he tried desperately to make sense of everything. He didn’t even know where ‘here’ was yet, or why he was being shown this scene for his session. “Staying?” was all he could manage.

“Ha! Found it!” Potter exclaimed, brandishing a piece of fabric in one hand as he got up off the floor. Then he turned to Harry. “Yes, stay. We’ve got to get outside for the ceremony, but I’ll come back when it’s over.” He pushed the knot of his tie upwards to tighten it, then smoothed his hands down the front of his Gryffindor robes, settling the fabric he’d just found around his shoulders. It appeared to be an ornamental sash of some kind; it bore the House crest, but was too fancy to be a scarf.

“Ceremony?” Harry asked, blinking, still unable to find his footing. Were they getting married?

“Yeah, this prat thinks the Governors are actually going to let him graduate,” Devon remarked, jabbing a thumb towards Potter. His voice was laden with amusement, his face split into a wide smile.

Harry felt his brows creep up his forehead, and then suddenly there were two hands on his shoulders. “Harry.” His attention jerked back to the face before him, identical green eyes swimming in his vision. “I know this is a lot to take in at once. Just stay here for a bit and get your bearings, and I’ll come back up when we’re done. Okay?”

Harry nodded after a moment. “Okay.”

The portrait door had barely closed over the entrance to the common room when Harry fell back against the over-stuffed sofa. He stayed like that for a while, just breathing deeply and trying to think. If Potter was graduating, then that must make this the end of his seventh year. Harry had never considered that students actually graduated from Hogwarts before, or took part in some formal celebration, and for a brief moment, he lamented the fact he would probably never experience that himself.

Yet Devon didn’t appear to be graduating, as he hadn’t been dressed in formal attire, or even school robes. Or maybe that wasn’t required? Perhaps Devon wasn’t even a wizard? But if he wasn’t, how was he able to get around inside – or even see – Hogwarts?

The headache that had been looming ever since Harry had found himself face-to-face with, well, himself, came back full force, and his mind thumped in tune to its rhythmic throb. He closed his eyes, hoping to ease the pain and make way for clarity, but instead, the world just went grey.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

When Harry woke, feeling as though only minutes had passed – and it was quite possible that’s all that had transpired given how an Evochi construct interpreted time – it was to the soft sound of hushed voices from somewhere across the room. His headache seemed to have passed, and his mind felt open and calm. In case it wouldn’t be inclined to stay that way, he decided to slowly ease himself back into the scene before him. Without moving, Harry continued to feign sleep, merely slitting his eyes open to peer at the two figures talking. It was Devon and Potter.

He felt guilty spying on them, inadvertent though it was, but was curious and wanted to observe them for a minute. Devon was holding a gilded, leather-bound folio in front of him, and Potter was alternating his gaze between it and Devon’s face, the corner of his mouth quirked. Harry thought he heard the word ‘congratulations’ before Potter reached out and pulled Devon towards him by the shirt, the look on his face requiring no further explanation.

Sure enough, Devon leaned closer, whispering something very close to Potter’s mouth. Their foreheads were touching and Potter was grinning in response. Then, in the span of a breath, Devon closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips and body against his boyfriend.

It was gentle at first, the soft tugging of a lip between teeth, smiles not-so-hidden behind their physical affection. But when Devon wound his arms around Potter’s neck, things shifted. The space between them became charged, a controlled explosion of mutual desire, and they seemed to fall into one another. It made their breathing harder, their kisses deeper, and their tongues more insistent.

Harry felt the breath catch in the back of his throat. Was it normal to be turned on by watching… yourself? God, do I look like that when I kiss someone? He bit his lip to try and keep the rest of his body from taking notice. Devon and Potter’s movements looked like a choreographed dance, something that spoke of their long-practiced familiarity and affection for each other, and Harry felt utterly pinned by it.

But what would he do if this… progressed? Should he interrupt or try to sneak out? Would he end up watching, unable to turn away? He sat there for a moment, trying to decide what to do, when it suddenly dawned on him that kissing was their destination. They were making no move to leave the wall for someplace more suitable, no clothing was being unbuttoned or cast aside – nothing more than lips and tongues and hands were even involved. Their actions weren’t a precursor to something else, something more, as it’d always been for Harry. It made him wonder why he’d never just indulged in kissing. It seemed a simple, enjoyable intimacy, but it had never really captured him, and so he’d always moved beyond it quickly. Or maybe he just hadn’t found the right person yet, as Devon and Potter clearly had.

But the longer Harry watched, the more he began to realize the two men before him were in love. It was written across every movement, every smile, every touch. So this is what being in love looks like for me. The beauty of it, the want he experienced at seeing it play out before him, made the lingering ache in his chest deepen.

He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for himself, though. Finding someone to spend a night with hadn’t even been on his radar, much less someone to spend his life with. Plus, he’d already had an inkling that his next ‘task’ after Evochi would be precisely that, anyway. He knew it was time to turn the tables on himself, to carve out his own life. That included finding someone to love – and someone who would love him, not his name, in return.

Who is my Devon? he wondered.

With a deep inhale, Harry slowly stretched his limbs and gave notice to the fact he was waking. He was amused to watch as Potter and Devon sprang apart, their lips and faces flushed, shy smiles appearing on their faces.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Harry said with a lazy drawl, and they all shared a laugh.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Sprawling themselves across the squashy, common room furniture, Harry and his counterpart munched away at some food one of the House elves had brought up. The room was still oddly devoid of other students, but Harry assumed they were simply elsewhere in the castle, or perhaps outside, enjoying the graduation festivities. Devon had disappeared, too, ostensibly to join them. Harry was glad for the time alone with Potter, though, as answering questions about where he’d come from and why there were two Harrys was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his session. There were other, much more important things on his mind.

“How did you and Devon meet?”

Potter sat back in his chair and finished chewing his sandwich. “It was my third year. We quickly became friends but didn’t start going out until fourth year. Well, my fourth year, his third.” Which explained why Devon wasn’t graduating along with him – he still had one year to go.

“You’ve been in a relationship for three years?” Harry boggled. He’d had friendships and associations with teachers for longer than that, of course, but never a romantic relationship. His longest had been Ginny, and that had only lasted five months, all told. Then again, he supposed he’d had plenty of other things to be worrying about in his life aside from girls. Or boys.

“Almost four, actually,” Potter amended with a smile, and Harry shook his head. Four years? He couldn’t quite get his head around that much time.

“You must really love each other,” he observed lamely, watching as a bit of color infused Potter’s cheeks.

“Yeah.” Potter rubbed his palms over his thighs and then looked up at Harry with a soft smile. “It’s weird. Sometimes you just meet someone and everything… fits. Like they were always supposed to be a part of your life, only you just had to bump into them. And then once they are there, everything feels right in a way you can’t explain, like there’s this private world that exists just for the two of you, something that people on the outside can never be a part of, not truly. And you know you’ll never have that same thing with anyone else. You know?”

A jolt of recognition zipped through Harry at those words, causing a flutter to stir his stomach. He did know, actually. He nodded as memories of his interactions with Severus sprang to mind. Even during the years they’d been at odds, there was still a certain rightness to knowing Severus was around, as though something wouldn’t have fit otherwise. He had been a constant for Harry, and one of the few. It was only in the recent months of getting to know the man that Harry had developed an awareness of it, along with a desire, a need, for it to not change. Being with Severus had always felt different than with anyone else in his life, but until now, Harry hadn’t considered why. Maybe it was because he and Severus shared what Potter described, something that no one else could touch, or perhaps even understand.

Harry mused on it a moment longer before returning his thoughts to the relationship before him. “Is Devon…” Harry paused, trying to think how to ask his question. It felt like a delicate topic. “I don’t know of him in my reality.”

“Nope. He doesn’t exist there.”

The somewhat cryptic and terse nature of the response only served to make Harry more curious, but it seemed it was all Potter was going to say on the subject. Reluctantly, Harry let it go, nodding instead. “You said Devon was in Hufflepuff?”

“Yeah.” Potter’s mild expression was back. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, just that Gryffindor and Slytherin are usually grouped together for classes, so how did—”

“Oh. Yeah, I met Devon playing Quidditch. He’s the Seeker for Hufflepuff. A damn good one, too, though I think I might be a shade faster.” There was nothing boastful at all in Potter’s smile, only evidence of the good-natured competition that must exist between them. It made Harry chuckle.

“You mean Hufflepuff is the team to beat in the House Cup, not Slytherin?” he asked incredulously.

“Slytherin? No. Poor Robinson, he took a Bludger to the knee a few weeks ago – he’s their Seeker – and they lost the match. He’s fine now, of course, but that game decided their fate in the tournament. It ended up Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, but I caught the Snitch in the end.” Potter pursed his lips, looking skeptical. “Part of me still thinks Devon just let me have it – some rubbish about it being my last official game at Hogwarts or something.”

Harry grinned at the look on Potter’s face – he knew it well, but just wasn’t used to seeing it from this vantage point. It was such a strange thing to talk to yourself, see yourself, yet know the you sitting across from you isn’t actually you – rather, he’s his own person, with his own unique history and experiences. Harry shook his head minutely to clear the bizarre thought. Then something Potter had just said prodded at his mind. The Seeker for Slytherin was Robinson?

“Isn’t Draco the Slytherin Seeker?”

“Draco?” Potter asked, his brow furrowed. “You mean Draco Malfoy?”

Harry nodded, but wasn’t sure he liked the pause his inquiry had caused. He wondered what had become of Draco in this reality.

“Draco was the Slytherin Seeker years ago, but he transferred to Durmstrang his fourth year, right after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I think his father thought he was too good for Hogwarts or something, the ponce.”

“Wait, you had the Tri-Wizard Tournament here?”

Potter blinked. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”

It probably shouldn’t have, but Harry recalled the reason they’d had it in his reality: something about Dumbledore wanting to re-establish magical bonds and encourage cooperation amongst those on the side of Light. Though, Harry supposed even without that need, the event could still be held simply because of its rich history or that tradition dictated it.

“Did you participate?” Harry ventured cautiously. This made Potter laugh.

“God, no. I was only fourth year at the time, so I wasn’t eligible, but I’m quite sure I wouldn’t’ve done it even as a seventh year.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Those tasks are bloody crazy!”

Harry grimaced in recognition, but decided not to mention anything about his involvement in his own Tri-Wizard Tournament. It was too long of a story, anyway, and not what he wanted to talk about.

“Who was Hogwarts’ Champion?”

“Cedric Diggory,” Potter answered. “Brave chap that he is.”

Harry caught the tense immediately. Is. That meant he was still alive here! Pleased, Harry nodded, even while he felt that familiar pang of regret, for the Cedric in his reality never got the chance to see what else might have been. “Did he win?”

“Nah, the Durmstrang Champion did. Which means, of course, that a rematch is definitely in order.” Potter popped a crisp into his mouth and leaned back in his chair again. He settled his feet on the table before him, crossed his legs at the ankle, and grinned.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Once comfortably sated from their simple meal, Potter suggested they head down to the Quidditch pitch. Curious to see more of this place, Harry agreed easily, and wasn’t surprised to discover that it, too, was empty except for the two of them. He could almost feel the brush of magic around them as they walked through the castle and out onto the grounds, as though either Evochi (or Potter) was orchestrating things to avoid populated areas or places where they might encounter other people. Regardless of how it was happening, Harry was grateful for the seclusion, as he still had more questions.

Situating themselves on the bleachers towards one end of the field, Harry squinted into the waning sun as he looked over at Potter.

“Do you know what you’re going to do when you leave Hogwarts?” he asked.

Potter tipped his head. “Yeah, it’s something we usually decide on by the time we take our OWLs. Is that not the same for you?”

“It is for some,” Harry hedged. “I just haven’t figured it out yet, I suppose.” It brought to mind his conversation with Severus about this very thing, even though he still didn’t feel much closer to having an answer for himself. Still, something about Potter’s expression seemed keen all of a sudden, as though he understood far more than he was letting on.

Hoping to divert the attention off himself and that feeling of utter transparency – though how much could you really hide from yourself, anyway? – Harry repeated his question, realizing his curiosity about the answer had only grown. “What are you planning to do, then?”

In response, Potter seemed to draw himself up to his full height in a somewhat exaggerated fashion. It reminded Harry of Fred and George. “You are looking at the next purveyor of fine, handmade brooms. And other Quidditch supplies,” Potter added, as though he would have offended something – or someone – by not including that bit.

He sounds like an advert, Harry thought with a grin, but aloud he enthused, “Brilliant!” It wasn’t a job he’d ever considered for himself (he wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to even start) but the more he thought about it, the more he loved the idea for his counterpart. “So, you’ll make the Potter 3000, then?” he asked, only half joking.

“Not exactly.” Potter grinned, then turned thoughtful. “I was actually planning to name my line of brooms after my Granddad’s family – something in our Peverell lineage.”

And there it was: that sinking feeling that always seemed to accompany mentions of Harry’s family, even though this time it wasn’t his, strictly speaking. But if Potter knew his grandparents – or at least one grandfather – that must also mean…

Something must have shown on his face, for Potter slid closer to him on the bench.

“Harry,” he started, but Harry’s eyes were already distant and unfocused. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. I know what this is, this place, and why you’re here.”

So Harry had been right – Potter knew more than he was letting on. But perhaps that shouldn’t be entirely unexpected, given that a construct had to originate in Harry’s mind somewhere; therefore, it stood to reason his counterpart – or any version of himself or anyone else he might meet – would also be privy to the same information, knowledge or history. He sighed.

“Harry, this is a… glimpse.”

“A what?”

“A glimpse. An… alternate outcome.”

“Like an alternate reality?”

Potter shrugged. “I guess you could call it that, yeah.”

“So your parents are alive here. Lily and James.” Harry looked up at him expectantly and caught Potter’s furrowed brow and sad smile. His expression was uncertain, as though he had been avoiding the topic for this very reason.

Finally, he said, “Yes.”

“And you represent how things would’ve happened if I’d grown up with them.” It wasn’t a question.

“One possibility, yes,” Potter agreed, and Harry nodded.

Then, after a beat, he asked, “And Sirius? Is he here?”

“Uncle Sirius?” Potter’s face split into a smile. “Oh, yes.”

Harry couldn’t help but find the smile infectious, and mirrored it with one of his own. Potter bent one of his knees and looped his arm around it, leaning against his upraised leg.

“When I was little, I used to love helping Sirius work on his motorbike. He used to sneak me out of the house at night and we’d go for long rides. It was brilliant. Pretty sure my parents would’ve killed him if they’d realized he was doing it.”

Harry grinned, not the least bit surprised by this revelation.

“Then Sirius started traveling and living in all these different places, so I didn’t see him as much. He owled regularly, but I wasn’t allowed to read all of his letters, so I can only imagine the exploits he put into them. Eventually, he married Marguerite. That was also the year he sent me a kangaroo for my birthday.” Potter laughed. “I was only able to hide it in the house for a couple days before Mum and Dad found out. I’m pretty sure Dad thought it was hilarious, but Mum didn’t approve and made him go return it. Sirius was always pulling stunts.” The grin on Potter’s face indicated he was enjoying the memories this spawned.

For the first time during the session, Harry really looked at his counterpart. He saw the easy grace and contentment there, traits he knew he also shared even if he’d not had much reason to access them yet. But this was definitely James’ son. Pleasant, though, not arrogant; a child who’d grown up in a loving, Wizarding home, clearly never wanting for anything. Yet despite their disparate upbringings, Harry realized he and Potter were fundamentally alike. At their core, they were still the same person. If nothing else, this seemed to indicate that having parents would not have altered the essence of who he was. Or is. And that he could still have the things Potter had, if he wanted them.

Now that he thought on it, he wondered how much else was the same.

“Are you friends with Ron and Hermione here? Close friends, I mean?”

Potter smiled. “The best of.”

Something warmed inside Harry at the thought. “Good.” He was glad to know that people who were special to him in his own reality were also special here. Then, an urgent thought struck him. “Is Professor Snape here?”

“Here? As in Hogwarts?” Potter asked, and Harry nodded. “No… but I think you probably mean Dr. Snape, anyway, don’t you?” The same disorienting feeling as before came over Harry, like when he had asked about Draco.

“‘Doctor’?” he echoed, not sure he’d heard correctly.

Potter smirked. “I take it that’s not what you expected to hear. Yes, here he’s one of the preeminent researchers at the Hamburg Institute of Science. He develops new variants of rare and complex medicinal potions. He also publishes a lot, and I think is the acting editor for the Journal of Modern Potions.”

Harry smiled. That sounded like Severus. “So he never taught at Hogwarts?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I think he taught at a Muggle university, though.”

“He taught Potions at a Muggle university?”

The question made Potter laugh. “No, it was probably just chemistry or something like that, but I think it’s the cooperation between Muggle and Wizarding science that has led to many of the advancements. Understanding things from multiple sides and all that.”

Harry pondered this for a moment. It was something that’d never made sense to him in his own reality: why the Wizarding world insisted on its separation from the Muggle world. Sure, Muggles may not take kindly to the knowledge that magic really did exist, at least not at first, but so much stood to be gained for humankind with an alliance or cooperation of some sort. Harry nodded, deciding he really liked that aspect of this reality. Still, it would have been strange not having Severus at Hogwarts, though.

“How do you know so much about Severus, then, if he never taught here?”

“‘Severus’?” Potter asked, raising an eyebrow, presumably at Harry’s casual use of the name. Harry blushed.

“Er, yeah, sorry. In my reality, he’s a professor at Hogwarts, and we’re sort of… friends.”

“Ah,” Potter said, then pressed his lips together for a moment as though he was trying to stifle a smirk. “We study him and his work in Potions class.”

Harry could only imagine Severus’ reaction to being part of the Hogwarts curriculum, having a ‘bunch of dunderheads drooling on the books, merely attempting to grasp the subtle art and exact science that is potion-making.’ Harry chuckled to himself. Though, given Severus’ recent admission about what he’d actually like to do with his career, perhaps that’d be exactly the sort of notoriety he’d relish. He certainly deserved the accolades.

Yet the revelation had also introduced a startling possibility: if Severus had never come to teach at Hogwarts, then that meant he’d never begged for Dumbledore’s protection. And if he hadn’t needed Dumbledore’s protection, then that probably meant he had never been a spy. Which meant…

Now that Harry thought to look for it, he realized Potter didn’t have a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Maybe there hadn’t even been a prophecy, or perhaps it had been Neville…

“Is Voldemort a part of this reality?” Harry asked suddenly.

Potter’s expression sobered. “I was wondering when you were going to ask about that.”

“Is he alive or dead?”

Potter paused. “Neither,” he said thoughtfully, then gestured wide, presumably to indicate the entire reality they were inhabiting. “This is simply the absence of Voldemort.”

“So he never existed?”

“Not here.”

Harry blinked for a moment, trying to work out how Tom Riddle may have been eradicated as a child or young adult, or perhaps it was that he had never been born at all, or if he had survived, how different his life must have been that it hadn’t driven him to become Voldemort.

Then he thought of the Voldemort in his sixth draught, and what that had represented, and also of himself as that little boy. He turned back to Potter, almost as though he was seeing him again for the first time. He tipped his head, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Are you a part of me?”

“Very good,” Potter said, the smile on his face rife with delight. “I’m what you might call the light side of your psyche.”

“So why couldn’t I have met you first, then?” Harry grumbled, thinking how different his sessions might’ve been if he’d seen himself happy first before having to confront Voldemort. Twice.

“Because I was lost,” Potter said, his smile fading.

Something about the look on Potter’s face reminded Harry of Dumbledore just then. It was that somber expression of a wise mentor, the sort built from compassion and a little sadness – one Harry had seen often and knew well. All that was missing was the half-moon spectacles and the long, white beard.

“Lost?”

“Yes. You had yet to embrace me. You didn’t think you deserved your happiness, your light, your privilege.” Potter’s gaze seemed to pierce right through him as he pressed a finger gently against Harry’s forehead. “I was here.” Then he moved his finger to point at Harry’s heart. “Instead of here.”

Harry swallowed, his gaze flicking away for a moment before returning to Potter. “And now?”

Potter smiled once again. “I think I’ll let you work that one out on your own.”

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Instinctively, Harry knew his hour was almost up, and decided to start making his way around the pitch. Even though it was only part of a construct in his mind, he still relished the fact that it looked the same as the one in his own reality, and the one he had visited in many of his other Evochi sessions. He had only gone a short distance before he suddenly turned, realizing belatedly that Potter had been trailing along behind him the whole time. Potter was watching him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes, a knowing smile set on his face.

“This is a world without Voldemort,” Harry observed.

“Yes. But now so is yours, thanks in no small part to you,” Potter pointed out.

Until then, it was something Harry hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about. But it was true, and on more than one level. He had done his part freeing the Wizarding world from the tyranny of Voldemort, and had also managed to eradicate the manifestation of Voldemort in his mind – evidence of his own emotional healing, if Severus was to be believed. But it wasn’t until this moment, standing next to his alternate reality doppelgänger, that he finally heard those words as he never had before: I now live in a world without Voldemort.

Harry didn’t know why it had taken so long to see this – after all the virtual realities, the dreamscape, and now this alternate reality (as well as lots of guidance and support from both Hermione and Severus) – here he was. Finally. He got it.

He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. It was followed by a little puff of laughter, the sort of giddy sound only a rush of relief can bring. Everything seemed to be in its right place here: the people, the places, the events. With a start, he realized that was also true of his own reality – the important ones, anyway – but it’d taken a comparison such as this in order to see it.

Out of nowhere, Devon appeared by Potter’s side, smiling at the pair of them. Without turning his head, Potter wrapped an arm around Devon’s waist and pulled him close, then extended his hand to Harry. Looking at the two men before him, Harry felt a wave of happiness sweep over him – a sense of rightness – and he grasped the proffered hand warmly.

“Thanks. For everything,” Harry said.

“My pleasure.” Potter smiled. “I wish we could meet again.”

“Me too,” Harry agreed, but couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about that because he sensed it wouldn’t be needed. It made him think back to September, when he had just started down this path. Maybe the potion has done what it needed to do, he wondered. Maybe it’s trying to tell me I’m done. He remembered Severus saying six months would be sufficient for him to see improvement. And he’d been right, to an extent, though it’d only taken four. And it had done more than ‘improvement,’ too, if Harry was any judge of it.

“Hey, great meeting you, Harry.” It was Devon who extended his hand this time, which Harry accepted gratefully. “Best to you.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgment and they smiled at each other. Not for the first time, he wondered if Devon had existed in his own reality, if he would have fallen for him just as his counterpart had. There was an easy, comfortable interaction there that made him happy. Well, Potter was happy, but Harry certainly felt it by extension. Somewhere he was happy, and that gave him hope.

It was then the expanse of blue sky above them began to darken, white clouds giving way to tall bookshelves and black walls. Implements and cauldrons and books began to appear, giving the odd impression they were floating mid-air, punctuating the placid summer landscape around them. It meant only one thing: the end of the session was at hand.

Looking back at Devon and Potter, Harry watched as they began to walk away, their backs half-turned to him. Devon had one arm slung casually around Potter’s shoulders and they were in the clutches of a shared joke, mirth evident on both their faces.

That’s when Harry realized what the potion had done for him. He had requested it give him the experience of being happy, thinking he’d see what his future might hold. Instead, the potion had shown him a parallel reality, a place where Voldemort had never existed. But perhaps the two timelines weren’t that different after all.

The cornerstones of his own identity, the things he’d feared losing the most – being a wizard, attending Hogwarts, living in Gryffindor, befriending Ron and Hermione, playing Quidditch (and, if he was honest, having Severus in there somewhere) – hadn’t changed simply because Voldemort opted not to exist. Moreover, the people and feelings and events he’d experienced while under the influence of Evochi had since become part of his mind, part of his memories, part of him, and he couldn’t go back to the way things were. They had changed him, even if it had all been in his head. Maybe that was the point of it, of all the sessions: it wasn’t the external factors that shaped reality, it was the internal ones.

It was strange for Harry to think of his life as a blank canvas now, to take the brush perched over it and paint it anew – much like Evochi’s brush had been doing for him all along. He wondered if it would be as simple as thinking something into existence, or letting go of things that no longer suited him, or nurturing things that did. For several months, his life had seemed the epitome of the grey mist: formless, fathomless, directionless. But now he saw it for what it was: a beginning. Electricity thrummed through him at this realization, and it tingled across his body and down to his fingers. It was a power that had nothing to do with magic, or at least not that kind of magic. This time, he wouldn’t need a wand, only… choices.

His mind registered a smooth, suede texture, and he fancied he could feel the fabric of the chaise beneath him. He remembered thinking that over the course of his sessions he became more and more aware of what he was doing, and what he was inside of, with each subsequent draught. Perhaps the wall between his conscious and subconscious mind was blurring; thinning. Perhaps it was that awareness that would give him clarity outside of the potion’s effects, too.

Coming back to himself, Harry saw that very little of the construct now remained. The grass below him was black as stone, the lab around him almost a lab again – except for the two people in front of him. While he still could, he drank in one last look, noting the warm smile on Potter’s face that echoed his own in return.

Then Potter turned back towards Devon and their hands instinctively found one another. As their fingers firmly entwined, the space around them began to fade quickly, growing dim and insubstantial as though they were being swept away with a retreating fog. Then, almost as suddenly, they were gone. It was like a mirage that had once again become one with its surroundings… or perhaps might never have been there at all.
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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9