2 Taken To The Snow

James landed in the middle of a field of snow. What the fuck? A deep chill began to settle through his thin summer clothing and into his bones. Then in the next moment it was gone. All the snow melted, turning to steam to reveal a campsite. Large tent already up and a campfire quickly lighting.

"Welcome to your new temporary home," the crazy old man said, moving to two weird looking chairs. Were they muggle made? Was that a drink holster? "Come come, sit."

He took the green chair, while another was in Gryffindor red and gold.

James trembled, mind too full of fear and questions to act for several moments before he shakily sat down on the proffered chair. Damn, it was pretty comftorable. He slowly went for his wand, and the old man's dull eyes shot to where his fingers wrapped around the wood, James froze, but the old man didn't say anything.

Confused James took out his wand, pointing it at the old man, opening his mouth to speak, but the old man did first.

"Even if you stun me, or even kill me, you don't know how to apparate and we are too far away for you to call for help. The warming charm will lose effectiveness and you will die here. Of Dehydration, starvation or hypothermia. Actually a polar bear might get you too."

"The Trace-"

"Doesn't work outside of the UK, speaking of."

James' wand flew from his hand and the old man grabbed it.

What the hell? It wasn't even just silent casting, the man didn't have his own wand out.

The mahogany wand with a dragon heartstring unraveled, the glowing red core briefly visible before it was repaired. What the fuck was that? Did he just unmake a wand and remake it? It looked exactly the same.

The man tossed it back to James.

"Good, now the Trace is gone."

James was breathing rapidly now, fuck, he only ever felt fear like this when he heard about the Knights of Walpurgis, or as they were not being called, Death Eaters. Sure they were only killing muggles, not that that was forgivable, but he had muggleborn friends. What if they were hurt. What if Lily was hurt.

But this old man who looked one skinned knee away from death brought out that fear in him.

"Want some butterbeer?"

"What?"

"Hmm, maybe the apparition did something to your mind. DO YOU WANT SOME BUTTERBEER."

James cringed.

"U-uh sure."

The old man nodded, and a pair of cups flew out of the tent, each carrying the familiar scent of his favorite drink.

"Don't worry, I can poison you whenver I want. Don't need to be sneaky about it."

James didn't even think about that, he had been holding onto the Butterbeer because it gave him some sense of normalcy and control. Something familiar.

After a few moments of silence, the old man leaning back in his chair and looking up at the gently falling snow James took a sip. It tasted like it was straight from the Three Broomsticks.

"So… why am I here?" James asked, surprisingly calm now.

"You're going to help me with something, oh and by the way, I did spike the Butterbeer with a bit of Calming Draught, nothing crazy, but I did."

A brief flash of fear and anger surged through James, but he didn't act on it.

"What do you need help with? And why me?"

"Hmm. You know Voldemort?"

"That name is taboo! Don't say it!" James hissed, looking around and waiting for Death Eaters to appear.

"Again, its only taboo in the UK, not even Voldy has the ability for a full global ritual like that. At least not yet."

It was a ritual?

"As for why you. Hmm, well lets just rip this bandaid off now. I'm from the future. Born in the eighties. Voldemort became even worse than you can imagine, and killed most of the people I cared about. Eventually he was defeated, but not after starting a war with the Muggle world as well. Collapsing the Statute of Secrecy. Muggles fought Magicals, Magicals fought Magicals, Muggles fought Muggles. Even Muggles and Magicals worked together to fight Magials and Muggles. Most magicals ended up dead, we just didn't have the same numbers. Some places, like Hogwarts or the Ministry were pretty much impervious to muggle technology, but most witches and wizards weren't. They were the ones slaughtered like lambs from bombs and guns. Meanwhile the truly strong magicals ripped through the muggle population like a fire on dry timber. Our spells, curses, and rituals killing countries' worth of populations. Fiendfyre burned the entirety of Spain until we got it under control. Anyways, what was once a world with millions of magicals, dozens of magical races, and billions of humans, turned into little more than three hundred million total people."

He said this all casually, still leaning back and staring at the gray cloudy sky.

"I-I."

"Drink your Butterbeer."

Annoyed James did, the Calming Draught helping him put his thoughts into words.

"I can't believe that."

"Trust me, I can barely believe it. The world was ruined, and we could always rebuild, its how the world works, life, death its a cycle. I decided to just stop that from happening."

"No I don't believe you," James clarified, mouth forming a grim line.

The old man lowered his gaze until he met James'. James' admittedly average Occulemency shields were bypassed easily. Not even broken, just ignored.

A man with the face of a snake stared at him, red slitted eyes wild with madness as he sent killing curse after killing curse at James. He saw Dumbledore, falling from the Astronomy tower, a familiar greasy haired man pointing a wand at where the old man just stood.

He saw people, people who looked familiar, dying. He couldn't quite place them, at the moment, but a few of them he knew he remembered. Until he saw Sirius. The worn and beaten man looked like he had been starved and fed on rats for a decade. Wild crazy eyes settling into peace as he fell through a milky doorway. He saw an old scarred Remus, eyes empty as he held an unfamiliar womans hand. More people more deaths. Hogwarts being ripped apart by giants, monsters, and spellfire. Then that was over, and more nightmares came to take its place.

Bombs destroyed cities, and endless sea of fire spread from horizon to horizon. A woman with silver blonde hair holding two children with a loving smile on her face as she looked at James, only for the room to explode and the three of them be ripped apart. An older woman, looking to be in her eighties with bushy white hair and slightly large front teeth holding James' hand as she spoke to him about something. Each of them having matching wedding rings on their fingers. James standing in a cemetery, the name Hermione —--- the last name was blurred from him.

Then he was back in the snow, tears trailing down his face. He sobbed, emotions that weren't his, clouding his mind and breaking through the effects of the Calming Draught.

"Drink," a voice commanded, magic in his words, and James did.

It took him a few minutes of sobbing and pushing those memories away for James to get ahold of himself.

"A bit more of a reaction than I thought. My bad."

James glared at the old man, sniffling.

"I forget what it was like for normal fifteen year olds," the old man said, voice kinder. "In my time fifteen was when I started fighting. And at the end it was the moment a child could wield a wand."

"H-how do I know you're not lying. Planting false thoughts in my head?" James said, voice hoarse.

"Why would I?"

"Because I am not the person you should speak to. Talk to Dumbledore, or my father, or my uncle. Hell, can't you just go and kill him yourself? And you seem damn insane to me."

James had seen himself, who he guessed was actually this man, duel a dozen wizards at once, killing them all.

"Hmm. I'm not going to live long," the man said. "There is a chance I could kill him, but Voldemort is smart, and has contingencies. I don't know where he is right now. Even if I destroyed his body, he will still find a way back, and I don't have the knowledge of where all his contingencies are at this point in time. Its risky, and I'm old, I might not win in a direct one on one confrontation."

James was confused, what kind of contingencies allowed someone to survive having their body destroyed?

The man took a drink from his butterbeer, once again looking up at the clouds.

"And yes I am mad, driven insane no doubt. But that is the future. I had actually meant to go back a few more years in time, find you when you were just eleven, and implant instructions in your mind to begin the moment you started Hogwarts, but I messed up the calculations. Now I am here instead, and I have a few more months to live than I thought."

"Y-you were going to… implant instructions?"

"Mhm, terrible I know, you would still mostly be you, but certain events and actions would turn you into a mindless puppet. Maybe this is better."

No fucking shit this is better.

"As for how you can trust that I am from the future… Hmm. Are you an Animagus yet?"

James blinked in surprise. But then he remembered that this man had just been rooting around in his mind.

"No."

"Do you know what your animal is?"

"I- yes I think so."

"Do you know what Sirius' is? Or Peters?"

"N-no."

"I do. Sirius' is a dog, one that looks like a Grim. Black with mangy fur. Peters is a gray rat."

"You could have just looked into their minds like you have mine."

"True, not that I've looked into your mind by the way. Too lazy. How about this, regardless of what you believe I have kidnapped you, and for the next few weeks you will be learning under me. Even if you don't trust me at the end you will come out stronger. You'll be back home in time for school. When you all get together and become Animagus' together you will all decide nicknames for eachother. Peter picked yours, you picked Sirius', and Sirius picked both Remus' and Peters. Peter will choose Prongs for your Stag. Sirius will pick Wormtail for Peters and Moony for Remus."

"What about what I pick for Sirius?"

"Do you want to know? It might have already changed with my interference."

James nodded.

"Padfoot."

James was reluctant to admit he liked it. Padfoot was not so obvious as to be bland, but gave enough of a hint at a dog to be funny.

"Why did Sirius give Peter the name Wormtail."

"Because Sirius is an ass and the two of you are rather mean to Peter. I guess it can make sense with a rats tail, but still."

James flinched. He knew that sometimes he was dismissive of their smallest friend. Peter just blended into the background a lot. Quiet. He wasn't particularly good at any subject except Herbology. But every once in a while he was the funniest one, and his social perception skills were the sharpest of anyone James knew.

"I guess we can be."

"Meh, doesn't matter to me. He did betray you and get you killed."

"WHAT!"