Wishing for a better future

Chapter I

Harrison Potter, commonly known as Harry, was hiding. He was curled up with Buckbeak in the Master Room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Absentmindedly, he stroked his feathers while softly crying. His godfather, Sirius Black, had died recently. He couldn't believe he was gone. Sirius was the closest thing he had to father. He took a deep breath, and he choked back a sob as he tried to force himself to refrain from crying.

Rolling onto his side, he turned gaze towards the window and peered out at the stars. Sirius shined bright tonight. he caught sight of a shooting star and recalled his Aunt Petunia's words to Dudley when they were children: "If you wish on a shooting star, it'll come true." It was one of the few mentions of magic Dudley got as they were growing up. Harry had plenty mentions of magic, all of which were magic didn't exist.

"I wish I could save Sirius, I wish I could save the future from tom riddle" Harry whispered as he saw the star.

A few more tears streaked down his face as she watched the star until it faded from her view. Suddenly, Harry was overcome with tiredness, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

...

When Harry awoke, he found he was well rested. A moment later, he felt the pressure of something pressed against his chest. He opened his eyes to find himself staring at four wands. The owners of those wands were a middle-aged couple, a teenage wizard, and a teenage witch. Each wore a carefully placed mask of indifference, but Harry could see the curiosity in the eyes of the teenagers.

"Where are you from?" demanded the middle-aged wizard, his grey eyes narrowed at Harry as he carefully watched the teenager. His wand was on her throat.

Harry frowned at the question, clearly confused. Where was he from? That made no sense. He was from England, but specifically he was from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place from London.

The middle-aged witch glared at her husband before turning her kind blue eyes back to Harri. "We know you're not from our time," she said softly. "What year are you from?"

Harry's emerald eyes widened. Had he traveled through time? How was that possible? He knew time travel was impossible without the use of a time-turner. A time-turner could only go back a few hours. "I'm from July 1996," she replied. "Where am I?" she asked, glancing around. She was in the corner of a bedroom.

"The Black London Townhouse – Grimmauld Place," replied the middle-aged witch. "It's July 12 of 1941."

Harri's eyes widened. She was over fifty years in the past. That was impossible! But she was Harry Potter, he was famous for doing the impossible. He was the only (known) survivor of the Killing Curse.

"What's your name?" barked the middle-aged wizard.

Both of the teenagers perked up at the question, their eyes still burning with curiosity.

"Harry Potter," he replied, wrinkling her nose at the use of her first name. He had never liked her name – she even disliked her nickname of Harri. Harri was given to her by a muggle schoolteacher, and the nickname stuck.

"That's a muggle name," stated the teenaged witch.

Harry was about to open his mouth to reply that he was a half-blood when he remembered he was in the Black house and, according to Sirius, his family valued and believed in blood purity.

"Behave Lucretia," the middle-aged witch scolded the younger witch, who was probably her daughter. "Do you know what your pure-blood name is?" she asked, turning her attention back to Harri.

Harry frowned and shook his head.

"Surely your parents told you," snapped the middle-aged wizard, glaring at her.

"They were murdered when I was a baby," Harry snapped. He hated talking about his parents and their death.

The two witches gasped at his reply and they lowered their wands. The middle-aged witch looked at Harry with something shining in her eyes.

"We'll just have to give you one," the middle-aged witch declared.

"What's your middle name?" asked the teenage wizard, speaking up for the first time. He copied his mother's and sister's actions and lowered his wand. His smoky grey eyes stared into Harri's, reminding the time traveler of her godfather's eyes.

"james," Harri replied. "I was named after my great-great-grandmother, james."

The middle-aged witch smiled at Harry. "I'm Melania Black," she said. "This is Arcturus Black the Third, and our children Lucretia and Orion the Third."

Harry's eyes widened as he gaze landed on Orion. He knew who he was. Orion Black the Third was Sirius' father.

"Where's Walburga?" she asked, catching the four Blacks' attention.

Orion scowled at the mention of his cousin. "With her parents in Wales," he answered, his tone a little hostel. He loathed his cousin, she was always trying to via for his attention. She was convinced they would marry. "Why?"

"She's your wife," Harry replied.

Orion scowled harder while his sister laughed. Mrs. Black smiled and Mr. Black's eyes narrowed.

"No, that would never happen," Mr. Black said. "Walburga's my cousin – my children's second cousin."

"Where did you get an idea like that?" asked Lucretia, laughter laced in her voice. She was behaving very un-Black like – at least, according to Sirius' description of his relatives. Harry didn't actually know how the Blacks behaved as he only had Sirius' word.

"Sirius," Harri answered. He knew Sirius was the eldest son of Orion and Walburga Black.

"Who would that be?" Orion asked, trying not to snap at the mysterious time traveler. "He was my godfather," Harri replied, "and your son."

"'Was'?" repeated Melania. "What happened – or happens – to my grandson?"

"He was killed in June," Harry replied. "It was my fault. He died trying to save me." Tears started streaming down his face.

Mr. Black lowered his wand as he watched the time traveling teenager begin to cry. He knew he was telling the truth. he was an open-book, and he wore his emotions on his sleeve, so to speak. His grandson's death effected him largely.

Mrs. Black gasped at the fate of her future grandson and she pulled Harry into a cry.

"How did he die?" demanded Orion, his eyes narrowed. He didn't like the fate of his son.

"He was murdered by Bellatrix Black Lestrange," Harry replied as she leaned into Mrs. Black's hug. Her hugs felt nice, better than Mrs. Weasley's had ever felt. "She was his cousin."

"My daughter would do that?" Lucretia asked, disbelief in her voice and her eyes widened in fear. A Black never killed a Black. It was the root of the family's very motto. Toujours pur. Always pure. Their family, way back to King Arthur's time, never killed one another.

Harry shook his head. "She's Cygnus and Druella's eldest daughter," he replied. Closing her eyes, Harri pictured the Black Family Tapestry. She opened her eyes and said, "You never had any children. According to the Tapestry, you and Ignatius were murdered in 1961, around the time Regulus was born."

Mr. Black made a note to deny a marriage between Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier. He knew his nephew was close to her, but that union wouldn't happen under the Black family. If they married, they would be Crygnus and Druella Rosier. He would not have Druella's children murdering his future grandchildren.

"D-do you know how I died?" Lucretia asked, her eyes still wide. She was supposed to die in seventeen years at the age of thirty. On the bright side, she didn't have to worry about telling her father she was dating Ignatius Prewett.

Harry narrowed her eyes and she thought. She recalled what she read The Black Family Grimoire. The section on the family history had a family tree, and the cause of death was recorded for each family member.

"It was a Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley," Harry answered. He loved his eidetic memory.

"What's a Death Eater?" asked Mr. Black. Whatever it was, he was going to see there was never such a thing.

"What about this Regulus you mentioned?" Mrs. Black asked, her eyes shining with hope. "Is he another grandson?"

Harry turned to Mrs. Black and nodded. "He was Sirius' younger brother," she answered. Orion paid more attention and leaned in closer. "He died in 1979 while serving Voldemort."

Orion's eyes narrowed. From what he could piece together, his youngest son died at the age of eighteen, and his eldest son was killed by his cousin at the age of thirty-seven. There were a number of things he would do differently so the same fate wouldn't befall his children.

"Who's this Voldemort?" demanded Mr. Black. Regulus was serving this man. Last Mr. Black checked, Blacks didn't serve anyone but themselves – and the Queen.

"The Dark Lord," Harry replied. "He raises the power in the seventies. His followers are the Death Eaters." Taking a moment, Harry burrowed further into Mrs. Black's arms. The feeling of being held made Harry feel safe, something he wasn't use to feeling.

Mr. Black's eyes narrowed. He had a lot of planning to do. He would see to it that this Voldemort, Dark Lord or not, never rose to power and his Death Eaters were nothing more than a dream.

"Voldmort's real name is Tom Riddle," Harry added.

Lucretia's eyes widened at the name while her brother started to foam with rage.

"Tom Riddle is in a Slytherin," Lucretia asked. Riddle was in the running for Prefect this year.

"He's the Heir of Slytherin," Harry stated. No one knew that at this point, maybe not even Tom himself.

"We'll talk about this later," Mrs. Black ordered. "It's been an early morning, and we need to take care of Harrison here."

Harry frowned at the use of his full name. He preferred Harry over Harrison, and he barely tolerated Harry.