Chapter One: All Hallows' Eve

Harry cursed his Gryffindor tendencies of rushing into things without a plan. Well, that's not entirely true, he had had a plan it just wasn't quite this.

When the battle was over, after all the death, Harry had hoped that would have been the end of his suffering. But there were still so many things that needed to be done. Hogwarts was a mess, so many were injured, and everyone in mourning. He had been so focused on everyone else's needs, that he neglected his own. And once the amount of work and responsibility had decreased, Harry had felt lost.

At the end of the war, he had become distant. Losing so many loved-ones had made him afraid that it may happen again. True, Harry hadn't completely cut himself off, but as time progressed, it was obvious to everyone that he had become withdrawn in his interactions.

His friends would still visit him, bring with them well wishes and the latest news from the outside. They'd even, on the rare occasion, managed to get him out of the house to socialise. But as time passed, life began to get in the way.

Ron accepted Shacklebolt's offer to train as an Auror. Hermione went on to work for the ministry after completing her education at Hogwarts. Ginny became a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies. Neville started apprenticing under Professor Sprout in Herbology. Luna became a famous Magizoologist, discovering many new species. George ran the joke shop without Fred. Teddy was raised by his grandmother Andromeda. Everyone moved on with their lives, while Harry was stuck, without any purpose.

So he was more than content to shut himself away in Grimmauld Place, with only the disgruntled Kreacher for company, much to the chagrin of the rest of the wizarding world. Most of the invitations he received went ignored; the balls and galas held in his honour, the only events he'd felt obligated to attend were the funerals. It was the least he could do for those who had died fighting his battles.

Then there were the Deathly Hallows, which Harry had hid with the intention for them never to be disturbed, but fate seemed to disagree. When he needed to cast a powerful spell, the crooked wand would appear in his hand, from where he had returned it to Dumbledore's resting place. When he had felt so much grief, wishing to apologise for not being good enough to save them, the cracked stone had come to him from the floor of the Forbidden Forest. When he wanted to be left alone, go unknown to all but himself, the shimmering cloak would settle around his shoulders. Harry knew instinctively that they would continue to return to him.

In hope of finding answers, he had ventured to Gringotts bank. There, he'd faced the wrath of the goblins holding him responsible for the destruction caused by the release of its dragon during his breakout. After settling the debt he owed the Goblin Nation with a hefty sum of Galleons, though it hardly left a dent in the Potter's fortune, and returning the sword of Godric Gryffindor, he was finally able to conduct his business.

The Peverells' Vault was something of a legend to the goblins of Gringotts. Many others had tried to open it before; from direct descendants of the family to owners of the Hallows, but none had succeeded. Those who had failed to gain access in the last century had been Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. Though Harry Potter was known for accomplishing the impossible and entered without a problem.

The Vault itself did not have a large monetary value; its true worth was in the vast collection of various magical artefacts and ancient tomes. It was there he found the personal journals' of The Three Brothers. In each, they had detailed their own experiments in the Art of Necromancy, and the subsequent creation of each Hallow. Most of it had been difficult to understand at first, but Harry had access to the Black library to compare the text from the Vault, and eventually, he was able to make sense of the writing.

It was in one of these entries he discovered the connection between the Veil of Death and the rest of the Hallows. According to the author, to those who had, at some point in their lives, owned at least one of the Hallows, the Veil served as a one-way portal to their past. Harry had known that time travel was possible in the wizarding world, but not on this kind of scale. It was with this information he had begun to form a plan. Considering the usual madness that went into the majority of his plans, it was debatable whether this one was the most outlandish one yet.

So, much to the delight of Hermione, he finally went about finishing his missed year in education, going to the Ministry to sit his N.E.W.T's. It had taken a ridiculous amount of self-studying to gain the qualifications that he needed; not to join Ron as an Auror, but to become an Unspeakable. It was also the first time he was thankful for his celebrity status, using his influence to gain access to the information he needed, while also avoiding the strict laws and penalties placed around those working in the Department of Mysteries. From there, he moved onto the Death Chamber to study the Veil itself. It had been hard at first, to even stand in the room where his Godfather had been killed, to hear the voices of so many of the deceased.

But Harry knew it was only a matter of time before his co-workers turned their attention to him. A title like Master of Death had to have repercussions, even if it did take several years to become obvious what that entailed. The fact that wizards had longer lifespans certainly worked in his favour; but as his friends began to form wrinkles and grow grey hairs, while he remained as youthful as ever, there were only so many excuses he could make.

This is where all his years of research came into play. Theoretically, he could cross the Veil without suffering instant death. Instead, his conscience would travel to when he had gained the Invisibility Cloak: his first Christmas at Hogwarts. From there, he would use his knowledge of the future to end the war before it even began. He knew the location of each Horcrux, how to acquire and destroy them. He'd have access to Pettigrew and could get Sirius freed two years early. He would be able to save everyone who had died because of him. Best of all, he'd do all this without accidentally becoming immortal. At least that had been the plan.

This night, however, wandering into the dark and empty Death Chamber, he finally put his plan into action, stepping through the Veil. So, when he had just seemed to... come out on the other side, he'd been disappointed. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and left the chamber in a huff.

Harry easily navigated the rotating corridor of the department, making his way to the lift and up to the entrance lobby. He wanted to leave the Ministry as soon as possible, go to the nearest pub and drink himself silly.

Perhaps he had been too quick dismissing the Time Chamber for his purposes. That department would have more resources in the theory of time magic; he should request to be transferred there next.

Harry walked on, paying no mind to his surroundings other than to avoid the heavy crowds, trying to remain unseen. The first indication that something was amiss came when someone looked his way but didn't rush over to shake his hand, instead, continuing on with their own business. That was surprising, especially when it happened again, several other people only sparing him a quick glance. Maybe the novelty of having Harry Potter working at the Ministry had finally worn off?

That thought came to an abrupt halt when he arrived at the Atrium and noticed the group of large golden statues stood in the middle of a circular pool. The 'Fountain of Magical Brethren' hadn't been there for years, destroyed and temporarily replaced by the 'Magic is Might' monument. After Voldemort's defeat, a memorial had been erected in its place. Harry had pulled a lot of stings to make sure Dobby's name was included on it. Perhaps it had been restored to its original form - or maybe his plan had worked?

No other observations of the architecture, or the style of robes worn by those around him, showed any significant differences, unsurprising considering the wizarding world's aversion to change. But what else could he use to ascertain if he had really travelled in time? Surely he couldn't just ask a random passers-by what the year was - they would likely think him mad! Besides, that was probably against basic time travel etiquette, if such a thing existed. So rather than convincing a stranger of his lunacy, he approached a nearby news-vendor to pick up the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

Reading the headline, he had expected to see something about the Yule of 1991, instead the title proclaimed 'Samhain Celebrations!' The article then went on to express outrage at a proposed bill to ban the traditional rituals performed during the holiday, on the premise that they were dark magic. Further down, there was another piece about the recent inactivity of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and then speculation if this was because another raid was being planned. Glancing at the small print on the top left of the paper, Harry read the date of the publication.

'October 31st 1981'

Pushing down the building panic, he focused in his mind the clear picture of Godric's Hollow graveyard and apparated there immediately. Once he had landed he began to sprint towards the smoking ruins of the Potter's cottage. The once magnificent house was now demolished. Half of the top floor was blown apart, as well as the front door, which had been blasted from its hinges.

Harry ran inside and up the stairs, past his father's corpse at the bottom. The bannister had been destroyed and the picture frames on the wall were hanging from their nails, the photographs inside burnt to cinders and the glass smashed.

The ceiling was missing, exposing the room to the cold night air. It was unrecognisable as a nursery, apart from the crib amongst the dust and rubble, and the mobile of a miniature Quidditch match dangling above. There, beside his lifeless mother, was a baby boy.

Small Harry Potter sat in his crib in pale blue pyjamas, holding onto the bars for dear life. He was screaming his lungs out, distressed, in both physical and mental pain. Green eyes, just like his own, were swimming with misery, his face beet-red, nose and cheeks smeared with snot and tears. From beneath messy black hair, a small trickle of blood dribbled down his forehead, from the freshly made, infamous, lightning shaped mark.

Yep, not what he had planned at all.

"Mummy?" the boy cried. He followed his gaze to the motionless woman, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide and empty. "Mummy!" Again, he started to scream, bringing Harry back to the present with a jolt.

Almost absentmindedly, he stepped forward, awkwardly scooped up the wailing infant and hugged him to his chest carefully. A wet little face buried itself against his neck as he ran his fingers through the child's hair affectionately. The crying didn't stop immediately, as little Harry clung tightly to him, his small hands fisted into his robes. Slowly, he calms down, soothed by Harry's hushing, rocking, and humming, until the boy had stopped sobbing and shaking, his hiccoughing breaths becoming more regular.

Harry reached for his wand to cast a healing spell to ease his suffering, only to discover that his holster was empty of the holly wood. His backup was also missing, so he reached out with his magic to summon the Elder Wand to him. He'd not wielded the Death Stick in years, had honestly expected never to do so again, but when he really needed it, the wand would be there. Once it had loyally appeared in his hand, Harry healed the wound to the best of his ability.

Using the hem of his black Unspeakable robes, he cleaned the worst of the blood off and dried the boy's tear-stained face. Looking around, he tried to find something familiar to the child that was still intact to comfort him with. He recognised a blanket folded over the end of Harry's crib, the initials H.J.P sewn into the fabric. Wrapping up the small boy and adding a warming charm onto the blanket, he held him close to his chest, hoping to hide the site of his dead mother from view.

"Poor thing. There, isn't that much better?" he whispered soothingly to... himself. Now that little Harry had been seen to, he needed to form a new plan and quick. Hagrid would be arriving soon or, if he hadn't been here already, Snape. He should probably leave; his appearance here would raise questions he couldn't answer. Besides, just because he had missed his mark by about a decade, didn't mean that he couldn't go through with his original plan. Which meant that the question now was what he was supposed to do with the fifteen-month-old? He couldn't very well take care of a child while going Horcrux hunting.

He gave serious thought to just leaving his younger self where he was and coming back for him as soon as he could. But if he left Harry here, he'd go straight to Professor Dumbledore, who would leave him on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive. Harry knew from experience that his aunt and uncle, upon his discovery, would toss him into that God-forsaken cupboard. The next ten years of his life he would know nothing but hatred, loathing and contempt. Harry wasn't going to condemn the little boy in his arms to the torment he'd received growing up.

Ever since he was young, he had always wanted a family of his own, for a long-lost relative to come and rescue him. Someone who would tuck him in at night, comfort him when woken from dreams of screams, green light and red eyes. To be loved and wanted. He could be that for Harry, provide him with meals when hungry, clothes that fit him, a bedroom of his own. Give him all the things that he didn't have.

Mind made up, he began to search for any more belongings he may need. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out his mokeskin pouch. From the nursery, he grabbed a handful of clothes for Harry and a pack of nappies. As he went to retrieve an obviously well loved, scruffy, black stuffed dog from the floor, he spotted a previously unnoticed wand.

Harry scowled as he picked up Voldemort's yew wand. He should snap the damned thing, the amount of pain he'd received from this piece of wood. But as his magic sang with the familiar Phoenix feather, he instead tucked it into his holster, remembering his missing backup. It wouldn't do to be caught unarmed, especially when he had little Harry to protect.

Harry should probably have something of his parents, to remember them by. Before leaving the nursery, he slipped the wedding ring from his mum's finger, doing the same with his dad's own once he'd gone back downstairs. Packing the few necessary items he had collected into his bag, wishing he had more time to grab things, but he wouldn't risk being caught. He walked out of the house cradling a now sleeping Harry, who had cried himself out, protectively against him. Once he had crossed the line of the wards placed around the cottage, he disapparated.

The streets of London were busy with late night activity. He caught the tail end of someone drunkenly singing 'The Monster Mash' at a karaoke bar, before casting a muffliato around them, not wanting to disturb the sleeping infant. Some people were wearing fancy dress, allowing him to easily blend in with his wizard attire. They needed a place to stay, somewhere warm where they could sleep, and then find something to eat. Harry started to sort through his options.

His first thought was to go to Grimmauld Place. He had become quite fond of the old townhouse, with its heavy wards and vast library. He'd even been civil with Walburga Black after he'd threatened to set fire to her portrait. But if his memory served him correctly, the woman was still alive in this time, and he didn't think he could stand any more shrieking right now.

He couldn't go to the Leaky Cauldron if he wanted to stay under the radar, in fact, he should probably avoid the wizarding world for a while. From what he remembered when people talked about the past, everyone was going to go crazy in the upcoming weeks: civilians revelling in Voldemort's fall, while the Death Eaters tried to avenge him or cover up their own involvement, as the D.M.L.E worked overtime trying to put any of the Dark Lord's followers in Azkaban.

So that left staying at a Muggle hotel, not that he had any idea where to find one. An hour later, Harry was acutely aware of just how heavy a fifteen-month-old could be, after holding one for so long. Finally, he found a comfortable bed and breakfast; stepping inside, pleased to be out of the cold. A middle-aged woman sat behind the reception desk reading a magazine, her thick brown hair streaked with grey. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, seemingly surprised. "Can I help you?" she questioned.

"Uh, yeah... Do you have any spare rooms?" he asked somewhat awkwardly, giving her an apologetic smile. Ignoring his strange manner of dress, and the baby in his arms, she placed her magazine to one side and began to search through the guest book.

"We do. It's a single bed, but I think we've got a travel cot somewhere in storage." she offered. Harry was about to ask how much it would cost, reaching for his coin purse, when realisation dawned on him. He didn't actually have any Pounds to give her. He would need to go to Gringotts to change some Galleons to Muggle currency, assuming that he had any on him.

With a feeling of guilt, Harry drew his wand, casting a quick confundus charm. She blinked, her eyes glazing over with confusion. "Sorry, what was I doing?" Befuddlement spells weren't officially allowed for such mundane things, but he couldn't think of any other options, and it wasn't like the Ministry would actually know what he'd done.

"You were just showing us to our room, said you'd fetch a crib for me too." he lied. He really didn't have much of a choice, Harry reminded himself. It was either this or sleeping on the streets. Besides, he'd never felt bad about lying or stealing from the Dursley's when he was young in order to survive, this should be no different.

"Oh yes, follow me then!" Grabbing a set of keys off a hook from behind her, she made her way around the counter and down the hallway. Their hostess showed them to their room, handed him the keys, and left. Opening the door revealed a homey room, decorated in beige and sparsely furnished. The woman returned shortly with the cot, its white frame turned grey with age. Harry thanked her and she gave him a foggy smile before wandering back to her desk.

He placed little Harry in the crib, mercifully still asleep. Exhaustion had begun to creep up on him, it had been one hell of a day, and he was surprised it had taken up to now for him to feel it. After he had undressed and removed his glasses, he collapsed onto his own bed. It wasn't long before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Notes:

Time Travel/Do-Over fics are such a guilty pleasure of mine, and there are loads of great ones in the Harry Potter fandom. I also like AU's where Harry is raised by someone other than the Dursleys. So some of my favourites combine the two, where Harry goes back to raise/mentor a young version of himself, though there are only a handful (most of which are now abandoned) so I thought I'd contribute my own. This is also my first time writing a fic, so any feedback or corrections of mistakes I've made would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimers:

I do not own the rights to any recognisable properties, nor do I make any profit from them.
This story is a work in process and is likely to be updated irregularly.
Pairings may later be added, thus making the rating subject to change.

Regardless, thank you for reading.