Summary: AU Slash. 6th year. The death of his godfather has caused a shift in Harry's perspective. Resolving to rectify his less than stellar OWL grades, he retakes the exams, only to have an imploding potion send him 20 years into the past. IndependentGrey!Harry.

Warning(s): AU, non-OotP/HBP compliant. Slash (which will not be the main focus of the story). Details of the Harry Potter series not followed to the 'T'. Un-beta-ed. The author apologizes beforehand for any mistakes incurred.

Disclaimer: This is fan fiction.

A Time of Change

1. Prologue

Beads of perspiration peeked out from under his hairline, rolling down pale skin before dripping to the floor. Harry Potter paid this no mind, attention fixed solely on the cauldron before him. He stirred carefully, precise strokes steady as he counted them softly under his breath.

Then lips parted and cheeks dimpled as he broke out in a broad smile, his hand ceasing motion the instant the potion turned from a dull red to a deep maroon. Drawing the ladle out of the liquid, the fifth year extinguished the fire with a sharp cutting motion of his wand.

"Well done, Mr. Potter."

Grinning up at the Ministry examiner, Harry quietly thanked the lanky-haired blond for his murmured compliment before decanting the blood-replenishing potion into a large vial. A hint of colour had returned to his pallid complexion as the Boy-Who-Lived patted himself on the back for a job well done.

There was still a hint of a pleased smile on his lips as he handed the bottled potion over, getting rid of the remaining potion with a short evanensco. Swiftly packing, the emerald-eyed youth endeavored to remain as quiet as he could in consideration to the students still hunched over their steaming cauldrons. He made sure that his shrunken trunk was safely in his pocket before easing himself away from the bench and heading towards the door.

This particular summer had been rather unusual for him, uninteresting as it had been thus far. His relatives had refused to have anything to do with him, leaving him very much to his own devices. Not that he had complained, of course. Instead, he had spent the first couple of days moping and brooding, succumbing to the grief of the loss of a godfather he never really knew with tears and a deep-seated anger he had no desire or way to diffuse.

His emotions and thoughts had been a whirl of uncertainty and confusion. He had felt unsettled, restless and aimless and it had frustrated him to the point that had him pulling at his unkempt hair. He sought for an elusive peace of mind he did not know how to attain. He reached for the composure he had never had before. He thought of friends whom he trusted but whom he felt could not comprehend him or his situation.

He loathed his self-pity, his immaturity, his mourning and above all, the weakness he had displayed.

Thus, the teenager threw himself into his schoolwork with uncanny determination and desperation. It was, he knew subconsciously, a bid to rid his mind of stray thoughts of Cedric and Sirius. To a certain degree, the distraction had worked as the dark-haired wizard inhaled information and knowledge he should have garnered in his previous years of magical education.

With his emotions forcefully tucked away, the youth had tried his best to master what little he knew of the art of Occlumency. The progress he made was unremarkable for he simply knew too little on the subject. That it dredged up unwelcome memories of Sirius and the damnable Snape did not help matters in the least. It was, however, enough to give him nights of undisturbed sleep.

He remembered the way his heart had plummeted to his stomach when the ministry owl had handed him his OWL scores. Staring in silent disappointment at the printed 'E' beside 'Potions', the young savior could only shake his head in bitter resignation at the loss of his career prospects in the MLE. Until a footnote, small as it was, gave him a burst of hope.

'Candidates wishing to retake the Ordinary Wizarding Levels should reply post-haste, indicating their choice of the August or December examinations as well as subject combination. Examination fees are 5 galleons per subject. Registration closes 20th of July.''

And so there he was, an uncharacteristically quiet youth of 16 with a haunting pain that lurked within eyes hidden behind wire frames. School robes hid ragged hand-me-downs and a lithe frame that was toned by Quidditch and housework, giving him an unhealthy, underfed look about him despite the dignified aura he had ensconced himself in.

He had taken no more than five steps away from his laboratory bench when the cauldron beside him started to bubble furiously, its dark red liquid reminding Harry of a volcano. No sooner had the thought entered his head did the bespectacled youth regret it, watching with horror and widened eyes as the potion did indeed explode in seeming imitation of a miniature volcano.

His lips curled in unconscious disgust as the failed potion covered him in a thick, generous coating that tightened and dried upon immediate contact of skin and robes.

"Oh dear," the examiner murmured, expression frozen in that of a rabbit whose pending doom loomed directly above him. His wand clattered to the floor, the cleansing charm that had been at his lips stolen by the cold draft in the now-silent laboratory.

With a muted 'pop' and a flash of smoke, The Boy-Who-Lived had disappeared from sight.