Chapter 1: The Father Who Lived
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. So as much as Vernon Dursley disliked people driving down his street at three in the morning, he probably preferred it to the impossible comings and goings of the strangely dressed people earlier on. A car rolled to a stop outside number four and a man got out. In the dark it was hard to see much beyond his dark, messy hair, and the glint off his round glasses.
Not pausing to admire the well kept garden, merely sticking a note to the door, the man silently retrieved the basket and turned back to the car. He looked down to see that his burden had stirred briefly, mumbling, "Da..." before closing his eyes and falling back to sleep. Now with a smile.
"Sleep little guy, you're safe now," the man murmured back as he transferred the boy to the baby seat. "Your mother never wanted you to live with those... creatures."
The car drove off, not waking anyone. The Dursleys slept on, not knowing how close they came to housing a freak, not knowing they would be interrupted that evening by Albus Dumbledore's unwelcome questions.
They drove out of Surrey, pausing briefly in a park, where the man pulled out a wand and waved it over the baby, basket and letter. Satisfied he'd undone the various unwanted charms and enchantments, he cast two fiddly charms of his own on the boy.
Before continuing on, he read the letter and snorted. A letter wouldn't be enough, especially one as assuming as this, to convince the Dursleys to care for their nephew. He saw it for what it was, a vehicle for a magical compulsion. One which made him glad he'd acted so early. Teasing it apart with his wand, he cancelled half or so of the spells, letting the others anchor to him.
The man yawned. It had been a long day; breaking fundamental magical and physical laws, goblin negotiations, and furtive early morning kidnapping. He could sleep on the plane.
21 hours earlier
In the basement of St Mungo's are a series of rooms that no witch or wizard ever wishes to visit. Even more than the rest of the hospital. Yet, the majority of them will, at least once. Lying on the stone benches, were two bodies. One with messy black hair, the other long red. A man and wife.
There are certain rules that even magic can't break. Such has the return of the truly dead. No amount of wishing would achieve it. So it would have severely shocked any of the coroners who had yet to arrive, that the bodies of James and Lily Potter appeared to be breathing. As if merely asleep.
"Honey, wake up!" the red head called, after turning her head towards her husband.
"Wha? Ginny?" Came the groggy reply.
"Yes dear, remember our talk?"
The man sat up quickly, his hazel eyes darting around the room. "Oh, right. King's Cross. Again."
"Yes, now quickly, I can't possess your mother for very long."
"This is wrong on so many levels," Harry in James' body muttered under his breath as he found a scalpel on one of the benches.
"I know, I feel really dirty, but for you and Albus... I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault. Now let's do this," he soothed, running the scalpel across his palm and across hers, "You know the words?"
"Of course. I give you this blood, and entrust my son to you, that you would protect him and hold him."
"I accept this blood, and swear to care for your son, to protect him from those against him, to hold him in my heart and home."
"So mote it be." The finished together, both wincing as a bright rose gold filled the room. With a sigh, the red head's eyes closed and her breathing stilled.
"Look after James for me, and hopefully I won't see you for a while." Harry whispered, kissing her on forehead.
Now he just had to break out of St Mungo's. Which really couldn't be that much more difficult than Gringotts or the Ministry. He looked down at the rather revealing smock that was all his father's dead body had earnt. He'd have to cover up his departure too.
First things first, he needed a wand. He wasn't too shabby at wandless magic but he'd needed to leave a false body. Without a wand he was pretty sure his transfigurations would revert within a couple of hours. His holly-phoenix wand would still be in Ollivander's and he wasn't sure where his parents' wands would be. Here? Gringotts? Godric's Hollow? Dumbledore?
Better get searching then. Harry made his way out of the store room to the coroner's offices. Surprisingly there was no one around, though the clock said it was only six in the morning.
Grabbing a pencil he rested it on his palm, "Point me James Potter's wand," the pencil spun, until it pointed towards one of the desks. Harry approached and found a box labelled "Potters' Effects". Seemed that James and Lily's stuff hadn't made it to wherever it was going.
Harry opened the box, unpacked James' clothes and the rest of the belongings. He weighed a wand in each hand, neither felt quite right. Each called to parts of him, but didn't match like his holly wand. The darker wand felt surer though, and he guessed it had been his dad's.
He replicated everything bar Lily's clothes before repacking the box. The copies would evaporate after a while but he'd be long gone. Donning James' clothes, oddly thankful that he'd died cleanly, Harry pocketed the rest of the contents, before heading back to the morgue proper.
The surest way to hide the missing body would be to transfigure another into his father's but that amounted to stealing two bodies really. Deciding that he'd probably had his share of moral and law breaking behaviour for the next couple of years - especially as he had a kidnapping to get to - he transfigured a thrown out sandwich into a false corpse. Now feeling guiltily irreverent, Harry healed Lily's hand and cleaned up the blood.
Lastly, he switched wands, vaguely remembering his mum's wand being good for charmwork and cast a specialised Notice-Me-Not charm on himself. An invention of Hermione's to allow him some freedom from his fame. People would notice not being able to notice him, and he didn't need to be invisible anyway. The charm merely made people think he wasn't worthy of note and prevented them connecting him to his reputation. Or in this case, James'.
Confident that he'd managed a thousand times more preparedness than he ever had in his previous adventures, Harry snuck out of the coroner's office. His next order of business was Gringotts. He'd love to stop Sirius going after Wormtail, but he was under orders not to reveal himself. On pain of well, Death. And he'd never bothered to check where they had their confrontation anyway.
He took the stairs up from the basement to the third floor, and didn't see anyone. Then he took the lift back down to reception and made his way to the outgoing apparation point. He turned on his heel and disappeared.
Diagon Alley was quiet and tense like it had been in his sixth and seventh years. He heard people whispering, though nothing about his younger self. Though that would change when the Daily Prophet was delivered, telling all of the Boy-Who-Lived. Hmm, if he burnt down the press house could he save his younger self from that title? Probably not, and it'd reveal him too soon.
Shrugging to himself, Harry made his way up the alley to Gringotts. The only bank in the world that was open all hours. The guards eyed him warningly, obviously aware of the charm but willing to ignore it. This early there weren't any queues and Harry just walked up to the teller.
"Good day, may your veins supply," Harry began, having found politeness very necessary at Gringotts ever since The Break-In, "I wish to speak with Alrok, Manager of the Potter Estate."
"Congratulations, you're the first wannabe," the teller sneered. It was a good sneer too.
"Thank you, and I suspect I'll be the only one with this ring," Harry replied holding up the Potter ring, "And I'm sure you can see the family resemblance."
"Very well, Griphook! Escort Mr Potter here to Alrok."
Harry followed bemused that once again he was being guided by Griphook. He was fairly sure that the distance to Alrok's office had been longer before, and suspected that he'd been lead the long way as revenge for the whole stealing-from-a-vault-then-blasting-his-way-out-on-a-dragon thing.
"Alrok, Manager of the Potter Estate." Griphook said, neutrally, for a goblin.
"Thank you," Harry replied, entering the office. Which was marble opulence for the first half before becoming more cave like behind Alrok's desk. "Good morning, Alrok. Manager and Keeper of my family's fortune and vaults. May your gold always flow."
Obviously taking the full greeting as sweet talking, which admittedly it was, Alrok merely looked down upon him. "Who are you? You appear to be James Potter but I know that he and his wife died last night. The only Potter is the heir, Harry."
"As if things would be that simple for a child who survived the Killing Curse. This is the body of James Potter, yet I am Harry Potter. Sent by my dead parents to care for my younger self. The logistics of the first half I don't understand but the second I would like to discuss with you."
"Do you have anyway of proving any of this?"
"I'm willing to take an Identity and Inheritance Test, and even don the ring if you want. But I'm fairly sure the news of a new Lord Potter would have to be announced and I'd rather keep all this quiet."
"Let's begin with the Test before we bargain." Alrok replied, withdrawing a blank piece of parchment and handing it to Harry. "Press your thumb in the square."
Harry did so before returning it. Both watched as the bloody thumbprint spread and condensed into writing. Writing that was illegible. Frowning, Alrok ran a finger across the page, muttering in Goobledegook, and the overlapping words separated.
By blood:
James Adrian Potter
Born: 27/3/1960 Dead: 31/10/1981
Head of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter
By magic:
Harry James Potter
Born: 31/7/1980 Dead: 31/10/1981, 2/5/1998, 31/10/2007
Head of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter
Former Head of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Now Ineligible
Heir to House Peverell
"Seems you may be telling the truth," the goblin muttered, reading the split results, "And yes, if we at Gringotts were to witness someone succeed in donning the ring, we would be duty bound to inform the Ministry."
Harry smiled slightly, "But not if someone walked in off the street wearing it?"
"Not as such, no," the goblin replied. If there was one thing the goblins loved to do it was screw over the Ministry.
Harry rubbed his hands together, "Right then," he looked over the results, "I actually died three times? Does House Peverell even exist? I know the Potters are descended from Ignotus. No, I'm off track, first things first, legally I don't exist. How do we fix that?"
"Legally, Lord Potter exists, he just doesn't have a first name," Alrok sneered, as if talking to a small child. Then pushed forward a form for 'personal details'. "Fill this in and it'll make its way to the right places. For a fee."
"Of course. And no one will notice?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"We know how to work the Ministry. And none of this will be of current concern, so I doubt any wizard will see it anyway."
With a shrug, Harry started filling in the form. Scanned it for any glaring issues, and the now 'officially' Edward Connor Potter handed back the form. "Maybe I should fill out one of those for Lord Peverell as well."
"As you wish."
Handing over a second form for Mortimer Ignotus Peverell, Harry proceeded to his main reason for all this, "I plan on removing young Harry from his muggle relatives' neglect, however I am aware that the Many Hatted Dumbledore would easily overrule me. So I'll have to be underhanded. I have it on good authority that the Potters had some contingencies in place if they had to flee the country?"
"Yes," Alrok answered seemingly upset that Harry wasn't willing to go head to head with Dumbledore. He slid three files across the desk, "Choose a set."
Last names: Derwent, Radcliff, Harrison. First names: Charles and Adrian, Daniel and Matthew, Evan and Alan. Birth dates wandered around a month before and after reality. Lastly each was geared towards a different destination - America, Italy or Australia - and Harry felt that he needed to get as far away as possible.
It appeared that the first and last had been set up as distant relatives to James and Lily respectively, and claiming to be his mother's cousin might be helpful. He also took the names as a sign, since little Harry was in a similar position of confused identity to himself. Though after all this only three names would apply to him, as opposed to the five that Harry had acquired.
"I'll take option number three. But we'll pass on the International Portkey, and travel the muggle way. Would you organise tickets to leave as soon as possible."
"Naturally, Mr Harrison. We will owl them to you. How else may Gringotts be of service?"
"A couple of things that are not of immediate concern. Firstly what would it cost to purchase - in the goblin sense - a goblin steel blade with the same imbibing abilities of Ragnuk's Sword, known to wizards as Gryffindor's Sword. Though something the size of a dagger would be preferable."
The calculating look in Alrok's eyes had tightened, "you are less ignorant than most wizards Mr Potter. Such a request will take time to organise."
"I'm sure it will but as I said, there's no rush." Harry paused, better not ask about the Cup, it would remove any plausible deniability if he had to break into Gringotts again. "Secondly, I believe that Dumbledore has taken, or will take, an interest in the Potter vaults. Allow only his requests directly towards the care of Harry Potter. Such as a stipend to the Dursleys for housing him. I trust you to balance hiding the truth and protecting the family's wealth.
"Lastly, please make a transfer of ten thousand galleons to Remus Lupin's vault. If he asks, say it was at Lord Peverell's request. I think that's all, bar a visit to the vaults."
"Of course, let me get an escort." Alrok pressed a bell on his desk and the door opened, and a goblin Harry didn't recognise entered.
"Take Mr Potter to the Potter Vaults."
"Thank you. May your sword stay sharp and your gold always flow." Harry said, bowing to Alrok as he left.
One long cart ride later, they arrived at the vault. He thought it might be deeper than the Lestrange vault, but it was hard to tell. It was guarded by a dragon, and Harry was happy to note that it seemed less abused than the last he'd seen. Though he still thought it a cruel security measure.
He collected a few large moneybags, and headed to the back where the family heirlooms lay. Or in his opinion the family's excessive hoarding was hidden. He tried, and failed, to summon his father's cloak, meaning Dumbledore still had it. Harry poked about for a bit not finding anything worth taking and returned to goblin and cart.
He enjoyed the cart ride back up, even if his ears popped twice, and was mildly disappointed with the crowds in the lobby when they arrived. Waiting in line really tried his patience, especially as all he could overhear were the beginnings of his unwanted fame. Somewhat tersely he had some galleons changed to pounds and Australian dollars.
Diagon Alley was chaos, the good kind of celebration rather than surprise Death Eater attack, but chaos nonetheless. More evidence that the story of the Boy-Who-Lived had broken. Harry thought it a bit premature, yeah Voldemort was wispily making his way to Albania but the more crazed Death Eaters - Bella came to mind - were still running around.
It was tempting to join in the celebrations, but this was no time to get pissed. And he had things to do. Use of a minor Repelling Charm, helped him make his way to the Leaky Cauldron. And after pushing his way through the rowdy pub, Harry stepped out into muggle London.
It wasn't until he stepped out on Charring Cross Road that he realised that he didn't really have anything to do. Realising that a muggle street was not the place for introspection and plotting, Harry wandered off looking for a cafe or pub where he could sit and think.
Half an hour later he found one, a sandwich bar which was still serving the morning rush. After ordering a strong coffee and swiping a forgotten paper he sat at one of the little tables.
Now that he was sitting on his own, he realised just how complicated what he was trying to do was going to be. Even what how he was going to introduce himself was confusing him. He couldn't be James, James was dead. Nor Harry, Harry was being patched up at Hogwarts by Poppy. Which left his new 'identities': Edward, Mort, and Evan. Mort was out of the question, Lord Peverell would be most useful if no one knew who he was. It came down to Edward versus Evan. Since Evan was the identity he was going to be living under for the next few years, that's the name he'd take.
When his coffee arrived he was still trying to grasp the clarity he'd had when they'd devised this plan when he was at King's Cross. Maybe he could go sit at King's Cross. Probably wouldn't help.
He had four main objectives: give Al a happy childhood, deal with the Horcruxes, collect the Hallows, fiddle with the timeline to his satisfaction. Now what could he do before fleeing the country?
Harry glanced at his watch, if his memory was anything to go by, Sirius would be tracking Wormtail down right about now and being framed. It hurt not to prevent that but he had his orders, and Sirius' sort-of-blessing. Even if he couldn't stop Sirius being framed, he could make sure he got a fair trial. He'd have to prod Dumbledore in the right direction, since his opinion carried a lot of weight. And even if he was falsely imprisoned, he'd just nab Wormtail when he returned to the country.
What else? Hopefully his donation to Remus would keep him comfortable if things panned out as they had. The Longbottoms wouldn't be attacked for a few weeks, and a simple anonymous warning would do wonders. That lead to questions about the Crouches, but Harry didn't plan on staying long enough to do anything about them.
Now, Horcruxes. The diary, diadem, and cup were all out of reach. The locket would be at Grimmauld Place by now, but Harry couldn't exactly just demand them hand it over. Or could he? If the identity test recognised his ties to the House of Black, sort of, maybe Kreacher would to. He could go after the ring, but he wasn't too sure of the defences around it. And he didn't think he'd be able to rescue little Harry if he was eaten by Inferi, or something worse. And technically he'd be stealing one when he kidnapped his son. The ring was also the Resurrection Stone, making it doubly important. The Elder Wand and Cloak were at Hogwarts with Dumbledore. He'd have to deal with them later.
If he couldn't do much for the Horcruxes, Hallows or timeline, that left Al's happiness. Godric's Hollow had been depressingly ruined by the time he saw it last life, but now it would be merely newly exploded. On the other hand, there probably was a crowd, which would notice if he went in and came out with the Boy-Who-Lived childhood toys. Deciding that he'd been Slytherin enough for the day, the Gryffindor decided some rash action would make him feel better.
First he apparated to the woods where he, Ron and Hermione had camped on their treasure hunt. Seemed like a safe place to meet Kreacher.
"Kreacher!" Harry called in his most assuming pureblooded way. However there was no answering crack. With a sigh, he turned on heel and apparated.
He was right, there was a crowd around the cottage in Godric's Hollow. Considering it was the first of November, the muggles in the town were probably wondering what the strangely dressed crowd was partying about, especially since the lovely family that lived there had been killed. Or they would if some wizards with a surprising presence of mind not cast illusionary and muggle repelling charms.
Harry weaved his way to the front of the crowd, the cottage hadn't fallen into the state of disrepair he'd found it in when he visited on Christmas Eve. But it was still a depressing shadow of what he and Ginny had rebuilt. And razed. Better not think about that.
He touched the fence, appearing like any other mourner, but inwardly testing the family wards. They were still in tatters from Riddle's attack. Damn Wormtail. There were some new wards, that Harry suspected were Dumbledore's handiwork, which were all that was holding the crowd back. Judging by their non-reaction to his touch, he guessed he'd be able to enter.
Harry turned and made his way back through the crowd, wandering towards the central square before turning back. He slipped through the small wood behind the cottage. Crouching under a tree James had been particularly fond of climbing, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself. Ignoring the cold trickle with years of practise. Adding some silencing charms and a notice-me-not charm, Harry casually strolled up to the back gate and hopped over it. Luckily, the back door was still lying on the ground where it had been blown open.
"Master?" queried a spindly house elf, wearing a flowery pillowcase.
Oh no. Lacey, the Potter house-elf, who'd died of neglect sometime before he'd returned.
"Yes, follow me," Harry whispered, slipping from the kitchen to the dining room. He didn't bother to wonder how the elf had seen him but cast silencing, imperturbable and illusionary charms on the room. Satisfied that they were safe from being seen or heard, Harry removed his disillusionment charm.
"Youse is Master but youse not Master Jamsie," Lacey accused.
"It's a little complicated," Harry began, "I'm guessing I look like James but feel more like Harry? Well that's more or less the truth. I'm an older Harry who has travelled back in time to make sure things don't turn out the way they did. But to save some confusion call me Evan. Little Harry is going to be sent to muggle aunt, and be treated like a house elf."
"That's not right. Little Master is a master not an elf."
"I know, which is why I'm going to be taking him away. Like James and Lily we'll be going into hiding but not here. How far can you travel with your magic?"
"Any of Master's houses are next door for a house elf. Master Evan, sir."
"Good. Now I came here to see if there was anything we might need."
One room by room search and many replication and shrinkage charms later, Harry thought he'd collected all the useful stuff in the house. Various journals, books, a lot baby stuff - he especially liked the stuff toy Marauders - and best of all a portrait of his parents. It had been hanging in his Dad's study, and must have been yet another casualty of leaving the cottage to the elements. After promising them a full explanation, Harry had shrunk their painting and placed it in the trunk with the rest of his haul.
Leaving Lacey orders to maintain the house, and prepare the cellar as a weather proof vault before moving everything she could into it in a week, Harry slipped back into the little forest before disapparating.
A taxi ride later saw him placing the portrait on the little table in a rather dingy motel room. The musty cigarette smell reminded him of where Vernon had taken them during the episode with the letters.
"Okay, now that we're somewhere 'safe'," Lily began, evidently not amused, "You, young man, are going to explain everything."
"Long story short: I was given a choice to travel back in time and keep myself from being raised by the Dursleys."
"Petunia? That oaf Vernon?" Lily sputtered at the same time James asked, "What about Sirius?"
"Since Dumbledore doesn't know about the switch, Wormtail's going to successfully frame Sirius and he'll end up in Azkaban. And I'll be sent to the Dursleys because Mum's sacrifice means I'll be safe there."
Even the short version of Harry's biography took an hour or so to tell. James and Lily made for an appreciative audience, with all the right reactions - if overly apologetic about dying. By the time he'd reached the events leading up to his time travel, Harry starting to regret skipping lunch. But starting to feel vaguely ill at what he was going to have to remember.
"So, a little while after Albus turned one, the one that we'd missed came to light. Gryffindor's Gauntlet, that Slytherin stole the night he left Hogwarts. It ended up in our hands at the DMLE but none of us realised what it was. Someone must have though, since I came back from a long mission to find her wearing it.
"It possessed her and he'd waited for me to return so that I could watch. Watch him kill my sons." Harry lost focus on his parents faces as he started to ramble, "Al was so young. He was only a year and a bit, just like I was. He was smiling, he thought it was a game, when that monster stole his mother's face and killed him. The bastard laughed, said he found the irony too amusing. At least he didn't play like he did with James.
"We dueled, destroying the house. It was so hard, to fight him when he was possessing her. She fought him to end though, kept him off, made him fight, cheered me on. I won, but I had to make sure, I had to hit him with the Killing Curse. Her really. The only time I ever cast it and it was to kill my wife."
Harry trailed off, only vaguely aware that he was crying and hugging his knees. The silence stretched, his parents unsure what to say and unable to hold as they wished. Then partly regaining his courage, partly shunting his grief aside, he continued, "I was a wreck. It all hurt me, but it was Al's death that hurt the most. I don't think I believed he was gone. I'd never got the chance to know him, so I couldn't convince myself he was gone. I decided that if he was lost I would just have to find him. The Stone was a lost cause, but going through the library I found a spell used by purebloods for finding lost heirs. Not sure why I thought it would work, but I cast it anyway. Of course, magic has a habit of misbehaving itself around me, so instead of seeing where my lost child was, I died. Again.
"I found myself at King's Cross again, and Death made me an offer. Turns out that Death seriously hates Riddle, for both all the unnatural deaths he's caused and the things he's done to stay alive. I'm not sure of the details, something about conflicting jurisdictions, but deal was I come back to now, to try and do things properly. The first catch being that my soul would be transplanted to your body Dad. And since two copies of the same soul can't be running around, Al's soul ended up in my younger self. The second that I can't tell anyone who I am until I'm the Master of Death again. Or I'll die."
"That's... that's pretty crazy," James absently replied.
"Story of my life," Harry replied, "The first thing I have to do is collect Al. I think I've got everything organised." He looked down at the trunk. "Except that this is hardly very muggle."
There was a tapping at the window, and Harry excused himself to answer it. It was a letter from Gringotts with his and Al's tickets. Jotting a quick thank you he sent the owl back. Eight O'clock the next morning. He looked down at his watch, it was nearing three. The owl reminded him that should write to Sirius or Remus. He turned back to the painting.
"I'll leave you think about things. I've got some errands to run."
Leaving a 'Do Not Disturb' and a muggle repelling charm on his room, Harry departed for a brief stop in the wizarding world and a longer visit to a muggle shopping centre.
He appeared with a crack in Hogsmeade First he ducked into Schrivenshaft's for some parchment and a quill, before scribbling notes to each Remus, Dumbledore and the Longbottoms. Then to the owl post office to get them delivered the next morning.
Done with the wizarding world for now, he used the Three Broomstick's Floo to reach the Leaky Cauldron. Rediscovering that he hated all forms of magical transport equally if in different ways. Sighing to himself he apparated again.
He rented a car from the airport, and only got lost twice on the way back to the motel when his mental road map was wrong. However one of those did result in him finding a shopping centre where he could buy the few muggle things he needed. Sadly by the time he made it back to the motel the afternoon peak meant it was past seven.
Harry still had quite a while before Al would be delivered to Privet Drive. Attempting to make up for forgetting lunch, he grabbed some fish and chips and paid for an early check out. Another question and answer session with his parents later, Harry opted for a short sleep before his planned kidnapping.
So it was at midnight that Harry left the motel and started driving to Surrey. For once grinning at the prospect of visiting the Dursleys.
Author's Notes:
Hello, and welcome to my little play with time travel. The Harry-adopts-himself plot is I think under represented, especially compared to the multitude of Marauder Era fics. It's probably obvious that chapter two was written first and I planned on keeping the kidnapper's identity a secret, but after writing Harry's side to the kidnapping I felt this worked better.
I'm trying to keep people in character, or at least extrapolated versions based on more or less experiences. As such I'm hoping to keep Dumbledore good if manipulative. It's just too easy to declare him evil. I plan to aim more for good intentions but affected by his age. However, Harry may still have some issues with his methods.
One thing I am still considering is Harry's animagus form. Which I've narrowed down to either a Merlin or a Peregrine Falcon. And I have no idea what his Marauder Name would be. So suggestions are welcome!