A/N: Whoa this turned out to be way more about Harry than I expected. It jumps around a bit but that's because I can't be bothered to write more transition scenes. And yes, Lily is quite possibly twice as neurotic as Hermione. I have more written but it's ridiculously long and STILL not finished so I decided to go halfers.
Chapter Two: Potter 1 and Potter 2, Part 1
Sometimes Harry swore he was cursed. If Voldemort wasn't long dead and gone, he would have blamed him for his misfortunes – as it turned out, Harry rather wished Voldemort was still around, if only so Harry could blame his unluckiness on a spell, or perhaps some nefarious potion. Unfortunately, the only person Harry had to blame was himself.
This was one of those times. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting into sticky situations, and for Harry it was a kind of chicken-or-the-egg question: was he forever getting into trouble thanks to a lifetime of run-ins with Voldemort, or was his patent unluckiness the real reason Voldemort ever targeted him in the first place? It was an interesting thought, and he had half a mind of discussing it over with Hermione; it was too bad he had asked her about time travel first because now he didn't think he could face her again without blushing wildly.
It had been the result of his restlessness. Voldemort was gone, the Death Eaters flushed out, the wizarding world was reconstructing – and there was nothing left for him to do. He had almost dragged Hermione and Ron into the depths of the Amazon (he had heard rumours of a dark wizard hiding out with headhunting tribes, so what if Dung wasn't the most reliable source) but Ginny had stopped him from sending the owl and instead took him on a whirlwind round-the-world vacation. It had been perfect – he could finally experience parts of the world he had only heard about without being dogged by a Dark Lord. His only complaint was that the whole thing was over too soon. When they had gotten back, Ron had set him up as an Auror, but that had soon fizzled out after he had found out how much he hated paperwork and sitting behind a desk (he had had enough of desks at Hogwarts, thank you). Turns out the Ministry wouldn't dare send out the Great Harry Potter out on field missions on the off chance he'd get killed in action. Hermione had recruited him as the Ministry's ambassador to magical creatures, promising him adventure and new experiences. Unfortunately his complete lack of knowledge led him to commit several cultural faux pas when meeting with magical creatures (most of whom were unimpressed as his status as the Great Harry Potter and had promptly chased him off of their land). After another close call with the werewolves, Shacklebolt had fire-called him personally to gently persuade him (with the full power of Minister of Magic behind him, of course) to pursue a different career. After that, he tried out professional Quidditch, but the players' endless jockeying for higher salaries and the constant media blitz sapped the soul out of the sport. Plus Ginny put the kibosh on that after one too many owls bearing undergarments from overenthusiastic groupies interrupted their breakfast.
It had frustrated him endlessly that Hermione and Ron were perfectly happy with their lives, and he had said as much.
"Well, you did spend your entire childhood wanting to be a normal teenager, perhaps you could take advantage of your now ordinary life?" she had offered, shooting him a look that clearly said, "Be careful what you wish for, you dunce".
Over the years he had become immune to her patented Looks, and promptly ignored it. "I know that," he grumbled. "I didn't realize that without Voldemort around, life would be so boring."
Hermione exhaled slowly and massaged her temples with her fingers, something she usually did around Ron. "What happened to settling down and starting a family?" she asked him pointedly. "Didn't you say you wanted a family the size of the Weasleys?"
"I'm only twenty!" was his knee-jerk reaction. Then he added, "I want to get a real career going before we get married. Besides, I…"
"Besides what, Harry?" Hermione prodded exasperatedly.
"Well… I don't know much about children, really, and I have no idea how I could ever become a father…" Harry trailed off. "Stop looking at me like that Hermione. The Dursleys weren't the best role models when it came to parenting."
Hermione had been giving him one of her impressive pitying looks, (which somehow ranged the spectrum from Oh-Harry-that-is-utter-nonsense to Oh-Harry-you-poor-orphan-boy, all blended together in her large brown eyes) but at his words she quickly rearranged her expression into rightful indignation.
"Oh Harry," – yes, the pitying had transferred over into words, "You had Sirius! And Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have always treated you like their own."
"I can't even imagine Sirius babysitting me when I was young, he was such a bachelor," he replied shaking his head. "And I know I'm the Weasleys' adopted son. Still… I just wish I could talk to my dad and ask him how he did it, how he decided he was ready to be a father." He laughed with only a hint of bitterness. "Pity you gave back your Time-Turner Hermione, but even that wouldn't take me back years into the past."
Her silence was more telling than words.
"You did give it back Hermione – " he swung around with a furrowed brow. Hermione waved him off, distracted, as her searching eyes roved across her teetering bookcase. "Can you cook us up some lunch, Harry? I can never get my grilled cheese to turn out as well as yours – " She was already lost in her own world, scanning through the titles of her impressive array of books and already tugging out a few to form a pile on her desk. Harry recognized when Hermione was trying to get him out of the way nicely, and beat a quick path to the kitchen.
He took his time cooking, but besides the time it took to hunt down her frying pan (why on earth had she put it in the silverware drawer?) it really didn't take very long to fry up the grilled cheese sandwiches. However when he eased back into Hermione's study-cum-library with the tray, she had already whipped up a frenzy and was scribbling complicated equations on parchment. "Oh thanks Harry, just set it down on the desk," she said absent-mindedly, flipping through a ridiculously old tome.
Bemused, Harry began munching on his lunch. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing anytime soon?"
Hermione paused. "Did you mean what you said before?"
"About what?" he shot back, suddenly wary.
"About time travel," she huffed impatiently. "Honestly I can't understand how Ginny deals with you…"
He ignored that last bit on the basis that her and Ron fought like cats and dogs all the time so what did she know about relationships? "You don't still have the Time-Turner, do you, Hermione…" he asked dubiously. "From what I recall from my regrettably short career as an Auror, I'm pretty sure it's ten forms of illegal, especially since the Ministry's supply all got smashed during fifth year…"
Hermione flapped her hand with irritation. "What rot, obviously I gave it back Harry, and besides a Time-Turner wouldn't work, it goes back hours, not years…"
The glint in her eye scared him, so he tried to divert the conversation back to safer topics. "If you're not going to eat it, I will," he informed her solemnly, pointing to the leftover sandwich.
She ignored him again. "I first came across it in third year, when I was researching time travel, strictly a side project of course –" Harry shuddered. He knew what her side projects were like. "- But it was only mentioned in the texts at Hogwarts, naturally they wouldn't dare keep knowledge like that, even in the Restricted Section – and of course it wasn't sold in the Diagon Alley bookshop, I'd had to have gone into Knockturn for that, which was a death wish for all Muggleborns, but when we were cleaning out Grimmauld Place, there were quite a bit of books on the Dark Arts that got cleared away, for our safety, but when I caught sight of it I couldn't help myself, I mean – well! It's not even really dark, but it would be dangerous in the wrong hands – but I couldn't bear to see it locked up in some dank vault, when all those words were just begging to be read – "
"You stole Sirius' book?"
"It was hardly stealing, I merely appropriated for research – and I don't think he really would have cared, he was a Marauder. It's not like he even used it, anyways," she countered defensively.
He shook his head in amazement. "Somehow, I am not at all shocked," he said dryly. "So what was so special about this book you had to steal it?"
"Harry, it was a third edition of Xes Cigam!" At his blank look, she continued, "Roughly translated, the title means something like Soul Rituals. It's an ancient tantric text dealing with old magic, the kind the wizarding world has lost over the years. It's a priceless artefact, though I doubt Sirius even knew what it was, since it's written in shorthand runes."
"And let me guess, you translated it in two weeks flat."
"Ten days actually, but it was a slow summer."
"Right, we were only running around destroying Horcruxes."
"Harry, spare me your pitiful attempts at witty banter," Hermione sniffed. "Anyways, the only thing about this book that concerns you at the moment is a little-known, long-forgotten ritual, used for travelling backwards in time."
"What's the point? Time-Turners are bloody useful. We don't need an ancient ritual."
"For travelling years back into time, you do!" Hermione interjected excitedly.
For a long time, he was gaping silently, 'til he found his voice and asked, raggedly, "Do you… I mean… Is this what I think it is?"
Hermione nodded impatiently. "Well since it's impossible to actually travel so far back, your magic takes a sliver of our universe and creates a pocket alternate universe of the timeline. Your magic supports it entirely so when you return to your own time, the universe folds in on itself and rejoins our universe. But in all other regards, it's the same thing. It's the same people; it's the same places. The only new factor would be you, which is why it's an alternate universe, because it prevents temporal paradoxes -"
"Hermione!" Harry interrupted. "I don't care about the theory or the science behind it! Just tell me if it works! Can I travel back in time, by years?"
"It's an extremely complex ritual Harry – " At his glare she quickly changed tack. "In other words, yes," she grumbled.
"That's – that's – that's bloody amazing, Hermione! Why haven't we done this already?" His mind was already spinning through the possibilities. He wouldn't have to rely on others for memories of his parents – he could meet them and touch them and hear their voices -
Hermione coughed delicately. "Well, the ritual needs two participants plus the caster, and since I'm the only one who can actually perform the ritual… besides, at seventeen I didn't think we were quite mature enough -"
"Why do you say that?" he asked. "Merlin Hermione, this would've saved me so much time – "
" – and I didn't think Ginny would be willing to have sex in public at that point in time – what?" she asked, at the look on his face. "Who else would? Don't look at me Harry, I have a fantastic sex life."
Harry did a good impression of a goldfish.
"It's ancient sex magic, what did you expect," she asked exasperatedly. "Honestly, you'd think you were adult enough to handle the mere mention of sex – "
"Stop – saying – that word!" Harry whispered hoarsely. "I don't even want to think about you and Ron – eugh! You're – you – and Ron's – bloody hell - "
Hermione turned her back on him and began scribbling away on her parchment. "Harry, it's impossible to discuss things rationally with you when you're like this." She said calmly. "Come back when you've regained control over your mental faculties."
He stumbled out of the room, as Hermione threw out after him, "Besides, it's not like the whole Weasley family hasn't heard you and Ginny going at it in the broomstick shed!"
-
"You want us to have sex."
"We have fun together, don't we?" Harry shrunk under her glare. "Sorry."
"You want us to have sex in front of Hermione."
Harry winced as Ginny crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
"It's only Hermione – it's not like it's the entire Order or anything – "
The redhead gave him a look that could have chilled ice. "There is nothing you can possibly say to justify this," she hissed.
-
" – And then I told her I'd marry her," Harry finished.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So that's how you got her to do it," she said knowingly. "It's about time. I hope you got on one knee and everything?"
Harry grimaced at the memory. "It was more of last-ditch effort than anything else. I think the question went something like, 'If I asked you to marry me would that justify it?' I had to transfigure my sock into a ring, but after she accepted she refused to wear it on the grounds that it smelled funny."
"Well, at least you finally committed," Hermione tutted, shaking her head. "Though you better not give Ron any tips on how to propose. Don Juan, you're not."
"Well at least I did it," he grumbled. "You've been complaining about how Ron's been dragging his feet for what, two years now?"
"Oy, I resemble that remark," Ron shouted from the kitchen, where his head was buried in the fridge. "A bloke needs time to sow his oats and all that rot."
Hermione merely rolled his eyes. "Ronald is operating under the mistaken assumption that anyone would allow him to… sow his oats… on their person."
Ron appeared, clutching a plate stacked with leftovers scavenged from Hermione's pantry. Harry got glimpses of chicken, apple pie, and bedraggled-looking pasta. "Hermione told me about the ritual, and I have to say, go for it," he announced.
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Really? You're okay with it? I thought you would've – " then he caught sight of Hermione motioning frantically behind Ron and shut up.
"Why wouldn't I be okay with it, mate?" Ron clapped him heavily on the shoulder. "I'm not going to make you miss out on your chance of meeting your family. Still, I'm not gonna lie, the ritual sounds bloody boring. Mindless chanting for three hours straight? That's rough." He stopped and inspected his plate. "Oh, bugger, I've forgot the ketchup."
As Ron trudged back to the kitchen, Harry whispered incredulously to Hermione, "You didn't tell him?!"
"Of course not, I'm not going to be the one who tells him his baby sister is going to do the nasty with his best mate while his girlfriend watches!" she hissed back furiously.
Harry paused, thinking back upon Ron's earlier words. "Hermione? …The ritual won't really have to last three hours, will it?"
Hermione rolled her eyes again, and Harry wondered if she ever got eyeball strain. "Don't be such a baby, Potter." Before Ron walked back in, she added, "Ron's ritual got a Quidditch game in Sweden this Saturday, so bring Ginny and we can do the then."
-
Hermione made an awkward situation worse when she refused to put Crookshanks outside for the duration of the ritual. "He's just a cat, and it's his house, he's got a right to be here."
Harry felt vaguely dirty as Crookshanks eyed him up and down with interest. "I don't like the way he's looking at me," he mumbled to Ginny.
Ginny was still cross with him, so she gave him no satisfactory answer. "If either of you breathe a word about this, I will hunt you down and kill you, so help me Merlin I will resurrect Voldemort himself just so he can have his wicked way with you."
Harry whimpered. "Oh, don't do that darling, I've always suspected he's had a thing for little boys – "
"For the love of Merlin, stop talking and undress," Hermione commanded forcefully from where she was lighting the candles in the pentacle. Harry wondered if she was a closet dominatrix. God knows she was bossy enough.
What followed was the most awkward sex of his life. Harry tried to forget about Hermione and the ritual but that was hard to do when lying on a wooden floor inside a chalk pentacle with runes painted all over your body. Also he was pretty sure Hermione was judging his performance and mentally scribbling over his errors with red ink. She would deny it of course but her critical gazes and occasional tutting could not be ignored.
Soon, I'll be in 1981, he told himself. Soon, I'll be with my parents…
At that moment Crookshanks yawned, uncurled himself and padded lazily over to the pentacle, gave him a look of utter disdain, before quite deliberately bounding through the chalk and knocking down a candle.
The last thing Harry saw was Crookshanks satisfied smirk and Hermione scolding, "Crookshanks! No, bad kitty! You broke the circle before the ritual was comple – "
-
Harry appeared in the Headmaster's office, still naked and covered in runes. "Blasted cat," he cursed. "I don't even know if the ritual worked. Who knows what year it could be?"
"I believe I can help you with that," a jovial voice said from behind him.
Harry groaned and covered himself demurely when he turned and saw Albus Dumbledore at the entrance to his office, eyes a twinkling et al.
"The year is 1977, and I should warn you clothing is generally required to attend Hogwarts."
-
"And that's how I travelled back in time, Headmaster. "
"Interesting, interesting. I can't say I've heard anything like it, that's a very… unique way to time travel." Dumbledore prodded with interest.
Harry blushed furiously. He was definitely not going into the finer points of ancient sex magic to the Headmaster. "Uh, well, I can't really tell you all the details – "
Dumbledore waved his hand. "No, no, I understand. We all must take precautions to preserve the timeline." His eyes twinkled wildly at that.
"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked cautiously. "I thought we already agreed to use an anagram as my last name."
"Indeed, I do believe using the letters of James Potter to form your new last name, Temperas Jot, was a splendid idea. Wherever did you think of that?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Now I'm sure you know enough not to change the future that you don't need an hour-long lecture from me… so we'll get you Sorted and have you in your dorm by tonight. You're in your father's year, I believe?"
Harry stared at him. "Sir, I was under the impression I wouldn't stay ay Hogwarts… and maybe, uh, alter my appearance?"
"My dear boy, what ever gives you that idea?"
"Well… I am the spitting image of my father, sir… it would seem a bit suspicious, I think…"
"Harry, I don't believe you're thinking this through. This is a great opportunity to meet your parents! Of course the temptation to save their lives, warn them of future betrayals, and just generally improve their quality of life will follow you at every turn, leaving you crippled with doubt and self-loathing."
Harry backed away slowly. "Um… of course Headmaster." It was really obvious that this Dumbledore didn't know him too well, otherwise he'd known that Harry's "saving people thing" (thanks, Hermione, for that brilliant piece of eloquence) would never allow him to be selfish and change the timeline just so he could play house with his parents while Voldemort burnt the wizarding world to ashes.
It was that bloody cat's entire fault. Thanks to his interruption, Harry had ended up four years off his mark. He wasn't even born yet. His parents weren't married. Hell, they probably weren't even dating yet! He had been planning on either going back and convincing Hermione to redo the ritual (though on second thought, he didn't think he'd be able to go through the ordeal all over again) or simply wait out the next few years, maybe visit that island out Greece he and Ginny had spent two glorious weeks on their round-world trip… Yeah, a nice long vacation somewhere hot sounded appealing. What didn't sound appealing was repeating his seventh year. Well, not that he had actually attended Hogwarts in his seventh year… But they got honorary NEWTS from the Ministry anyways, plus a whole bunch of medals. That counted for something, didn't it? It was the principle of the thing: he refused to do something he had already been credited for. What was the point? Besides, he suspected that without Hermione his marks would reflect his true lack of knowledge. And he had no excuse of, "I'm Harry Potter and I have to kill Voldemort!" to fall back on. Damn.
Besides, no matter what the old man (bless his soul) nattered on about, Harry knew Time Travel laws didn't apply to him. He could do anything he wanted! He could stand on a table in the Great Hall and yell, "Wormtail's a snivelling rat who'll betray anyone to the Death Eaters just to save his own miserable hide!" Or maybe dance through Diagon Alley singing, "Neener neener neener, Voldemort's a half blood named Tom Riddle and his daddy never loved him!" It didn't matter. As soon as thing got hairy, all he had to do was use Ginny's magic (bonded to him as part of the ritual) as a guideline to pull himself out of his created universe. And as soon as he did, pop! His little pocket universe disappeared into oblivion, and he was safe and sound back in his proper universe, no harm done.
Unfortunately, he had no gold on him (or any clothing, for that matter). He was entirely dependent on Albus, which meant that if the Headmaster wanted him to attend Hogwarts, then gosh darn it he was attending Hogwarts!
-
Lily Evans was, quite possibly, the best Head Girl Hogwarts had ever seen. She could deal with almost anything. Hyperactive first years running off a sugar high? No problem. Neurotic upperclassmen flying off the handle before exams? That was nothing. Obstinate professors, troublesome ghosts, homesick first years, tutoring, organizing official school events (like First Year Friendship Day, where the seniors each became buddies with one of the youngins!), cutting short illicit social events (like the Firewhisky parties that seemed to crop up after every Quidditch game.), dishing out discipline and serving up praise – it was all part of the responsibility of Head Girl. And Lily liked being Head Girl. She loved Hogwarts, and her many duties didn't seem like chores but rather an extension of what she loved to do.
True, James Potter and his gang ran wild through Hogwarts, undoing most of her hard work and leaving behind even more problems for her to mop up. Sure, over the years she had developed an unhealthy addiction to caffeine, and maybe she had a few nervous hang-ups (like her obsession with colour-coordinating her homework planner), but she liked to think she had dealt with Potter et al the best way she could. She had a struck a happy, if tremulous, balance in her life – as long as everything stayed as it should.
Truthfully? Her sanity was already hanging by a thread.
Which is why Lily Evans was in a foul mood when her best friend Alice poked her in the ribs during breakfast and said, "Oy, Lily, doesn't that new kid look like James?"
There wasn't enough coffee in the world to get her to deal with two James Potters.
"I may have to become a drunk," she said aloud.
-
Will Lily turn to drink? How will James ever win her heart? And why does everyone think Harry is hitting on his mother?
TO BE CONTINUED…
