Harry Potter and associated names, places, situations, and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

No infringement thereof is intended nor implied.


Chapter 1

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

- Chapter Five: Diagon Alley, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

Richard Martin didn't know where he was. The room was odd, dark and dank and dusty, the walls filled with small boxes. He looked around, and was surprised to see a tall skinny man with large eyes looking at him expectantly. He turned, and saw a giant of a man with a pink umbrella between him and the door to what he now guessed was the shop he was in.

"'Arry?" asked the giant, "Is everything al'right?"

"Mr. Potter," the man said, as Richard turned to look at him, "the wand please?" The man was pointing at Richard's right hand.

Richard looked down, and realized that he was holding something, a wand he guessed, in his right hand. He offered it to the man, "Uh, here, take it."

"'Arry? What's wrong?" the giant asked in his nearly indecipherable accent.

Richard turned from the man, who was carefully putting the wand, which Richard now recognized as familiar, as if he'd just held something like it moments before arriving here, wherever here was. "Um, what?"

"You voice 'Arry, what's wrong with it?" asked the giant, taking a step forwards.

"Nothings wrong with my voice," Richard said. He then stopped, "Wait, yes there is, it isn't my voice. How can it not be my voice?"

The giant looked over Richard's shoulder at the man with the wand box, "Could somethin' 'ave 'appened to 'Arry with that wand? Could it 'ave done somethin' to 'em?"

"Why do you keep calling me Harry?" asked Richard.

"That's your name, 'Arry Potter," the giant said with finality.

"Harry Potter?" Richard asked himself softly. "Like, the real Harry Potter?"

"Accept not substitutes," said the giant was a chuckle.

At that moment, Richard had to make a choice, and choice that would determine, in his opinion, if he'd spend the rest of his new life, and he guessed it was a new life, or he'd gone crazy. But, he'd either spend the rest of his new life in, apparently, St. Mungo's as a patient in the mental ward, or he'd spend it as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and savior of the wizarding world.

Richard, or rather Harry, smiled, "Sorry, yeah, something happened." He shook his head, "I can't seem to talk except in this bloody American accent." He looked from the giant, whom he now understood to be Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, to the tall man, whom, after discounting for his reduced stature as an eleven year old Harry Potter, wasn't really that tall, Mr. Ollivander, of Ollivander's wands. "Mr. Ollivander, could the wand have done something to me? I blanked there for a second, didn't know where I was, what was going on."

"Interesting," Ollivander said, stroking his chin after sticking the wand box under his arm.

Richard, no, he had to think of himself as Harry, reached up and stroked in forehead, finding the scar, and what he knew to be an unintentional Horcrux of Voldemort's, and fingering it, "Could it have something to do with my scar?"

Ollivander nodded, "Very curious indeed."

"Curious? I suddenly gain an American accent after swishing a wand, and you find it curious?" asked the eleven year old wizard with the mind of a twenty-eight year old American muggle.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

"And how, exactly, does To- Lord Voldemort's wand connection to mine make any difference?" Harry almost said Tom Riddle instead of Lord Voldemort, which he wasn't sure if people had made the connection, though obviously Ollivander knew, but an eleven year old Harry Potter shouldn't. "How could it have given me both my scar, and then, once I picked up its brother, given my this bloody accent."

"I wish you wouldn't swear so much 'Arry," said Hagrid from behind him.

"Hagrid," said Harry, turning on the giant. He paused for a moment, finally realizing just how tall the half-giant was. "Hagrid, I'll swear if I bloody well feel like it. I swished a wand, it shot out sparks, and I can't speak in my normal voice. Surely this is a perfectly good time to swear, and it's not like it's that bad of a swear word. It's not as bad as muggle or mudblood, and those are apparently perfectly nice words to say."

"Where'd you 'ear those words?" asked Hagrid, though more confused that Harry would refer to them as nasty or on par with swear words.

"I met an unfriendly boy at Madam Malkin's, a Draco Malfoy, said that Hogwarts should just be for pure-bloods, not muggle-borns or mudbloods. I've read enough to recognize bigotry when I hear it. Just because we've got magic doesn't mean we have to call the mundanes names," explained Harry. That was one of the books' most egregious parts, in Richard's opinion, that they let such nasty names into the lexicon. Of course, they could have just called them slines, like in another of his favorite books, but that was nearly as bad. They were just ordinary people, mundane, as opposed to wizards and witches, who weren't mundane.

"Ah, always knew the Malfoys would raise a bigot, 'M sorry you 'ad to 'ear that 'Arry," said Hagrid.

Harry shrugged, "Eh, it's not like I'm going to change the world at eleven. I'll save that for when I'm done with Hogwarts." He then put on a predatory smile, just to mess with Hagrid. He then chuckled, and turned back to Mr. Ollivander, "Sorry, you were doing some exposition about Voldemort's wand?"

"Exposition?" asked Ollivander.

"Sorry, like I said, too many books. You seemed to be delving into some exposition about the Dark Lord's wand, the only other brother wand to my own, and how it gave me my scar?"

"Ah, yes. Like I was saying, I remember every wand I've ever sold. His was thirteen-and-a-half inches, and made of yew. I think we can expect great things from you Mr. Potter, for the wand chooses the wizard."

Harry raised his eyebrows, not what he remembered Ollivander saying from the books, but close enough. The butterflies they are a flapping. "Thank you Mr. Ollivander, how many Galleons was the wand again?"

"Seven," said Mr. Ollivander, shaking his head to clear it. He walked over, wand box still stuck under his arm, to an ancient cash register. With a few taps at the keys, which Harry didn't understand, since the man only sold wands, not much of a register required, and the sale was rung up. Harry pulled seven of the small gold coins from his bag, though leaving a hefty amount behind, and paid for the wand. Mr. Ollivander handed the box over, "Have a good day Mr. Potter, and I am sorry about the accent problem. These things do happen you know."

"I see," said Harry, taking the wand box.

Hagrid lead Harry with his new wand out of the shop, and Harry stopped in awe at the sight of Diagon Alley. The books and the movies didn't do it justice, it was truly a wondrous sight to see.

"You al'right 'Arry. You look like you 'aven't seen it just a few hours ago when we came in."

"Nah Hagrid, I'm fine. It's just, well, I'm just amazed at the wonder of it all. What would those mundanes say if they saw what lurked beyond the streets of London?"

"Don't ever lose the sense o' wonder 'Arry. It's a gift, it is," Hagrid said, as he picked up the small pile of packages Harry had purchased before getting his wand.

Harry looked at the pile, bit his lip, than looked up at Hagrid, "Hagrid, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure 'Arry, anythin'."

"Well, it's another month before I go to Hogwarts, the first of September, right?" asked Harry.

"Right," said Hagrid. He then patted his coat before digging something out of a pocket, and presented a train ticket to Harry, "The 'Ogwarts Express, direct from Kings Cross to 'Ogsmeade, First o' September."

Harry took the ticket, and tucked it into a pocket, "Thanks, but that's now what I was going to ask. It's just, well, I'll be in the mundane world for a month, and I'm going to need some spending money." When Hagird looked confused, Harry elaborated, "Mundane money." Then further clarified, "Pounds."

"Ah," said Hagrid with a start, "why didn't you say so when we were back at Gringotts?"

Harry shugged, he couldn't tell Hagrid the truth, that he wasn't the same Harry Potter than had visited Gringotts mere hours before, so he lied, some more. "I didn't realize until just now. The Dursleys, while they'll begrudgingly keep a roof over my head, they won't go beyond the bare minimum, and even that's a stretch. If I wand more than my school robes to wear, it'll be Dudley's hand-me-downs," he gestured at the oversized shirt and pants he was wearing, the same ones Harry had been wearing when Hagrid met him at the shack the night before. "I'll be wanting some clothes of my own, as well as a few things that can't be found on Diagon Alley, before heading to Hogwarts."

Hagrid looked surprised, "There t'ain't nothin' worth havin' that can't be found on Diagon Alley."

"Hagrid, never change," said Harry with a smile, patting the half-giant's arm. He then hefted the bag of wizarding money, "But even then, I'll be needing clothes, mundane clothes, and I can't spend gold and silver to buy them. So, I'll be needing to exchange these precious coins for banknotes, I presume that I can't go to any mundane bank, that only Gringotts will do, no?"

Hagrid nodded, then looked inquisitive, "Why do you keep saying mundane?"

"As opposed to muggle?" asked Harry. Hagrid's nod preceded Harry's explanation, "Draco Malfoy, he said the word muggle like it was beneath him to even think of it, especially in regards to wizards born of them, like my mother I might add. Muggle-born and mudbloods, he called them. He's a bigot, just like the Dursleys. They called my a freak because of my magic, and Draco would call them muggles because of their lack. But, they're just ordinary people, perfectly ordinary, non-magical people, well, aside from the bigotry. So, I'll call them as I see them. We're special, they're mundane."

Hagrid nodded as if he'd just heard something basic explained for the first time in plain english, "So, we'll be getting your mundane money, and then you'll be heading back home?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a home, but yeah, back to the Dursleys. I'll probably make it back before them, what with them missing their boat and all. I'll be surprised if they're back before this time tomorrow," said Harry, pointing out for the first time that the two of them, well, Hagrid and pre-wand Harry anyway, had left the Dursleys without a way off the island.

"So, Gringotts then?" asked Hagrid, dismissing the fate of the Dursleys as irrelevant.

"Lead on, I've lost my way after so many shops," lied Harry. He couldn't very well tell Hagrid that this would be his first time, from his post-want perspective, of going to the goblin-run bank.

With Hagrid leading the way, Harry was able to make a repeat performance of his earlier self's gawking at the wonders of Diagon Alley, though he made it while dragging a wheeled trunk containing all his necessary, by wizarding standards at least, items for school, as well as the cage with a still-sleeping snowy owl, which Harry in his mind was already referring to as Hedwig, even though she'd not officially been named yet. Certain things couldn't be changed by the flapping breeze of a butterfly's wings.

When they arrived at Gringotts both Harry and Hagrid were surprised, though for completely different reasons. Hagrid was surprised because the bak was closed, the aurors outside relating that something "untoward" had happened while the pair were shopping. Harry was surprised, because he knew that, deep below the stone of Diagon Alley, the vault that Hagrid had recently emptied of the Philosopher's Stone, he was in England, he'd no need of the name 'Sorcerer's Stone', that even now Hagrid carried in his enormous coat.

"Quirrel," Harry mumbled.

"What was that 'Arry?" asked Hagrid.

"Nothing, just wondering if someone had tried to steal from Gringotts," lied Harry.

"They'll get what's coming to them if they did," said Hagrid, he then turned away, "I guess you'll have to get by with just your robes and hand-me-downs."

"Well," said Harry, thinking on his feet. He needed the coins changed to cash, since he'd been planing the back of his mind since realizing where and when, and who, he was what he needed to buy before the end of August, and clothes, while on the list, weren't the most important items thereon. "Like I was saying, it's not like the Dursleys will be back at Privet Drive today. I'm sure we can stay here in London. Surely there's a hotel or the like that'll take galleons, no?"

"Well, there's a few rooms at the Cauldron," ruminated Hagrid. "But I've got to get you home, I promised Dumbledore."

"Well, is there any way I can get back here on my own? I know I'm only eleven, but surely I can be safe enough in Diagon Alley, no? There's gotta be some sort of magical bus or train or something, surely we can't always travel by broom."

"Well, there's apparition and portkeys, but since you're just eleven, you'd probably have to take the Knight Bus," explained Hagrid.

"And how'd I do that?" asked Harry. It'd been long enough since he'd read the books as Richard that he'd honestly forgotten the method, though he remembered the bus itself.

"Just stick out your wand from a curb. For less than a galleon you can get most anywhere in and around London, bit more if you'd be wanting to go as far as Hogsmeade," explained Hagrid.

The pricing structure was another thing Harry, as Richard, had forgotten, "Thanks, well, I could do that, but why spend my night in an empty house that's not a home, when I can spend it here in Diagon Alley?"

Hagrid looked to be thinking mighty hard, "Well, I guess, since your aunt and uncle won't be getting 'ome anytime soon, it'll be fine for you to stay at the Cauldron."

"Will you be staying too?" asked Harry.

"Nah, I've best be gettin' back to Hogwarts," the half-giant said, patting the pocket of his coat where the Stone sat. "I'll be back in the mornin' to help you exchange your coins for muggle, sorry, mundane money."

Harry smiled at the change in Hagrid's vocabulary, "That'd be grand, thanks Hagrid."

Hagrid blushed as Harry hugged his right leg, "T'weren't nothin' 'Arry. Just logical is all."

Hagrid left Harry safe, relatively speaking, in a small private room at the Leaky Cauldron. It was well appointed and much larger than what Harry would have been sleeping in had he returned to the Dursleys. After having a small supper, leaving a surprising amount still on the place, at least in the part of Harry's mind that was still Richard, Harry retired to the room to sleep, and to plan.

After officially naming Hedwig, Harry began to sort through the books he didn't remember buying in the trunk he likewise didn't recall purchasing, also setting aside the robes that fit him much better than Dudley's cast-offs, but which Harry could not have described under Veritaserum before then. The robes were quickly utilized, at least, the slacks and shirt thereof, the actual robe was left in the trunk for more practical wear, in the mundane mind that once was called Richard Martin. He briefly flipped through the books, making a tally in his mind of what he would need to purchase, perhaps by owl post, to properly augment his magical library. Once sorted through, he realized that keeping it in him mind would do him no good, grabbed a quill, ink, and parchment, and began to make a list. The first item was a proper pen, perhaps a fountain pen as an intermediary between quill and biro. As traditional as a quill is in wizarding society, he had already made a mess at the top of the parchment in trying to write with the quill he had. With practice he wrote, in a legibility that would probably be as different from the original Harry's handwriting as from Richard's, a list of books, including The Tales of Beedle the Bard (he'd want the Deathly Hallows resource early), a few more books on magical history, primarily recent magical history, as well as some mundane books on English history, against, primarily recent history. He'd need to disguise his ignorance of local history quickly. A few books of fiction, primarily the Lord of the Rings and other fantasy, and as complete an encyclopedia as he could afford. A dictionary and thesaurus so he could distinguish his color from colour. Mundane clothes, both casual and semi-formal, and maps.

The last items on his list were as much for his sanity as for his education. He needed to find a wind-up record player, and as many of the classics of rock and roll as he could, from the Beatles to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin to the Rolling Stones. He'd not actually heard wizarding music, but he'd be wanting something familiar. He added some classical music albums as an afterthought.

Being a computer technician in his previous life, Harry had wanted to purchase a computer, but knew that he could neither afford nor properly utilize such a device in the wizarding world. He knew he'd forgotten something else he'd want after arriving at Hogwarts, but that was why he'd be changing all be a few galleons for the Knight Bus to and from London into mundane currency. He planned on getting some more from her vault at some later date, but a hundred and thirteen galleons worth of mundane currency would have to do for now.

So, after filling more inches of parchment that he cared to count, and realizing that he was already thinking in inches of parchment rather than, say, sheets of paper, Harry went to bed. As he was going to sleep he realized two things. First, this would probably be the largest and most comfortable bed he'd sleep in until Hogwarts, if that. And second, it was larger and more comfortable than any he'd slept in throughout his previous life as Richard Martin.

Morning came with a soft knock on the door, which surprised the young wizard, who, for about a minute until he found his glasses and remembered where he was, was lost and slightly panicked. He pulled himself out of the luxurious bed, whispered an apology to Hedwig for keeping her cooped up in the cage all night, and took a quick shower in the bathroom.

It was the first time he'd looked at himself since becoming himself in Ollivander's wand shop. He was short, as was expected, and even with his air wet, it was already difficult to control. His eyes were the expected emerald green, shocking in their clarity. The scar, Tom Riddle's unintended horcrux, looked barely healed, like it was constantly irritated, which Harry guessed having a shard of the soul of the darkest wizard in modern history would do. He had a couple of ideas on how to hide it, a bandana and a baseball cap tied at the top, but Harry didn't know where he'd get either. Had it been yesterday, before he'd apparently both gone back in time and jumped into a parallel universe, Harry, as Richard, would have just gone down the street to the drugstore to pick up either, and with a choice of half a dozen colors each. In fact, Richard's favorite hat was one he'd picked up for a dollar on clearance half a dozen years ago from the same store.

So, not only was Harry lost in the magical world, but with the combination of time travel and a foreign country, he was lost in the mundane world too. "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there," Harry told himself, quoting L.P. Hartley, though he again he'd not be able to tell the source even under Veritaserum. "Especially when it really is a foreign country," he added with a chuckle.

Leaving the small bathroom and returning to the larger but still small bedroom, Harry get dressed, again wearing his new school robes, sans the actual robes, rather than the cast-offs he'd been wearing. He spent the next half out repacking his trunk, figuring out exactly where everything was in car he'd need it, and realizing that if he was going to bring as much as he wanted, not quite a full Yudkowski-style load, but still more than the original, canonical, Harry had planned, he'd be needing to get a bigger trunk.

So, after promising to bring Hedwig some bacon, Harry left his room to partake of some breakfast. The common room of the Leaky Cauldron, the actual public area of the public house that was the Leaky Cauldron, was busier than Harry remembered from the previous night, and busier than he remembered reading about as Richard when Harry first arrived. As he stepped down almost every pair of eyes, and a couple of single eyes from those less fortunate, were looking at him

"Hey," he said meekly with a wave of greeting.

It took five minutes of handshakes and "no, thank-you's" from Harry before he was left alone, relatively speaking at least, to eat his breakfast, which the Cauldron's proprietor, Tom, had given him free of charge, "in thanks". Harry guessed that it was less than the acknowledged thanks of 'killing' Tom Riddle ten years ago, and more for the unexpected uptick in the number of customers. Either way, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse, in the this case, a gift breakfast, in the mouth. He set aside half the bacon, two of the four rashers, for Hedwig, before assaulting the traditional English Breakfast set before him. The eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast he was familiar with from his previous twenty-eight years living in America, but the eleven year old was surprised at finding fried tomatoes, mushrooms, and tea served to him, though he tried it all in turn. After his experience with supper the previous night, he made sure to try everything, knowing that his stomach was smaller than he remembered. He got through about half the plate before he was too full to continue.

As he ate, Harry listened in on the surrounding conversations, or to mis-quote Samwise Gamgee, he was "dropping eaves". Three topics dominated the morning gossip around the Leaky Cauldron. The first was himself, and was evenly split between the strange change in his accent between today and yesterday, and if he'd be staying at the Cauldron until the Hogwarts Express. The second was the break-in at Gringotts, which, as expected, the goblins had claimed hadn't been a real break-in, since the vault was emptied hours earlier, when Hagrid had removed the Stone. The third was completely unexpected, and Harry had nearly spit out his tea when he'd first heard it.

Harry, five knuts poorer, was distracted has he made him way back up to his room to wait for Hagrid. he was distracted because, dueling for attention on the front page of the Daily Prophet next to the article about Quirrell's escapade at Gringotts, was an article who's headline said it all, "PETTIGREW NOT DEAD, FOUND IN DEVON!"