As it turned out, the changes went back way before the death of Harry's parents.

Tom Riddle had been a poor orphan wizard, one of those too entangled in the muggle world who was killed in the 'great revolt' in the late 60s. It had been one of the largest breaks in the decree for secrecy in memory, leading to the deaths of nearly a hundred witches and wizards, most of them students or recent graduates. The series of attacks had happened without warning, planned in such secrecy that the Ministry only found out about them after the fact.

By then, the damage was done. Nearly half the great families fled to America where the nomaj integration policies promised a more balanced coexistence. Britain's wizard populace was reduced drastically, by the deaths and mass exodus, and Hogwarts attendance plummeted to barely a hundred students per year at best.

Only the most extreme families stayed; those who believed in subjugating muggles instead of working with them, and those determined to maintain peaceful balance rather than fleeing and ignoring the issue.

It was into this climate that Lord Voldemort arose, immigrating from France and quickly becoming well-considered among the wealthy pureblood families who remained in Britain. His extreme stance on muggles made him divisive, but he was an incredibly skilled spellwright and quickly proved that, amid the wreckage of a scattered Ministry and uncertain wizarding populace, a hundred determined and united wizards could and would change the world.

The Ministry had its hands full covering up the increasingly violent intrusions of the Death Eaters into Muggle lives. Instead, it fell to light-aligned wizards like the Potters, Longbottom, Bones, and Prewett families to fight his ascent.

It was unclear where my informant's loyalties lay, he spoke so completely blandly, but I suspected that he agreed with Voldemort's agenda more than he let on.

When Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow on Halloween night 1981 he vanished. The resistance (I noticed no mention of the name 'Order of the Phoenix') spread celebration, proclaimed Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Ministry rounded up the loudest remaining troublemakers with clear relief. They'd been stretched too close to breaking for any comfort.

They seemed content to sweep the whole affair under the rug, only going after those (like Bellatrix) who too dramatically insisted on carrying on in their Lord's absence.

Then, four years later, Voldemort returned. He attacked Harry Potter at his guardians' house, leveled the whole street in the conflict. Residual magic indicated a prolonged and extremely one-sided duel, with accidental protection magic about the only thing Harry used.

However, the results were indisputable. Lord Voldemort fled to Albania, then was discovered dead some months later when his pet snake mauled him in his sleep. The snake was never found, but The Augurey had since placed a reward for its capture. She also offered fame, fortune, family security, and eternal life for the creation of a time-turner or other device allowing her to retrieve her father safely from the past before his death.

"Delphini?" I asked, when he mentioned the Augurey.

"Delphini Voldemort, yes. She's been trying to bring him back since she found out about her heritage her first year at Hogwarts. Without much success."

She wouldn't be waiting too much longer, if my suspicions were correct. Between the promise of a reward and vast changes rippling the timeline away from what I knew in canon, Delphini was almost certainly going to get her hands on an advanced time-turner within a few years.

That set my timeline for figuring what was going on and deciding what to do with myself fairly condensed.

"Can you direct me to Gringotts?" I asked.

"Why do you want to go there?"

"I want to see if the fanfiction community is right about them being nice and misunderstood creatures, and if they can help me get rich and powerful enough to do something worthwhile."

The man scoffed. "They aren't and they won't. Goblins are right tricky blighters. You pretend to be the lost heir of Slytherin, even if you can produce official Ministry documentation of it, and they still won't let you in the vault unless you have the key. The lost key, I might add."

"I smell a side-quest!" I declared. This would all go much better if I played along, right? And being terrified out of my wits always brought out my dramatic flair.

"I smell you," the man retorted blandly. "And you smell like you were lying dead in a gutter for several hours."

"It can't be that bad, compared to outside."

"I'm not comparing it to outside."

"So, any ideas where I can find the Lost Key of Slytherin?"

"No."

"Huh." If this were a video game, I'd go outside and ask the townspeople for help, but I was acutely aware of how utterly helpless I was. A general background of knowledge that wasn't actually accurate wouldn't be much help here for long.

And if being an author-insert character wasn't enough to give me any sort of special powers or abilities. . .

I closed my eyes, tried to connect with the flow of energy that cycled slowly from outside, through me, and back into the air. I imagined the nearby candlestick lifting from its table, floating toward me like levitation in Skyrim. Reached for it, believed in it, coaxed the magic within me to adhere to my will.

I opened my eyes. The candlestick hadn't moved, and I probably looked a complete fool.

No immediate wandless magic, then. I stomped my foot again, getting tired of this nonsense.

"So, goblins aren't useful, no way to claim what may be my inheritance?"

"Oh, if you're actually the heir of anything, you can inquire at the Ministry. They won't be able to grant access to any ancestral Gringotts vaults, but they can certainly arrange for your titles and any land to be passed to you."

I was beginning to worry about my chances of actually being the heir of anything though. If I was an author-insert. . . well, let's just say I'd never been particularly generous with my own characters. If I'd been inserted into a world as if I'd been the one writing it, I wouldn't put it past me to give me nothing at all, and watch me flounder and die uselessly without accomplishing a single plot-relevant thing.

No, it wouldn't be that bad. Surely. And everyone needs to practice writing pointlessly overpowered characters sometime, why couldn't it be now?

I desperately hoped this wouldn't turn out to be an experiment in writing pointlessly underpowered characters, in which case I was doomed.

"Alright, please direct me to the ministry."

"You don't want to ask anything more about the state of the world?" he asked, not sounding interested in the least.

"Yes, I'd love to, but right now my HIGHEST priority is to get a wand and find out if I'm going to be able to survive the next couple days. Can I come back another day?"

Considering that I'd just spent the past hour pestering him about commonly known rumors and history, he'd been astonishingly patient and helpful. I guess the fact that no other customers had come in helped; he could pass the time without losing out on anything.

The man shrugged, which I took for assent. He drew me a map, which went through Muggle London. I'd never been outside the States before, and only visited actual cities a handful of times even there.

"Thank you for your help," I said, not concealing my trepidation well. "Well, here I go."

Author's Notes:

Well, here we are. October, as promised, more of this ridiculous silly crazy weird dumb story of strangeness. Though I must admit, I've grown somewhat attached to the mixed-up AU I've developed for this.

I'll be posting chapters frequently over this month, very small chapters as this is a very small project. At the end of October, it'll be going inactive again for several months while I focus on writing new content (November) and editing and posting what I have (December-February) for my longer and more serious projects.