Author's request: Would anyone be so kind as to offer their beta services to me?

Disclaimer: This remains fan fiction.

A Time of Change
Chapter 1
28th July 1975

He was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

"Ow."

He had landed.

A quiet chuckle sounded, amplified by the terrible acoustics of the small room and at what Harry grumpily suspected to be at his expense.

Almost reluctantly, the Boy-Who-Lived opened his eyes, vision giving rise to a view of the dusty ceiling from where he lay inelegantly sprawled on the floor. Muttering an oath, he attempted to sit up from where he had fallen. An attempt duly thwarted by the solidified potion which had stuck one arm to his side and the other to his waist.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up, emerald gaze meeting dark irises which were lit with what could only be described as mirth. Resisting the urge to duck his head, Harry made up for the embarrassed flushed that stained his cheeks with the upward arch of his eyebrows.

"Scourgify."

Instantly, the feeling of being strangled within the chokehold of a potion with murderous intent disappeared. A hand was thrust into his line of vision and the dark-haired youth accepted it gratefully, murmuring his thanks as he stood.

"You're most welcome."

If emotions could be read solely through one's tone, Harry was sure that the stranger's would spell out Amused with a capital 'A'.

"Edwin Saint," came the offered introduction accompanied by a light shake of the hand still caught in a firm, too warm grip.

"Harry Potter."

His companion did not reply, choosing instead to brush at his robes as Harry did the same, covertly sizing him up from beneath lowered lashes. The youth, he assumed, was his age but stood almost a head taller than him. Dirty blonde hair streaked generously with black was pulled back in a stub of a ponytail, with shorter strands framing a pair of eyes that were the darkest shade of blue Harry had ever seen. He had a lean physique and a confident posture that lent to the overall picture of muted wealth alongside well-fitted (stained) robes.

Spoilt brat.

Frowning as he noticed dark eyes raking over his own body, he snapped out a second cleansing charm that did away with most of the remaining stains on his school robes, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that tickled his senses.

"Where are we?" Harry finally ventured, digging his heels into what he found to be a cushioned floor. There was no door in sight, merely shelves of odd-looking objects and air vents around the perimeter of the ceiling.

Saint glanced around before shrugging, slim shoulders mapping out a motion of cheerful indifference. "Portkey room. Someone should be by soon to get us out." The teen was grinning again and Harry found that he could not dredge up enough energy to be annoyed at the boy's amazingly happy attitude, settling for a bland stare instead. He was, he noted inwardly and quite needlessly, in a decidedly bad mood.

"Tempus."

Silence.

"Tempus."

Saint had re-cast the spell with his own wand, but the fact that the figures remained the same did not escape both boys.

13:26
28 07 1975

Unsure, Harry glanced at the other teenager, exhaling in disbelief that was mirrored in Saint's expression.

This was not good.

"Ah, gentlemen. There you are." Visibly jumping at the interruption, both boys spun around to find that a door had both appeared and opened and a grizzled head of peppered hair had stuck itself into the room with eyes that peered intently at them through thick reading glasses. "Come along, before you're late for your testing. Don't want that to happen now, do we?"

Swinging the door open with a motioning hand, the wizard waved them forward and Harry did as he was told. There was a sinking feeling inside him that told him that something was very, very wrong. He glanced at his companion out the corner of his eye, noting his unnaturally pale complexion and the bottom lip caught between his teeth. He could almost hear the cogs turning inside Saint's head.

No, not good at all.

And to think, the school term had not even started.

Shadowed eyes eyed the hourglass in front of the examination hall even as fingers reached up to brush aside his fringe. Edwin Saint sighed, turning a weary gaze back to his finished essay, quill held loosely in his left hand. Charms had always been his favourite subject hands down, because he never had to study as hard for it as he had to for Herbology or anything else for that matter.

They still had 20 minutes left before the scratching of quills against parchment was called to a halt and he had to resist the urge to tilt his head to the left in order to eye the wizarding world's teenaged saviour who continued to scratch away at the yellowed parchment.

He wondered about the potion which Callaghway, the damnable incompetent idiot, had somehow managed to ruin, cursing the pansy ass boy for his knack for screwing things up. All Saint had wanted to do was to finish his examinations, go back home to his uncles and enjoy what was left of his summer before his results came out and he was finally bundled off to Hogwarts or Durmstrang. Sure, he was happy at home with his family but being home-schooled was probably the most boring environment any child could possibly grow up in.

He also wondered about the Boy-Who-Lived, who seemed to have a disposition of a menopausing cow, with his scarred forehead perpetually lined and his mouth twisted with a scowl. His eyes were interesting, though. Mesmerizing killing-curse-green that looked as old as his Uncle Charles'. Interesting, but intimidating. Rather fitting for someone who was pre-determined to off You-Know-Who, he supposed.

But most of all, he wondered about how in Circe's name did the thrice cursed Lord Callaghway's heir manage to screw up a potion so badly that he managed to land Edwin 20 years in the past. With Harry "ohmygod" Potter, to boot.

Not that he had anything against the boy, of course.

His guardian was going to flip, though. Oh, yes siree.

After being unceremoniously dumped to the ground of the portkey room, disbelief had given way to stunned acceptance when both him and Potter had been ushered into the exam hall where everything was odd. The examination paper was dated quite clearly 'June 1975', the private candidates dressed the way his uncles did as a teenager (ugh) and last but not least, Lord Callaghway himself, the ugly old brute was seated just two seats before him and he would swear on his parents' tombs that he would recognize the old bugger even if he were turned to ash.

Disconcerting was an understatement. Hell, it made his head spin and his heart race like Krum's firebolt.

Saint had traded glances with Potter, taking what comfort he could in that he was not alone in this… accident. Neither had spoken up to voice their troubles, Saint because he did not want to create a scene until he knew precisely what on earth was going on. Potter, too, seemed content to let it go for the moment and had cut Edwin off with a terse "we'll talk later," in between their Potions and Charms theory papers.

Heaving another heavy sigh, he looked to the left in time to catch said saviour's troubled glance before the examiner tapped his wand against the magnified hourglass.

"Time's up, ladies and gentlemen. Quills down."

Harry leaned against the wall outside the examination hall, frayed nerves wearing thinner by the second as he waited for Saint to exit. A suffocating feeling had settled on his chest and the more he thought about how unfair the fates were on him for dumping him once more in the hands of another disaster, the more frustration and pain he felt. It certainly did not help that his blonde-haired companion was taking his time to exit the hall.

An arm caught his and Harry reacted reflexively, wrenching away from the firm grip and bringing his wand up to poke his assaulter in between the eyes.

Edwin Saint eyed him down the length of his wand, his own digging fiercely into Harry's stomach.

"Touché," the blue-eyed youth smirked, pulling back his wand and pushing away Harry's. He inclined his head in a sharp nod, an apology for startling him present in his slightly guarded expression. Accepting it with an unsure nod of his own, the dark-haired wizard allowed Saint to lead him out of the building as a tense silence hung between them like a sheet hung out to dry.

He much preferred the smiling dolt from before.

Parents were waiting for their children in the reception alongside several butlers, maids and chauffeurs. Harry wondered briefly who would have waited for Saint if they were still in their own time. He knew he would have headed home alone, huddling in the night bus and praying that the driver did not run them into a river.

He greeted the open air with an appreciative lift of his lips, head upturned to the clear sky as wind teased the ends of his unruly mop of hair.

"So what now?" He asked, stepping out of the telephone booth to the Ministry of Magical Education branch, slipping a hand into his pocket to check for his shrunken trunk – he had not dared risk his belongings at the Dursley's when he left to take his examinations.

"I don't know," the blond admitted, frustration seeping into his expressive tone. Dark blue eyes bore worry that was written in Harry's own jade-hued eyes. Fingers tugged off the band keeping Saint's hair in place as the teen rolled his neck and shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles. "Let's just find dinner and a place to settle for the night. We have to come back here for Transfiguration and Defense tomorrow, after all. Okay?"

"With no money?"

"I have enough in muggle pounds to last the night, I think."

"… 'kay."

Tensing as Saint laid a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring squeeze, Harry could only offer a sheepish grin when his newfound acquaintance shot him an odd look.

"Thanks."

Casting a fairly amused glance in the direction of the blonde, Harry shook his head as he dropped his tired self down onto the bed. The arrogant little prick had firmly declined putting them up in a cheap wizarding inn, steering them towards a muggle hotel which offered cleaner rooms and better amenities instead.

And he still looked unhappy.

Dinner had proven to be satisfying, the platter of fish and chips still warm in his contented belly. The conversation, too, had been very enlightening and he found that Edwin Saint was an incredibly entertaining sarcastic spoilt brat with a tongue and wit as sharp as a blade.

In that one hour taken to consume their meal, with Saint making derogatory remarks about his eating habits, they had gone over every possible mistake that came to mind that the boy, Callaghway, had made to his potion. They had confirmed the fact that they were, indeed and in fact, 20 years into the past (as ridiculous as it sounded) and had lapsed into thoughtful silences, both boys lost within the whirlwind of their own thoughts.

Now, however, he merely tugged out his trunk, which had been shrunk by Remus and enlarged it with a finger to the latch.

Remus.

Fiercely shaking his head to rid himself of nostalgia, Harry merely sighed and flipped open his trunk, promptly falling back on his ass when a floating envelop rose up to hover above his trunk. 'Harry Potter', it read in green ink, the curved script looking as though it had been printed from a computer.

Tentatively reaching out, he plucked it from the air and flipped it around to examine it. It was a plain parchment-made envelope, save for his name written in front, but it was thick and heavy and he could just make out a solid object inside of it. The wax that held the envelope close was imprinted with an odd bow-like crest.

"Potter?"

Turning to look at his companion, he lifted the envelope for the blonde's inspection. "It was in my trunk," he explained, allowing Saint to take it from his grasp. An unreadable expression had crept up onto the teenager's fair features as he studied the wax seal.

"You should open it." Abruptly thrusting it back into Harry's face, he sat down on the bed and toed off his shoes, letting out a satisfied groan as he flung an arm over his eyes and settled in for a nap.

Raising his brows at the blatant dismissal, Harry eyed the envelope once more before carefully breaking the seal and drawing out the parchment. His eyebrows attempted to seek further refuge under his fringe when two golden keys fell out with it, landing on the carpeted floor with a small 'thump'. Gringotts, the bespectacled boy noted, fingering the metal pieces as he unfolded the letter.

Harry,

The following requires certain suspensions of beliefs for the moment although I suppose I must commend you on your ability to handle the situation thus far. Words alone cannot calm the fear and uncertainty in your heart, but I know that in time you will learn to accept certain aspects of life as well as certain people around you.

It will not be easy. After all, when has it ever been for you? You, however, have to persevere no matter the situation and no matter the cost – you cannot give up and you know it. But rest safe in the knowledge that you will not make this journey into the past alone. Edwin Saint is only the first of many.

This trip into the past is no accident, save perhaps on the part of Callaghway's firstborn. Curse the fates all you like, I admit it does relieve the tension somewhat. What I have to tell you right now, is that you are an integral part of your own past, Harry. I will try to mince my words.

Firstly, you will no longer be known as Harry Potter. Embrace the anonymity of your identity now and henceforth call yourself Charles Hunter. Your scar holds no meaning to anyone of this time and the 'Potter' surname belongs only to three – James Potter and his parents. This is a perfectly legitimate and respectable name for the 'halfblood' that you are, although ask not how it came about for I do not know.

Secondly, complete your O.W.L examinations to the best of your abilities. Arrangements have been made for your attendance at Hogwarts together with Saint, assuming that you pass your OWLs, of course. Use the time wisely, because I assure you the prophecy is still at play now. Study hard and have some fun – I am of the belief that you deserve it very much indeed.

Thirdly, the Gringotts keys belong to both you and Saint. He will know which is his. There is enough in the Hunter and Saint vaults for each of you to make it through the following 20 years and beyond.

Fourthly, if you would be so kind as to hand the attached envelope to Saint. In it is valuable information for his eyes as well as his own personal set of instructions that will indubitably aid you in times to come.

Lastly, do not forget that you are not alone and that you will be loved and safe. You are still you despite the name you use and the place you stay. You will not lose your lion's pride, nor your snake's cunning. You and only you choose who you want to be. Trust me. Trust yourself.

I remain in sentimental drivel,
Charles Hunter.

25th July 1995