AN: So, this is the first chapter...obviously. I'm really grateful for the response to the prologue, and decided that I would continue on with it, even though I don't really know where it's going. Yes, this is a Time Travel fic, and no, it's not eventual Voldarry slash. Sorry to disappoint, but that isn't going to change.
December, 1927
When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself standing on an empty expanse of land, not a single grave in sight. Turning around, he took in the familiar trees and forest in the distance, and knew that despite there being no graveyard, he was still standing in the same place. He closed his eyes and sighed; it had worked. He hadn't been sure it would, and he had no idea how far back he'd gone, but he was willing to bet that it was far enough.
Looking sadly around the empty field, he let himself feel a moment of regret, before closing his eyes and disapparating away. When he next appeared, he was standing in the Leaky Cauldron, which looked surprisingly similar to how Harry was used to it looking. He felt a pang of sadness before pushing it down; it wouldn't do him any good, and he needed to move on if he ever wanted to get anything done. With a sigh and a last glance around the dingy pub, Harry moved on towards the barrier between the establishment and his destination: Diagon Alley. He tapped his wand on the stones and waited for the doorway to open.
As soon as he stepped past the wall, it became glaringly obvious that he was in a completely different day and age; the shops were all bright and full and overflowing with energy, and Harry's eyes were open wide with wonder. There were twice as many shops now than there were in his time, and despite remembering Diagon Alley pre-war time, Harry had to admit that this was Diagon Alley at its absolute best. Everywhere he looked, witches and wizards were smiling and laughing, walking amongst one another without the slightest hint of darkness in their eyes. He could see magical creatures, those more widely accepted by the magical world that it, wander about as well, and despite the fact that Harry was completely aware that Pureblood prejudice was stronger now than ever, he couldn't help but wish that the world had been like this when he had first been introduced to it.
He stepped into the throngs and continued on to Gringotts, where he would first deposit the money he had brought with him in a new vault. The bank itself was unchanged from his own time in the distant future, but the amount of noise and bustle within was far from the same. Instead of the goblins and wizarding citizens being somewhat subdued, their exchanges quiet and slow, everything was alive with noise and challenge and speed. He stopped just inside the door to take it all in for a moment, before moving towards the only available goblin he could see.
"Hullo, I'm looking to open a new vault and deposit some money." He smiled at the goblin and patted his money pouch softly.
"Alright, wand please, Mr-,"
Harry held out his wand and smiled. It was strange, people not knowing who he was, but he was sure he would get used to it. It was easier with the goblins, after all, they didn't really care about the wizards they were dealing with - just their gold. "Mr. Potter."
The goblin looked up sharply, its beady eyes glaring intensely, and Harry had the sudden thought that maybe he should have hid his identity. But that thought was immediately dismissed, because with the way the goblin was looking at him (almost as if he could see into Harry's soul) Harry knew that lying would have been the worst mistake possible.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. I see. Very well then, follow me." He nodded at Harry and turned around. Harry sighed and tucked his wand back into his robes before following. The goblin stopped to speak to a younger goblin, before turning back to Harry.
"This, Mr. Potter, is Griphook. He will help you complete the paperwork, before taking you to your new vault."
Harry stared for a moment, before blinking and trying to mask his surprise. "Uh, okay. Thank you." He tried to push thoughts of the goblin's future out of his head, knowing that it would only serve to confuse him.
The goblin nodded and left Harry with Griphook, who stood there with a grin on his face. "Come along, Mr. Potter. There is much to be done." Harry followed him into a room, and when Griphook gestured towards a chair, he sat down.
"Here is the contract you will have to sign, and I hope you find everything to your satisfaction. Just tap your wand against it when you are finished." Griphook handed over a roll of parchment, his eyes gleaming, and Harry smiled.
"Thank you," he said, taking a moment to look over the contract before signing his name at the bottom. He hesitated a moment, toying with the idea of putting a fake first name, before deciding that ultimately there wasn't any point. He signed his full name, Harry James Potter, tapped his wand gently against the paper, and handed the contract back.
Griphook glanced at the signature and nodded. He snapped his fingers and with a flash of white light, the contract vanished. In its place was now a key, and Griphook grinned. "This is the key to your new vault, Mr. Potter. Come with me." He led Harry through the bank and down into its deeper parts, before stopping at one of the carts and hopping in. Harry sighed and did the same; he had known this would be necessary, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He had hated these blasted cart rides ever since his first trip to Gringotts with Hagrid, and over the years that had never changed.
The ride was surprisingly short, and soon they both hopped out and turned towards the wall beside them. Griphook tapped it with his hand and a door appeared. He grinned and handed the key to Harry, before pointing at the lock with a long crooked finger. Harry pushed the key into the lock and twisted slowly. As soon as he had finished twisting, the door vanished and he was left holding the key out awkwardly. He flushed and pulled his arm back before shoving the key into his pocket.
"Thank you," He nodded at Griphook before stepping into his vault and glancing around. It wasn't very large, though he knew he didn't need an overtly large vault, and he found that he was satisfied. Pulling his pouch from his pocket, he opened it and turned it upside down, dumping his money onto the floor of the vault. Galleons and Sickles and Knuts flowed out from within, and he stood there patiently as they continued to flow out. He had been so grateful for Hermione's wizardspace extension charm, which she had taught him during their time on the run, and he had spent the better part of a day stuffing all of his vast fortune inside the tiny little bag.
Finally, the flow began to thin, and Harry shook the last few Galleons out of the pouch before placing his vault key inside it and putting it back in his pocket. He now took a step back, surveying the room and smiling with satisfaction. What had once been empty space, was now filled with gleaming gold, silver and bronze. This vault now held the vast majority of the Black and Potter fortunes from the future, and although Harry knew it wasn't as much as, say, the Malfoy fortune, it was still a considerable amount. He had left behind a sizable portion for his godson and Andromeda and the Weasley's, so that even in his absence they wouldn't find themselves struggling. If he were to admit it to himself, the real reason he had left behind so much was to assuage his guilt; he had left Teddy and Andromeda and the Weasley's behind, and knew that he would never forgive himself. They were the only family he really had, and despite knowing that his task would make their lives in the future happier, he still felt an overwhelming amount of guilt.
He turned to Griphook with a nod of satisfaction. "Yes, this will do nicely." He waved his wand to sort the money into piles, before summoning some of it and putting it back into his pouch. He would need to buy certain things to prepare for his task, and he didn't want to have to come back. He let Griphook lead him out and tried to calm his stomach on the cart ride back towards the entrance of the bank. When they were back in the hustle and bustle of the customers, Harry turned to smile one last time at the goblin. Griphook was looking at him intensely, his eyes narrowed slightly. Harry frowned and scratched his neck. "What? Is something wrong?"
Griphook only looked at him, consideringly. "Harry James Potter. I have never met you before, and yet you recognize me. Why?"
Harry spluttered and took a step back in alarm. "I- I don't know what-,"
Griphook grinned and shook his head. "Ah, but you do! I see it in your eyes." He took a small step forwards and lowered his voice. "Do you think I don't know Potter and Black gold when I see it? That I can't sense the magic?"
Now Harry was confused. Sense the magic? What? "Huh?"
The goblin grinned wider. "It should not be possible, I know, for you to have so much of both ancient and noble house fortunes, for there have been no break-ins, no stolen gold. But neither are these duplicates, Mr. Potter." He gestured towards Harry's money pouch and took a moment to think. "Ah yes, not stolen at all. You are an heir to both, I see." He paused once again, before his eyes gleamed even brighter and his teeth clacked together. "Or to be more precise, you will be an heir."
Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing mind. How on earth did the goblin figure that out? Was there any sense in denying it? Harry glanced down at Griphook and shuddered at the pointy teeth he could see. No, there probably wasn't. He thought quickly before saying, "You can't tell anyone, Griphook, but I know you in the future. And yes, I am the heir to both Potter and Black fortunes, far, far into the future." He straightened up and smiled benignly at the goblin who passed by them, giving them as suspicious look over the top of its spectacles. "I hope that won't be a problem?" He said more loudly, folding his arms and pasting a bored look on his face.
Griphook grinned. "No, Mr. Potter, that will not be a problem. Thank you for your business."
Harry nodded and grinned back, knowing that despite the strange transaction it had all been legitimate and that goblins didn't really concern themselves with where the gold came from, so long as Harry continued to bring them business. He let out a silent sigh of relief as he was leaving the bank. 'Thank Merlin that's over,' he thought to himself as he made his way down the steps and into the bustling crowd.
He had gone to a few shops in Diagon Alley, picking up the things he would need for his short stay at the Leaky Cauldron and purchasing a meal since he had missed breakfast. He had clothing and supplies, and had even thought about buying an owl. He had ultimately decided against it, at least for the moment, as an owl would only complicate things more and he didn't want another responsibility before completing his task. He had then entered London, apparating into an alley which stood near a rundown phonebooth. The air was frosty and the dark clouds above promised a cold evening, whether due to rain or snow nobody knew for sure.
Harry was standing outside the Ministry, wearing Muggle clothing and smiling at any Muggle who passed by, trying not to attract any unwanted attention to himself. His eyes were caught by the headline of one of the newspapers someone had left laying on the ground, and Harry stooped down to pick it up. His eyes scanned it quickly, but came to a stop when they saw the date in the top left corner. He stood there on the street, frozen, his hands clutching the Muggle newspaper tight enough to crumple it. He had known how far back in time he'd traveled. He had. But seeing it there, in front of him, somehow made it all the more real. The undisputable proof of this Muggle newspaper sent Harry's mind reeling, and it seemed like for the first time since he had arrived here six hours earlier, that he really understood what that meant.
'Holy shit,' he thought, his eyes still fixated on the date. 'Holy fucking shit.' He hadn't thought about it, not really. His only thought had been his task. But here he was, standing in front of the Ministry of Magic, 53 years before he was even supposed to be born.
Holy fucking shit.
After that shock, Harry ultimately decided that visiting and registering with the Ministry could wait; he had more important things to do, like trying to wrap his brain around it all while getting incredibly drunk. He booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron, trying his best to get used to the fact that now that he wasn't even technically in existence, nobody knew who he was and stranger still, nobody cared. It was honestly the first time that Harry had been in the wizarding world and no one had confronted him, looked at his scar and whispered behind his back. Here, for the first time, Harry Potter was a nobody.
Literally a nobody; he didn't even really exist yet. He wasn't registered with the Ministry - or any Ministry, for that matter - and as far as the Potter's knew, there wasn't anyone named Harry James Potter from their family. All in all, Harry found that there were an overwhelming number of reasons to get blindingly drunk.
And so he did. He purchased more than enough Firewhisky to last a month, and proceeded to drown himself with it. He drank and drank, trying to escape his thoughts, trying to forget the feeling of despair that had risen up when he had looked at the date and refused to leave once he had dropped the newspaper. His head was spinning, and not because he was wasted; it had finally hit him that there was no way he would ever be going back, no way he would ever see his friends or family (those left, anyways) ever again. Harry knew that what he was doing would ultimately mean that all of his friends and family would survive, but now that he was aware of just how distant he was from them all, he felt hopeless.
"It's 'opeless, it is," he slurred quietly, chugging back another tumbler of alcohol. Tom the barkeep watched him wearily as he served the only other customer left at the bar at this late hour of the night. "Bloody 'opeless."
The man sitting next to him turned in his seat unsteadily, his own glass of Firewhisky sloshing around. "Innit always?"
Harry was startled out of his drunken trance. He hadn't realised there was anyone listening to him - he wasn't sure if he had even been speaking out loud. He turned to look forlornly at the person beside him and frowned. "Yeah," he said sadly, tossing back his glass of Firewhisky. "Yeah."
Tom continued to refill their glasses, and the two men continued to chat in the way that drunk people do: that is, without sense or boundaries. Harry mourned his friends and then spoke of the war and his task, and the man nodded along as if he were listening and understanding, when all he really picked up was something about a Lord and then something about a goblin. This served to send him off on a tirade about why he was there, and it was Harry's turn to listen to a story which made just as little sense to him as his had made to the other man. And so Harry drowned himself in the Firewhisky until he was completely unaware of his surroundings. Both were kicked out of the bar by Tom not long after, and Harry patted the man on the back before wobbling his way to his room. He sat on the bed, trying to bend down to untie his shoes, but his fingers weren't really working and his head felt too heavy for such an onerous task. He sat back up and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his brain speeding along even as everything else seemed to slow down.
Suddenly doubts began to pop up in his mind; after all, if Dumbledore hadn't been able to defeat Tom Riddle, what made him think he would be able to do it? Just because he was the one who killed him in the future, didn't mean anything now! The prophecy hadn't even happened yet- would happen for another fifty or so years! What if he can't do it? What if he's not strong enough? What if everything he had done, everything he, his friends and his family had sacrificed was for nothing, and Tom Riddle rose up anyways? But his thoughts were cut off by a yawn, and suddenly his mind was reassuringly blank. He toppled onto his bed and closed his eyes, and let the pleasantness of being completely wasted carry him off into the first truly dreamless sleep he'd had in ages.
The next day Harry woke up with a splitting headache and a horrible taste in his mouth. He quickly ran to the toilet and vomited up last night's alcohol, before rinsing his mouth out with water and groaning. He spent a moment just resting his head against the cold porcelain of the sink, but new that he had to leave eventually. His doubts from the night before returned full force, but Harry shoved them down and ignored them. He showered and brushed his teeth and changed into fresh robes before he groaned and started to remove them. He had forgotten that he would be going to a Muggle area, and that he would be better received if he were wearing Muggle clothing instead. He glanced out the window and saw the snow covering the ground and decided that maybe he would transfigure one of his cloaks into a Muggle snow jacket, just to be safe. He threw on trousers and a jumper, making sure to ignore the fact that it didn't have a large knitted letter H on the front, before transfiguring a cloak into a jacket and throwing that on as well. He slipped his wand into his pocket and pushed his fringe off of his forehead.
'Alright,' he thought wearily. 'Let's do this.' He closed his eyes and thought back to his trip with Dumbledore in the Pensieve. Holding the image in his mind, he pulled his wand out and turned in a circle.
He apparated into an alleyway, making sure that no one had seen him, before exiting. Harry took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket, making sure his wand was secure in the pocket and that it wasn't visible; he didn't want to catch the attention of any Muggles in the area, after all. He glanced around, taking in the downtrodden shops and the blank faces of the people around him. They all looked poor and impoverished, as if the world had been harsh and life was out to get them. In fact, he recognized the looks on their faces as one he had seen in the mirror more and more often during his days with the Dursley's, and then during his time in the war. He knew that the world could be cruel and that life was unforgiving, and he couldn't help but feel empathy for those who knew the same. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a few deep breaths; he hadn't expected this journey to effect him so soon. He hadn't thought about what all of this would mean for him before deciding that it was the only way to go. Like a typical Gryffindor, he had rushed ahead into the journey without thought to the consequences or outcome. He hadn't even gotten to the reason why he was here, and already he could feel his heart bursting with emotion he didn't want to be feeling.
He stood there for a few more seconds, before opening his eyes and continuing on. He was determined, and there would be no stopping him, no matter what he was feeling at the moment. He was not a child any longer, and he would do what he came here to do. He would not fail, could not fail; not when there was so much at stake. He walked past a row of hedges, and felt some unnamed emotion when he finally caught sight of his destination.
The orphanage.
Harry looked at the building with a wary look in his eye. It wasn't in good shape, and in fact appeared more disheveled than even Dumbledore's pensieve memories had shown it to be. He could hear the voices of children, and straightened up. 'It doesn't matter how I feel, I have to do what is right.' he thought to himself, trying to be firm and ignoring the guilt he could sense rising up inside. 'I have to do what Dumbledore never thought to do.'
He pushed through the gates and walked up to the orphanage to knock on the door. As he stood there, waiting for someone to let him in, he listened to the children laughing from inside. He squashed his guilt and blocked his ears to the sound of laughter; he knew that if he didn't stop Tom now, then not only would he grow to become Lord Voldemort, but those happy children would grow up in constant terror of what he would do next. Harry had never discussed it with Dumbledore, but they were both well aware of the fact that Tom had begun his torture long before his rise as the Dark Lord. Though they had never seen it happening within the memories, Harry wasn't stupid; he could read between the lines.
And so he was here to do what Dumbledore never had the courage or the heart to do; stop Tom Riddle before he ever became Lord Voldemort.
AN: SO! There it is, the first chapter:) Tell me what you think, PM me and review! This chapter is really long, and I have high hopes that every chapter will be around this length. I can't promise regular updates (university is dragging me down) but I can promise I'll update more frequently if you review. Tell me what you want to see in this story, give me suggestions and what not, and I'll see what I can fit in:)