Author's Note:

This is both a HP reworking of "Back to the Future" themes, and a soft reboot/reworking of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Used with the permission of their original authors (except for "Back to the Future" of course). The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else. Full disclaimer in the Table of Contents.

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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.

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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly). Some crossover with: Naruto, Ranma ½, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Twilight, Lord of the Rings and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Primarily Harry Potter though.

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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "Lord of Caer Azkaban" by Rorschach's Blot.

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Chapter 2 – The Obligatory Visit to Gringotts and Obtaining a New Wand Chapter with Meta Title

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All genres are good. Except the boring ones."

– The Barber of Seville

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"I'm off for a while." Harry had thrown on a nondescript black cloak over his school uniform, and checked and double-checked that he had his wand and money pouch. He'd spent the previous three hours since dinner practising changing back and forth between his human and rat forms to get the hang of it. Fortunately, a good chunk of animagus magic depends on muscle memory and magical memory, which Peter's/his body had retained – thank Merlin – so it wasn't too jarring. The Marauders gave him odd looks for his behaviour, but were too absorbed with unpacking to pay it much mind.

"Where are going, Wormtail?" asked James, casually lounging on his bed as his wand danced. Puddlemere United posters and banners floated sedately to the ceiling and walls and attached themselves securely.

"To explore. See what's what," he feigned nonchalance.

"Have fun. Don't forget to tell us if you find anything interesting."

Sirius grinned, "Especially if that interesting thing happens to be the passwords for the other Houses, and ways of bypassing the wards on the girls' dorms."

Harry rolled his eyes and transformed into his rat body. He scurried out of the room and into the nearest crack in the wall. It shocked him just how small a space he could squeeze his body through. It was starting to become easier to access whatever bits of Peter's memories remained in his head. And while in rat form, the knowledge of the layout of the castle and the various shortcuts that a tiny mammal can use to get places was mostly instinctual. So, without much difficulty, Harry was able to navigate his way down to the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, and then out into Hogsmeade. Slipping back into human form, he pulled his hood up and apparated to Diagon Alley.

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The first of his errands was the most important. Scampering up to the giant white marble façade opposite the Diagon apparition point, he raised his fist and pounded on the sealed iron gates. He heard a latch click, then a viewing porthole swung open to reveal the hideous visage of a gnarled and scarred guardsgoblin.

"Begone hue-mon!" it rasped. "Can't you see that Gringotts is closed, you empty-headed trough-wiper! Now flee or I shall taunt you a second time!"

"Gringotts is always open, you son-of-a-troll," he snapped back at the cantankerous guard. With a bit of effort, the Black ring materialised on his finger. Waving it in the goblin's face he sneered, "Now go and fetch my Account Manager and tell him that Lord Black is here to see him, and that if he wishes to keep his intestines from lining my trunk, he'll be here five minutes ago!"

The metal cover slammed shut. Merlin, it's tiring dealing with goblins, he sighed to himself, trying to wish away his pounding headache. He hoped he could get to sleep soon. A little bit of the past goes a very long way. After eight hours in this place I feel like I've been here for eight years. After a wait of some minutes, a side door creaked open and the guard led Harry down a flight of stairs and through a dizzying labyrinth of corridors and office cubicles. Finally they reached an large, ornate door covered in Gobbledygook inscriptions. At the centre, in golden lettering, was the word 'Nilbog'. And underneath, 'Abandon All Hope, Thieves Who Enter Here'.

Without ceremony, the guard pushed the heavy door open and ushered Harry to a conference room and a very grouchy and frazzled goblin. Harry had clearly interrupted the creature's evening ritual, as it was bedecked in white pyjamas with the galleon-symbol embroidered all over them. A thick silk dressing-gown had been thrown over them, and a white nightcap complete with pom-pom adorned its head. Clutched in one had was stack of files and in the other was a dark green and beige mass, which the goblin hastily shoved into its mouth and swallowed.

Half man, half plant; a goblin's favourite food, the Lynx noted.

"Who dares enter the Kingdom of Nilbog and disturb me at this ungodly hour?" the creature snarled, dumping its papers onto the desk.

"I am the new Lord Black and Lord Potter," Harry said pompously, throwing back his hood grandly and brandishing his House Rings. Hoping his best impression of Draco Malfoy was convincing. "And I've come to review my Houses' holdings."

"That remains to be seen," sneered the goblin curtly. "Blood." It rudely thrust a rune-covered silver bowl at him. Wordlessly, Harry picked up the ritual knife and pricked a pinky, letting several drops of blood drip into the bowl. Snatching the bowl back, the goblin waved his hand over it and chanted softly for a while. Eventually the bowl began to glow, and a blank sheet of parchment on the table began to fill with indecipherable script. The goblin reviewed the contents while Harry made himself comfortable as he could on one of the unpolished granite chairs.

"So, Mr Peter Persimmony Pettigrew," the goblin drawled, putting down the paper and steepling its claws, "you have somehow attained to the Lordship of two Ancient and Noble Houses not ten hours ago. Most surprising, considering you're not related to either of them as far as we can tell. Even more surprising that the former Lords are still alive, and I'd venture to guess, unaware of this event."

"Most likely," Harry nodded. "Freak magical occurrence." That was his story and he was sticking to it.

"It must have been extremely freaky," the goblin agreed, "since there is no precedent whatsoever on record."

Harry shrugged. "Not my problem. Are there any issues with my access to the family vaults?" The goblin shook its head in the negative. "Then congratulations, you are now my Account Manager for both the Black and Potter fortunes, Mr …"

"You may call me Account Manager Goldenrod."

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Goldenrod eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"No reason," Harry replied hastily. "Leave the Potter vaults as is." He didn't want to interfere with his family's money. But the Black clan, he wouldn't feel the slightest bit of guilt running them into bankruptcy. "My business tonight relates to the Black family holdings only. I want all Black vaults sealed, keys recalled and access removed, except for myself alone. Are there any ongoing automatic payments?"

"Six withdrawal schedules have been authorised. Monthly basis."

"Cancel them."

"Will you be wishing to provide an income for your family members?" the goblin asked delicately (for a goblin). "Or would you rather they starve on the streets?"

Desperate people do stupid things, warned the Lynx.

"I suppose I have to leave them something," Harry conceded reluctantly. "How much is a sufficient amount?"

Goldenrod shrugged. "I've heard a family of hue-mons can survive on a galleon a week if properly motivated."

Harry did some quick calculations in his head. "Okay, each family member is authorised to draw … 200 galleons per month. That should be enough to live on and yet keep them out of (most) trouble."

"As you say," the goblin agreed neutrally. A white crystal on his desk suddenly pinged. "Your new master key. All others have been deactivated." He reached into his desk drawer and handed Harry his golden key. It was attached to a long, ornate chain that Harry threw around his neck, tucking the key out of sight.

"I'll also need one of your fancy automatically-filling money bags, since I won't have time to come back here constantly."

"The fee is five galleons a month. What daily drawing limit do you want?"

"500 galleons should be sufficient. Also, are there any mokeskin pouches in any of the vaults?" He thought he remembered that the one Hagrid gave him for his 17th birthday originally was a gift from James Potter.

"I wouldn't know."

"Well, why don't you find out?" Harry asked waspishly. This was taking too long, and he had places to do and people to be. "I also want you to organise having some people who've been expelled from the family reinstated as full members in good standing: Sirius Black, Andromeda Tonks and Nymphadora Tonks. Sirius Black is to be made the Black Heir again."

"You'll have to go to the Ministry for that," sneered Goldenrod.

"I'm sure that Gringotts can act as my agent with the bureaucracy for the right price."

Grumbling, the goblin reached into his drawer again and all but hurled the papers at him. "Sign here! And seal it with the House Ring there! The fee is 500 galleons."

"Highway robbery!" Harry objected, taking the appropriate actions. "But get it official within a week and you have a deal."

"I'm sure we can manage that," the goblin sniffed primly.

The door opened and another goblin entered, holding two items. "Your money pouch. A drop of blood on the lock is required to activate it," the grunt grunted. "Your artefact." Harry nodded in thanks and stowed the money pouch and the mokeskin pouch away.

"Your fees and charges have been deducted from the primary Black family vault," announced Goldenrod. "We will contact you regarding the disposition of your family members. If that is all, get out!"

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Leaving the bank, Harry made his way into Knockturn Alley, hurriedly scanning the signs adorning the storefronts. Finally he found what he was looking for. Stepping inside the store (which appeared to be lit by a giant glass jar of faeries sitting on the counter), he approached the wizened old proprietor who was scrutinising him with a single, gimlet eye. He was a short, rather stout man wearing the traditional tattered blacks and greys that the citizenry of Knockturn seemed to prefer.

"Excuse me," Harry said with a smile designed to put the man at ease, "I am in need of another wand and I'm told that your efforts are … acceptable."

Straightening his shoulders at the comment, "I do me best to live up to me Lordships' expectations," the man said sarcastically.

"I require a wand. One without the Ministry's Trace for underage magic, of course." There was no sense beating around the bush at this time of night.

"I don't sell to minors," the man replied sharply. "'Specially ones wantin' illegal products."

"I'm not a minor," Harry scowled. "I was brewing up a potion and I must have done something wrong because now I look like this and I can't find my wand."

"Oh," the man's condescending smirk turned into a look of sympathy. "What did they say at St Mungos?"

"That I'll start looking like myself again if I give it enough time," Harry smiled. "But until that happens, I need a new wand."

"Oh is that all? And one without a Trace no less?" smiled the man. "Nice try, lad, now why don't ye run along back to Hogwarts and snuggle up with yer teddy bears. The Alley be a dangerous place for younglings after dark. 'Specially one with such fat cheeks. I bet there be many a hag that would like to eat 'em!" The old crone cackled.

"What makes you think I'm a Hogwarts student?" Harry demanded.

"Ye mean aside from the Hogwarts uniform ye're wearing under that knut-store robe?"

Harry cursed himself silently.

That's what you get for thinking that a generic robe over a school uniform was in any way an effective disguise, sneered Nagini.

"Ahem, be that as it may, I still require a Trace-less wand."

"I told ye lad, I don't sell to minors!"

"My purse begs to differ," Harry retorted, giving his money pouch a shake. The man tried to resist the sound of gold jingling, but in the end the temptation proved too great.

"Well, why didn't ye say so?" he said in good cheer, grinning sinisterly. "Welcome to Snidely Whizzpopper's wand emporium. Only be the finest in bespoke wands for the truly discerning customer. None of that mass-produced garbage that Ollivander shills," the man scoffed, "chock full of power limiters and tracked with the Trace, so the Ministry can keep the little kiddies on a nice tight leash!" Harry wondered if this were true, or merely a marketing spiel to drum up business that the man said to everyone who came by. "Now, let's see what sort of shoddy twig Garrick's got ye flappin' around, Mr …?"

"Black."

Harry proffered his wand. Whizzpopper squinted at it critically. "Chestnut, 9¼ inches, dragon heartstring core. Too brittle. At least it's one of his not completely worthless creations." The man called Snidely pulled out a thick book and opened it to reveal page upon page of wood samples. "Touch each one, Mr Black, let yer magic flow through it and tell me what 'feels right'. After that, we'll know which wood to construct yer wand of."

At a small sliver of brown wood, the Gryffindor stopped. "This one."

"Yep, chestnut be the best match for you, who'da thought? Well, even a sundial be right twice a day," he muttered while closing the book and placing it back below the counter. "Now," handing Harry something that resembled one of Fred and George's fake wands, "wave that about and it'll adjust itself to yer preferred wand length and handle shape. Right, 11 inches. Now to pick out the runes and the core. Hold this," the stout man instructed, handing Harry a small rune-covered stone, "it will pick what yer magical affinity is, and which control and power runes should be carved into yer wand."

The second the stone hit Harry's hand it began to glow with a strange eldritch light. "What does this mean?" Harry asked the now pale wandmaker.

"All of them, it means that I be to carve all of the runes into yer wand." For the first time, Harry thought he detected a hint of curiosity or respect in Whizzpopper's gaze. Shaking himself, the decrepit man got back to business. "Last thing be the cores. The stone be sayin' that yer affinities are fire and air, so ye need a core that reflects that."

Fire and air? It was news to him. Harry shrugged to himself, he supposed it explained his love of flying, and his ease casting Incendio, and even Fiendfyre. He did seem to end up hanging around flying and fire-breathing creatures a lot, too: dragons, phoenixes, Dementors, threstrals, Veela, owls. He felt a twinge of loss as he thought of Hedwig. It would be a long time until his beloved friend would be born.

Snidely Whizzpopper consulted a grimy list of moth-eaten parchment. "Hmmm, let's see. Cores from fire creatures: cherufe scale, chimaera mane, cockatrice feather, hellhound fur, lampad hair, salamander scale. And for air creatures: djinn hair, gargoyle skin, lamassu feather, manticore horn, nue heartstring, thestral hair." He glanced over at Harry with his rheumy eyes. "Best core fit would be from a creature of both fire and air, which means: phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, eefrit feather, Veela hair or longma scale."

"Sounds like a plan – make me, say, five with each core."

"Five? That's 25 wands!" the man spluttered.

"Always good to have spares if I lose one or somebody snaps it," Harry said sensibly. He'd work out later which type of wand worked best with his new body and magical core. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well," he said slowly, "labour be no problem, I got plenty o' time on me hands. Biggest problem will be getting me hands on the cores; heartstring's fine, that's what dragon reserves be for … Chinese Fireball probably be the best match there … phoenix feathers be difficult, but I did see a couple floatin' around the Viennese markets; longma scales and Veela hair are rare though. Can't be makin' no promises about those. Tell ye what, 280 galleons and it be done."

"Only if you have them ready by the Christmas holidays. And you make them look identical to this one," he held out his current wand, "at least to the casual observer. And you'll throw in a dozen wand holsters to carry them in. Auror-grade, none of that woodoo hide shite; I don't want to blow my own arm off putting my wand away. Fair deal?"

"That it be."

"Yes it is," Harry corrected absentmindedly, his inner Otter taking over momentarily. If the man heard him, he gave no sign of it.

"The wood all be the same, so I be carving a glyph onto the base of the handles with the name of the core's source and a number, so ye know which one yer usin'," the man mumbled thoughtfully.

"Excellent," said Harry, putting down 100 gold pieces as a deposit, and grabbing the nearest wand holster of any quality. "When you're done, deliver them to Account Manager Goldenrod at Gringotts. Care of Mr Black. He'll get them to me."

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On his way back to Diagon, Harry noticed an odd sign. "Borgin & Burke's Bargain Basement Bin?" He stepped inside the tiny room. "This is part of Borgin & Burke's?" he skeptically asked the hag tending the till. B&B tended to cater to the wealthier, more upmarket clientele's dark and rare objects needs.

"This look like B&B to you?! We sell their surplus, stuff the rich toffs don't want."

Harry's eye was drawn to a whole trunk full of used wands, he picked up a few and tested them. One of them gave a few weak sparks. The rest had barely any response. Still, some may match the Marauders; it never hurt to have spares in case any of your friends had theirs snapped or stolen. "Ministry Trace on any of these?" he demanded.

The hag snorted, and then spat out the globule of mucus she'd almost swallowed. "'Course not, I look like a narc to you?"

"I wouldn't know, would I? It'd be a pretty stupid narc to dress the way I'd expect 'em to." He pointed to the trunk. "How much are they?"

"Twenty sickles per wand."

The Grim laughed derisively.

"Morgana's monocle they are – I'll give you a galleon for the whole trunk, and that's more than they're worth! Or the lot can just sit here and rot for the next few decades."

"Deal," she said sourly. Harry tossed her the coin and emptied the contents of the trunk into his mokeskin pouch, except for the wand that had worked for him. He left B&BBBB and made haste to get to his next task as quickly as possible.

After a few minutes of rapid progress, he glanced down one of the side streets to behold something truly magical: at first his eyes skipped over it, but then they fixed upon it and Harry's jaw dropped in shock when he saw a tantalizingly familiar logo on one of the shops down the spur road. "'Ghostbusters'," he read in awe. Then his eyes noticed the motto: "'We ain't afraid of no ghost'." That confirmed it. He had to go in! Hurrying over, he realised to his supreme disappointment that it was currently closed. Casting a feeble Tempus with his new second-hand wand, he discovered that it was close to 10pm. "Have to come visit you some other time," he whispered regretfully, and continued on his way.

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Harry could feel the wards reach out to his magic as he approached his former residence at Grimmauld Place, aggressive, vicious, oily, and unclean. Taking another few steps forward, the resistance dramatically increased. He could feel his heartrate increase and all the hairs on his body stand on end as the sharp invisible spines poked and prodded at him suspiciously.

Willing his Black Headship ring into existence on his finger, he held his hand aloft and announced, "You will grant entrance to Lord Black!" He could feel the wards shudder, and then tendrils of power lanced through him, evaluating and scrutinising. After several minutes, the resistance abruptly disappeared. It felt like a wall he was leaning against dematerialised; and he was at the front door glaring at the hideous knocker, which glared right back. Open, he thought, and the door swung open before him.

Striding rapidly through the house (every door opening obediently before him, and closing itself once he had passed), he swept into the main study of ex-Lord Orion Arcturus Black, the heretofore Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. The man in question sat behind his opulent desk, jaw open in shock as a complete stranger traipsed through the darkest, deadliest wards in Britain as if they were his own. Yet to his credit, he was able to master his emotions and immediately challenged the intruder.

"You test my undeserved patience by showing your face here, interloper. Do you possess a valid reason for why I shouldn't kill you where you stand?" he warned in deep baritone.

"Because," Harry replied, voice light and airy as he casually pulled an aged, leather bound journal from its shelf and glanced through it idly. "It would be the mark of a fool to attempt to assassinate the Lord of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House. Especially of the House you still, for the moment, belong to." Turning to face the older man, the stranger fixed him with a devious smirk. "Are you a fool, dear Orion?"

A brief whisper of warning from the wards, and Harry jerked to the side to avoid the blur of green that flew passed his head. Drawing on his rat-enhanced reflexes, Harry swiftly flicked his wand at Walburga Black, who had snuck up behind him through a hidden passage, while hurling the book with the other hand. The mistress of the house dodged the first two hexes but the book caught her in the face, distracting her enough for his third curse to catch her in the chest. The woman from whose womb Sirius came from, was flung across the room, smashing into one of the many bookcases which lined the walls of the study. Snatching her wand from the air, Harry rolled inelegantly to a more defensible position and observed the other person in the room.

Watching as his wife collapsed brokenly under an avalanche of priceless tomes, Orion remained still behind his large oaken desk, making no move to aid the woman who had given birth to his children. "Kreacher!" he commanded. The withered house elf appeared with a pop, ready to do murder on his master's behalf.

"Go away, Kreacher!" Harry snapped. Kreacher promptly vanished.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound filling the unnaturally silent office like the anticipating breath of a beast lurking just beyond its prey's field of vision, ready to pounce. "There was never any doubt that she was a fool."

"You have the gall to come here and waste my time spewing such lunacy, stranger?" What little emotion Orion did allow to surface in his crisp, cold voice, was that of undisguised disgust. "To claim the Black family magics have chosen you over so many more deserving individuals of our own blood, even in jest, is the act of a true fool. The day that you become the Lord Black is the day I would invite a filthy muggle to share a bed with my wife."

Summoning the journal and placing it back upon its shelf, its aged and cracked leather like sandpaper against his smooth, pampered hands, Harry retorted, "Perhaps you should get dear Walburga a potion for her head before you pick her out a nice dress, then. I hear they like floral designs." Holding up his right hand, Harry flipped the man a crude hand gesture, showcasing the dark-red, almost black garnet encircling his middle finger. The very same ring that Orion had worn for the past 30 years.

"If I were you, I'd make it an obligation of her new mundane lover that he take her out for a nice dinner before their slap and tickle." Harry was certain that the cruel smirk he wore stretched widely across his features at seeing the naturally tan bastard pale to levels that Peeves would be envious of. "You know, make her feel like the special lady we both know her to be." These two people had harmed and driven away the closest thing to a father figure he had ever had in his life.

Refused to give him pocket money too, the Grim egged him on. And forced him to babysit Narcissa every other week. The dastards.

"Let me ask you the question you asked me just moments ago: why shouldn't I kill you right now?" All traces of his twisted humour disappeared along with the rest of his features as his eyes began to shine with an otherworldly glow. Harry pushed out his magic, pumping every ounce of his power into a shimmering aura that surrounded him. It was an old trick of Riddle's, which he often used to inspire awe and terror in opponent and bootlicker alike.

Now project your aura through the wards, Nagini instructed.

Harry had no idea how to do so, but gave it his best shot. After a moment, he felt the wards respond, and begin to resonate with his magic, amplifying its effects throughout the entire house. The books on the shelves trembled and objects on the desk bounced around as tremors swept through room. Static electricity crackled around them, supercharging the air with its intimidating, yet enthralling mystical humming.

Orion watched in horrified disbelief as all but the teen's eyes disappeared under an inky-black, undulating shadow that steadily expanded through the room. Twin sapphires gazed through him, piercing his very soul with their intensity and utter loathing. Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of Orion's fearful pants as he struggled to draw breath in the suddenly stifling room.

"If you choose not to speak, I'll have to assume that you want to die," Harry commented into the darkness. He watched as Orion hastily removed his wand from his robes, desperately holding onto it like a lifeline.

"Because…" Orion took a shuddering breath, attempting to calm his frayed nerves. He may have been unnerved by the display of power, but he'd be damned if he'd allow the blasted upstart know as much. "Because I am the only one who can reveal all of the Black family magics to you."

"You may be hard pressed to believe it, but I can, in fact, read." Tone dry as he spoke, he strode slowly to the desk, making just enough noise as he moved to allow the man to know he was nearing. "It would only take me a small amount of time to learn our House's magics on my own. Time … which I have more than enough of."

Swallowing thickly, Orion gave a small, humourless chuckle. "There are magics only the head of our family is privy to …"

Harry watched in shocked amazement as across the surface of Orion's exposed skin appeared glowing grey symbols that looked as if they were powered by the man's own magic. Over the planes of his aged, yet handsome face, trailing down his neck and up his slightly muscled arms, disappearing into the openings of his expensive robes were words of magic and power, all from different and varying runic languages. It was a sight that established and universally accepted magical theory told Harry should be all but impossible.

"Without me," Orion breathed, his form now visible to the naked eye thanks to the glow coming from the runes etched across his body, "the magic which first garnered the name 'Black' the respect we possess today, will be lost to you and any future heads that succeed you."

Harry considered that. This was a secret of House Black that he hadn't uncovered in spite of all his explorations of the Black properties and library. He'd naively thought that the hidden library under the house was the full extent of their secrets – the stupidity of that smug conclusion was now smacking him in the face. With Voldemort on the loose and at the height of his power, could he really afford to pass up a single advantage? And risk the death and destruction that would continue were he to ignore a single potential shortcut?

The answer was obvious. Harry gradually drew his aura back. "Orion Black, you have yourself a deal. Your family's lives in exchange for your House's secrets."

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