Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is fanfiction. No profit is being made.

A/N: This is my attempt at the old time travel cliche. I wanted to write something that was at once very like every other time travel fic with the fix-it theme, but also hopefully different. I hope you enjoy reading it! :)

Chapter One:

Harry stepped into Grimmauld Place. It had been five days since the bloody battle of the second wizarding war against Voldemort, and its anti-climatic finale, and Harry was extremely tired. The press had been hounding him, the people were praising him, and the dead were haunting his dreams. So here Harry was, hiding from it all.

The hallway that was as dark and dusty as it had ever been. Curiously, the sight filled him with relief. Something, at least, was untouched by the war. Stepping into the dank house, he could almost pretend that the past few years had just been a vague nightmare. That Sirius would round the corner at any moment, with his manic grin and bark-like laughter...

Harry mentally shook himself, and crept past the tattered veil behind which the portrait of Walburga Black slept. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her tirades, especially not today. Yesterday, the memorial for the fallen had been held at Hogwarts. The final battle had left the parts of the castle completely destroyed. It had never seemed emptier than when thousands had gathered in the grounds to pay their respects to those who had lost their lives. Harry, along with Hermione, Neville and Luna, had chosen the seats at the very back, while Kingsley, the interim Minister of Magic had made his speech. They had been silent the entire time. Harry had seen the Weasley family, with Mrs. Weasley sobbing continuously, in the front rows. Ron had shot him a strained smile, before settling beside George. George had not looked up even once.

Harry had slipped out before anyone else. Hermione was going to kill him for making her deal with the press without him.

Harry cracked open the door to the kitchen, coughing as a cloud of dust blew outward. It looked like Kreacher had not been here in weeks, if not months. The last Harry had seen him had been in the battle, when Kreacher had charged through the castle with the other elves, the fake locket swinging around his neck.

Harry looked through the pantry, hoping to find the bottle of Firewhiskey he knew Sirius had kept stashed somewhere, but all he found was a very fat spider that scuttled out of sight in the light. Sighing in defeat, he was about to turn back when something glinted at the corner of the shelf. Turning to look, Harry found what looked to be a gilded edge buried under a pile of rags. As he shifted the rags to the side, he was met with a heavy leather-bound book with gilded edges. There was no title, just a weird squarish golden symbol embossed into the cover. The book looked pretty old and the leather was cracked in places. Despite this, there was something entirely alien about it.

Now, Harry was no stranger to leather-bound books appearing in innocuous places. After all, he'd had to destroy one when it turned out that it was the dark lord's soul instead. So you'd think he'd be extra careful around books.

(Or so he'd tried to explain to Hermione back in fifth year, as she bodily dragged him to the library to study for OWLs. She had remained deeply sceptical.)

And Harry being Harry, did an extra stupid thing. He picked the book up.

Nothing whatsoever happened. Harry examined the cover more closely. The symbol he'd thought to be a square was actually a diamond with an eye in the middle of it. Harry flipped the book open. Nothing continued to happen. The same symbol was printed on the first page, along with the author's name.

"Tim E. Wimey," Harry read out loud. He wondered if he had found another Divination book. (The Blacks were seemingly as obsessed with Divination as they were with the dark arts. Back in fifth year, when they had tried to clean this place they had found at least a dozen Divination books. Harry had taken great pleasure in throwing them in the trash. It was, he told a conflicted Hermione and a laughing Ron, quite therapeutic.)

The table of contents contained lots of entries that made no sense to Harry. "The Arithmancy of God Equation, The Bi-Polar Gaspalt's Complex, The Peculiar Interferences of The Quantum Traveller...what the hell?" Harry read as he walked back to the kitchen. It might as well have been written in French, for all Harry understood. Throwing the book on the kitchen table in disgust, Harry walked out, determined to buy that Firewhiskey that he had promised himself. It was only later in the evening when Harry returned from The Hog's Head, happily inebriated that he caught sight of the weird book again where it lay on the dusty kitchen table. With several glasses of Firewhiskey in him, it made sense for him to spend his evening reading advanced Arithmancy concepts that made him giggle drunkenly. So that is exactly what he did.

When Harry woke up, someone was poking him in the side. "Five mo minughs, Ron," he mumbled and rolled over, only to almost fall out of his chair. A tawny owl fluttered around his head at the movement, and then settled a bit further away on the table, glaring at him.

"Shoo!" Harry muttered as he lifted his head, grimacing as a page stuck to his cheek. Did he fall asleep on a bloody book? Hermione would be proud. The look the owl gave him could have curdled milk. "How did you even get in here? This place is under the Fidelius!" The snotty owl gave him a contemptuous look that would have made Snape proud and held out a leg to which a letter was attached.

"Merlin, my head," Harry lamented as he relieved the owl of its burden. The owl hooted and then flew out the kitchen door immediately. Head pounding, Harry glanced at the letter, saw Hermione's prim handwriting, and pushed the letter away. He couldn't deal with Hermione first thing in the morning, that too with a hangover.

His gaze fell instead on the book. He had apparently been reading a chapter titled "28: Time Travel And Its Consequent Fluidity".

Wait, what?

Suddenly more awake, Harry carefully read the chapter. And again. And again. By the time he had finished reading, it was mid-afternoon and his stomach was gurgling loudly.

Still, Harry felt a rush of excitement. If he could only do what this book told him to do, then he could have everyone back. He could- Harry felt lightheaded- he could have Sirius back.

Jumping into sudden action, Harry grabbed the book and ran out of the kitchen. A reckless sort of daring had seized him. If only he could find the stone again. And he was pretty sure he could; you didn't easily forget the time that you walked to a crazy dark lord, hoping he would murder you.

As Harry thundered down the stairs, he barely noticed Mrs. Black's shrieking, but he did come to an abrupt halt when the main door flew open before he could reach it, and a figure stepped through.

He must have looked a little crazy- what with the dusty clothes and hair that looked even more unmanageable than normal, not to mention the frenzied look in his eyes- for Hermione immediately stopped in the entryway warily, her mouth agape.

"Harry?"

"— FILTH! SULLYING THE HOUSE—"

"Er, hey Hermione!" He had to shout to be heard over the portrait's shrieking, which did not help him look less panicked.

The thing was, Harry was pretty panicked. Hermione was the last person he wanted to meet right now, because she was the only one who could stop him. And he really didn't want her seeing this book under any circumstances. He remembered vividly what she'd said back in their third year.

'Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry.'

But they had messed with time, hadn't they? And they had saved Sirius then- maybe, maybe they could save him again. But Hermione wouldn't understand that. She would want him to think logically. And he really was in no mood to do so.

Harry quickly hid the book behind his back and tried to look inconspicuous.

"—MUDBLOOD—"

Hermione had apparently had enough and quickly spelled the curtains shut with a forceful bang. She turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry promised himself that he wouldn't break. He could do this himself. He really didn't need Hermione, did he? So what if he had no idea about Arithmancy? He could learn.

"Where have you been for the past two days, Harry?" Hermione was acting all concerned, which was clearly a ruse to soften him. "You haven't returned any of our letters." Harry remained still. He wouldn't break. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And what are you hiding behind your back right now?" She asked slowly. It was the same tone that she used when she knew he was Up To Something.

Harry broke.

Harry had been right in assuming Hermione wouldn't understand. It had been half an hour since Hermione had stepped into Grimmauld Place, and he was back in the kitchen again, but he had Hermione and her supremely pessimistic nature with him this time. It was making the bleak kitchen seem even more depressing.

"—and you could end up making the world even worse! But that's just the best case scenario! We have no idea whether this will even work! It's far more likely that this was written by a sadistic wizard, hoping someone would be stupid enough to try this! Not to mention you found this in the pantry, Harry, the pantry. Who even keeps books in the pantry?"

Harry groaned and put his head on the table with a thump.

Hermione stopped her pacing abruptly, her chest heaving. "Are you even listening to me, Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione, I could destroy the space-time continuum, kill my past self, cause a paradox, kill my present self etc. etc. Oh and I found the book in the pantry which somehow makes it evil. Did I miss anything?"

"I'm not joking, Harry!"

"I know, I know, Hermione." Harry lifted his head to stare beseechingly at his far too rational best friend. He wished he had enlisted Luna's help instead. "Listen, you said the book's author probably wants to kill me, am I right?"

"Not you specifically-"

"But if he wanted whoever did this spell to die," Harry interrupted, "wouldn't he have made it easier? I mean, where would anyone even have gotten the Resurrection Stone? Everyone thought it was a myth!"

Instead of admitting defeat like Harry had been hoping, Hermione's expression grew even more pensive. "You're right." Harry sighed in relief. "It's clearly a ruse to kill you." "Wait- what?" "There are still many Death Eaters on the run. Anyone could have planted that book, knowing you wouldn't be able to resist."

Harry just stared in disbelief. "Hermione, the house is under Fidelius!" He conveniently didn't mention how the bloody owl had been able to get in. Hermione didn't need any more incentive to be distrustful.

"Still—" Hermione persisted.

"Why can't you just accept that maybe this is real?" Harry said quietly.

Hermione stilled and finally sat down opposite him. There was an expression of deep sympathy on her face. It was too close to pity to make him feel comfortable. Harry averted his gaze and stared stonily at the scratches on the surface of the table.

Harry heard Hermione exhale noisily and mutter, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Harry looked up hopefully, trying his best to look charming. It was wasted on Hermione, though, who had her head in her hands.

"Fine, how about this? We research," Hermione looked up to glare meaningfully at the last word and caught his attempt at a charming expression. "Properly. Everything that we can find about this supposed spell and the author. And then I'll think about it." Her finger shook menacingly in his direction until he nodded. "And stop looking at me like that, Harry. You look like a demented owl."

Harry beamed.

A/N: Please leave your thoughts in a review :)

I'll try to update this story every two weeks.