Author's Note: No, I have not abandoned this story. I simply do not have the time to update frequently at the moment. Things seem to be dieing down, so hopefully I will have more time soon. Plus, summer vacation is quickly approaching and then I willbe able to update whenever I want.

Much thanks to Xirleb70 for beta-ing.

Chapter Fourteen

Previous Chapter: Silently, Harry sidled in to his normal seat at the Slytherin table. Nobody reacted to his arrival; they were all staring up at the Head table with wonderment. Harry was puzzled until he followed their gazes.

Seated next to the Headmaster was a small boy, looking at the enchanted ceiling in giddy amazement. He had scraggly black hair and bright, innocent green eyes. Harry's heart sank the moment he laid eyes on him.

Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"

"He looks so small."

"Can you see his scar?"

Harry sat in a daze, staring up at himself and flashing back to the moment he first set foot into Hogwarts. Well, said a snide voice in the back of his head,sounding surprisingly reasonable despite the cloudy thoughts filling his head, technically it was your second time at Hogwarts, now wasn't it? Harry resisted the urge to shake his head violently in an attempt to dislodge the voice. How else would you fight an invisible opponent that was inside your-?

Alright, stay on track, Harry. You need to get a grip on yourself. Play it cool.

"Can you believe it?" gushed Becker. "The real Harry Potter is sitting right there!"

Harry took a controlled breath. "What is he doing here?" he asked in a slightly strangled voice. Harry mentally slapped himself. Way to sound calm, Potter.

Jabez shot him a strange look as he noted his tone. "Isn't it obvious?" He dropped his voice until it was nearly inaudible. "With You-Know-Who running around, it can't be safe for him to stay with the Muggles, now can it?"

When has that ever kept them from leaving me there before? Harry thought cynically, biting back the sneer that threatened to overtake his face.

"I think they may have already gotten to him there," whispered Lelia conspiringly. Harry snapped his neck over to look at her.

"What do you mean?" asked Lex.

"Well," she continued, her voice going even softer, "I was in the entry hall when they brought him in. He had am ugly bruise across the side of his face. The Headmaster took him straight up to Madame Pomphrey."

"Poor kid," said Becker sympathetically. "It must be horrible having to face Death Eaters like that."

Harry glanced up at his younger self, before staring steadfastly at the table. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "Poor kid."

The rest of the day staggered on, digging its heels into the dirt and protesting the trip the whole way. Tension filled the air of the school as everyone went on their guard; no one knew who to trust or who to fear. The unwelcome news that the Dark Lord had returned forced everyone to be suspicious.

Harry sat in the Slytherin Common room, legs slung over the edge of the chair. His Charms book rested in his lap, but he wasn't studying; he instead focused intently upon the dancing flames in the fire, a look of utter concentration on his face.

His contemplation was broken when Lelia noisily stormed into the common room.

"I cannot believe it!" She said with her teeth gritted together. Everyone in the common room immediately gave her their full attention.

"What's going on?" someone called out and the room quieted down to hear her answer.

She flopped down onto a couch and slouched into the cushions wearily. "I was supposed to be meeting Nymphadora Tonks up in the library to copy the Transfiguration notes I missed the other day. We were sitting over by the window…

"The incantation needs a specific flick of the wrist to be successful," Tonks added as Lelia diligently copy down the work. "First, you must-"

"Shhh!" said Lelia suddenly. "Did you hear that?" A slight sniffling was coming from behind the bookcase to their right. With a mischievous grin on her face, Tonks tiptoed over to the self and shifted some of the books for a better view.

Professor McGonagall had her arm wrapped around a… sobbing Professor Sprout?

"It's going to be alright, Pomona," comforted McGonagall gently. "He's out of there."

"I know," she cried, "but I can't believe we left him there, for all these years. Who knows what they've done to him?"

"Pom-"

"And how dare they! Their own flesh and blood! If Lily and James knew…"

"Harry's a strong boy. He's going to get through this," McGonagall explained patiently, but her own hands clenched into tight fists as Sprout spoke. "He's here now, where he will be taken care of."

"Bloody Muggles. If I get my hands on them, I'll give them ten times worse than what they've done to Harry."

"You and me both."

Slowly, the girls pulled back from the bookshelf, identical looks of shock etched in their faces.

"Are you saying," Lex began slowly, a look of anger in his eyes, "that Harry Potter's relatives abused him?"

Lelia nodded sadly. "That's where the bruise came from. The one I saw on his face."

"Those nasty bleedin' Muggles!" shouted a seventh year boy who Harry knew was prone to soap-box speeches. "Do you see what they do? One of the most powerful wizards in our world and they treat him like dirt! Acts like this are what make me think that maybe we should be wiping them out!" He got several cheers of agreement.

Harry continued to stare into the fire, unmoved by the calamity around him.

News of what had happened to Harry at the hands of the Dursley's quickly spread throughout the school and was common knowledge by the next morning. The young boy received looks of pity wherever he went and was now accompanied by a tenacious Nymphadora Tonks, who insisted on watching over him and who attempted hexes on people who got too close. Rumors of the horrors Harry had endured were growing almost as fanciful as the speculation of what the Dark Lord was up to. He hadn't made a move since the attack on the Muggle village and the silence was taking its toll on the country's nerves.

And the elder Harry Potter was heartily sick of 1986.

He trudged down the corridor sullenly, not wanting to attend dinner where he knew everyone would be discussing his two least favorite subjects: Voldemort and himself. He pondered doing more research on how to escape this horrible decade, but he had no idea where to even begin looking. Maybe it would be better to leave the research to Remus –

An arm reached out from the side of the hallway and pulled him into an empty classroom. Immediately, he raised his wand at his captor, a curse on his tongue.

Professor Snape gazed skeptically back at him. "Put that away, Harrison, before you poke someone's eye out and end up in even more trouble."

"I'm so sorry," Harry intoned sarcastically, "that I react badly to people pulling me into dark class– did you say more trouble?" Snape nodded. "I hadn't been aware that I was in any trouble to begin with."

"Don't be idiotic, Harrison. You're a Slytherin, show some intelligence. I know Moody already confronted you once."

Harry's heartbeat quickened slightly, but outwardly he only raised an eyebrow. "Could you please get to your point?"

"My point," Snape growled, "is that Moody knows exactly what I know about you: that you were aware of the Dark Lord's return before any of us. Do you deny that?"

Harry gazed at him in stony silence.

"I could say that I do not wish to know how you knew this information, but that would be a lie. However, we do not have the time for explanations. Moody got tired of waiting for you to confess your involvement in the situation and has decided to report his suspicions to the Minister."

"When?" he asked, slightly panicky.

"Right now." Snape fixed him with a look that plainly told him if he had anything to do with Voldemort's activities, he'd better admit to it now. Harry opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything, that would help–

"Would Zachary Harrison please report to the Great Hall? Now," a voice boomed imperiously through the halls. Harry blanched.

"Fuck."

"A word of advice," Snape said softly, an uncharacteristic look of compassion in his eyes. "The Wizarding world has faced some horrifying revelations in the past few days. They are out looking for blood. That crest on your robe has already convicted you in most of their eyes. So you better have a damn good explanation."

Harry took a deep breath as he stood outside the imposing doors of the Great Hall. He steeled his resolve, gaining confidence from the knowledge that he was not at fault, and entered.

The room that had given him a feeling of home on many occasions now looked dark and foreboding. The entire population of Hogwarts stared back on him; some with looks of revulsions on their faces, some simply curious. Remus shot him a feeble, but almost encouraging smile from his seat.

Harry set his features into an innocent, quizzical expression. "Is there something you wanted, Headmaster?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, Mr. Harrison," he began gravely. "There are some concerns that need to be discussed with you. Please, have a seat." He indicated a small chair placed directly in front of the Head Table, vaguely reminiscent of the Wizengamot. Harry ambled his way over to the solitary chair. It looked as lonely as he felt at the moment.

Harry slowly took at seat. "Am I in trouble, Headmaster?"

"No, no, my boy, we are simply clearing up some-"

"Enough with the pleasantries, Albus," Crouch barked. He glared at Harry menacingly, but despite the venom in the gaze he was faced with, the teen gazed back impassively. "What do you know about the return of You-Know-Who?"

"I don't," Harry answered plainly.

"You don't what?" Crouch shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

"I don't know who."

Crouch growled. "Don't play games with me, Harrison. You know who I am talking about."

"Who are you talking about?" Harry inquired mildly.

"You-know-who!"

"But I don't know who… I thought we had established that?" Harry quipped, tilting his head innocently to the side.

"The Dark Lord," he said, jaw clenched together.

"Oh, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"I did!"

"Calm down, no reason to lose your temper," Harry said soothingly. Behind him, he heard Snape let out a slight chuckle. "Now, what was the question?"

"What. Do. You. Know. About. The. Return. Of. The. Dark. Lord?" Crouch bit out impatiently.

"What do I know about Voldemort?" There was a hiss of air being sucked in from all corners of the room.

"Don't say that name!" Crouch yelled, flinching violently.

"What, Voldemort?" he asked, eyes opening wide. Another flinch from the crowd.

Harry observed, with no little amount of amusement, that Crouch's left eye twitched when he said Voldemort.

"Yes! That."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why shouldn't I say … Voldemort?" Flinch. Another twitch from Crouch. Harry fought an indecent grin of hilarity.

"Because it just isn't done!"

Harry shrugged. "Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself. That's what I was always taught."

"Trust me, Mr. Harrison, that if you ever came face to face with this monster, you would be too afraid to speak his name as well."

Harry raised a disinterested eyebrow and laid all his cards on the table. "Who says I haven't?" There was a gasp from the gathered crowd.

"What did you just say?" Crouch asked, disbelievingly.

"I said, who says I haven't." Harry smirked. There was no use trying to prove his innocence to this group; in the court of public opinion, he had already lost. "You're so eager to prove that I work for Voldemort somehow. Wouldn't it be assumed that if I was part of his ranks that I would have seen him before?"

"Of course," said Crouch, quickly jumping on this opportunity. "I just did not believe that you would confess so easily."

"I'm not confessing to anything, Mr. Crouch." Harry said pleasantly. "I'm merely stating that, for your theory to hold true, I would have already come, as you said 'face to face' with Voldemort, and would therefore have the right to say his name as much as I wished."

Crouch sputtered, but his reply was cut off by the doors to the Hall opening once again, this time admitting a baffled Tonks. "Excuse me… am I interrupting something?" she asked timidly under the stares of the entire Hall.

"Not at all, Miss Tonks," Dumbledore said jovially, in stark contrast to the severity of the matter being discussed. "Did everything go well?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "Harry's upstairs sleeping."

"Good, good." Dumbledore twittered cheerily.

"How is the poor dear doing?" a middle-aged woman seated to Harry's right couldn't help but ask.

Tonks gave a strained smile. "He's doing better. I think the longer he is away from his… relatives… the better he will be." She looked imploringly at the Headmaster. "He's going to be staying here for a while, right? I think he really enjoys the castle."

The chorus of overwhelmingly female "awww's" across the room was punctuated by Harry's uncontrollable desire to snort. Loudly.

"Did you have something to say?" Crouch asked sarcastically.

"Nothing much," Harry said causally. "It just surprises me that no one here has put two and two together yet."

"What do you mean?" Tonks questioned, her forehead scrunching in confusion.

"In this particular case of time travel, the timeline will eventually work its way back to its original state and no one will be aware of the differentiation. Am I correct?" He directed the last part at the Headmaster, who had a dawning look of horror in his eyes. "Harry Potter was brought here under circumstances that are solely due to the change in the time stream. So when all events eventually go back to their rightful order…"

"Harry will go back to his relatives and none of us will ever remember him being here," Tonks whispered, voice laced with dismay.

"Exactly."

"But… but… there is always the chance of someone rescuing him later, right?" she asked, faintly hysterical. "It's possible that the natural timeline involves us coming to get him soon anyway, right?"

"But it doesn't." Harry stated bluntly, smiling sadly at Tonks.

"How do you know that? You can't know that for sure."

"Yes, I can. And I do." Harry sighed, standing up slowly from his chair, looking around the room at the bewildered faces. "Harry Potter never leaves his relatives house before starting Hogwarts. I know this because I lied to you all. I was never home schooled… I started my schooling at Hogwarts in 1991. I knew about Voldemort being back because it already happened for me."

He sat back down in his chair, reclining with his arms behind his head and his legs stretched out in front of him lazily. "I don't know how and I don't know why, but when Voldemort came back in time, I came with him. And I really want to go back to 1996," he added for emphasis, enjoying the looks of pure shock plastered on every face in the room.