Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Either Harry Potter or the Avengers movie franchise

Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?

Chapter Two

Harry had had his first doubts about whether the polyjuice had been worth it after he had tasted it. His doubts had grown after the process turned out to be completely useless, with Malfoy telling them little more than what they already knew. He truly began to regret it when they found out that Hermione was now part cat. Now though, with the potion worn off and the eyes staring back at him in the mirror not his own, he most definitely regretted all the decisions that had led to this.

The blue eyes that were reflected in the mirror were definitely not the ones that had stared back at him only an hour previously, definitely not the green that had been the only thing he had from his mother. The hair that grew on his head was not what he was used to, brown, with blonde highlights, replacing what had once been black. And he didn't even want to get started on his face.

"What's going on, Hermione?" He asked, ignoring his friend's currently furry face as he began threading his fingers through the brown, oh my god brown why was his hair brown, it was supposed to go back to its original form why wasn't it black, hair that now grew on his head. "Is this a side effect?"

"I don't know," she stuttered, "I have a reason for still being a cat, it was a mistake, but you-, you turned into Goyle, you should be back to yourself, you should be back to your original-"

Hermione stopped, her eyes going wide, and Harry stared at her as he continued to run his fingers over his face, why was this happening why was this happening oh Merlin.

"Well, obviously Hermione," Ron spoke, his familiar red head nodding as he did, a twitch of a smile on his face, "You made a mistake. I know this might be a bit hard for you to understand, it's hard for me to understand but-"

"Ron, if I had made a mistake with the potion you would look different as well, not just Harry. I know where I made the mistake for me, but I didn't make a mistake with the potion itself. It was perfect if I say so myself. Something was wrong with Harry, not with the potion."

"Wow Hermione, thanks," he said dryly as Ron began to laugh.

"I didn't mean it like that, Harry. Ron, do be quiet," Hermione snapped, Ron's snickers ceasing before continuing, "Harry, the potion takes you back to your original form. It's possible that this how you're supposed to look."

Seconds passed, eventually being broken by a girl's, Myrtle's, quiet snickers. Harry had to resist the urge to yell at the ghost.

"Hermione, I look nothing like my parents."

Hermione's brown eyes looked at him with sympathy, as if her own face wasn't covered in fur, "I know."

"You can't honestly be thinki-," Harry shook his head, there was no way, his parents were Lily and James Potter. "I look just like them, like my dad, but with mum's eyes, they were my parents, they died protecting me, Hermione there's no way-"

He cut himself off, his breath becoming short as he felt his heart stutter and his throat begin to tighten, soon beginning to pace back and forth across the bathroom floor.

"Harry," he stopped, staring at his bushy haired friend, who had begun to speak once again, "You don't look like them anymore. And honestly, don't you think it was a little weird? You looked so much like your dad, James Potter I mean, too much like him. It's the first thing everyone who knew them says. You can't say that it isn't a little bit weird."

"I look like him because he's my dad, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes passed over him, before narrowing. "Harry, when was the last time you got a hair cut?"

Harry drew his eyebrows down, what had been panic quickly becoming confused. "I don't know. My aunt cut my hair off a few years ago, but my magic just made it grow back. What's that got to do with anything though?"

Though the question might have appeared strange, the laughter had quickly left Ron's face, but Hermione only nodded, looking as if she had expected the answer.

"Harry, mate, your hair should have grown," Ron began, "And magic-, unless you're born with it, it can't affect your appearance, not unless you use a potion or a spell, and that only changes things-, it can't create things that aren't there."

"There are spells, they're meant to be illegal, they can make you look exactly like someone, like how you look almost exactly how they looked at the same age. If they had cast that type of spell on you, Harry, it would explain why you look so much like your fa-, James Potter."

"James Potter was my father. I look like him because I'm his son," Harry replied, his mind beginning to race. "And I have my mum's eyes, so I am not an exact replica."

"Those spells can be adapted, Harry."

"There was a lot of children taken from You-Know-Who's followers during the war," Ron offered, looking like he regretted the words a second later when both his and Hermione's eyes flew towards him. "It wouldn't matter if you were Harry, you're still our friend no matter who your parents are-"

"It would matter to me!" The words exploded from him, echoing through the bathroom, causing even Myrtle to stop giggling. "It would matter if my parents, my biological parents, worked for the man who wanted to, wants to, kill me! It would matter to me if my parents worked for the man who killed my other parents! It would matter to me if my parents were mass murdering -"

"Harry! Be quiet!" Hermione shouted, ripping Harry silent of all words, leaving him feeling like he was about to collapse. "Harry, you shouldn't get yourself stressed out, you know how it affects your breathing."

Harry sighed, nodding as he took a step back so he was leaning against the sink, his knees shaking beneath him. A definite wheeze had entered his breath; becoming angry, yelling, would most definitely not help it. Why on Earth did everything have to happen to him, he wondered, the one solid thing in his life, the one thing he could always count on, and it might not even be true.

"You'll be able to turn me back, right?"

Hermione shook her head, "I'm sorry, but I don't think so. It would be far too advanced of a spell for us, assuming that it even exists."

Would that mean he might have to live with supporters of Voldemort if the Ministry found out? He hoped not, he rather enjoyed being alive. That was assuming though, that his parents hadn't been locked up. At least he was quite certain he wasn't a Malfoy, though it would have been rather enjoyable to see Malfoy's face if he had been, but living with Malfoy permanently would undoubtedly have removed that any amusement from that situation.

"There are other ways though, we can't turn you back but we can change some of your base features. Turn your hair and eyes back of course, and you should wear your glasses. If we then tried a disillusionment spell, it should at least stop people from noticing. Except Ron and I that, or anybody else who you tell, or any people who know already."

"You can do it?" He asked, feeling almost sick with relief.

"Of course I could, normally, but currently I am part cat so I'm not so sure-"

"Just do it, Hermione. And if anything goes wrong, Madam Pomfrey will just have two visitors instead one."

Hermione sighed, looking like she wanted to argue, but nodded once she saw his face. As she pointed her wand at him and began softly muttering a spell, Harry found himself looking at the mirror, watching transfixed as his hair began to turn black and his eyes returned to their usual green.

"There were eighteen children taken from You-Know-Who's followers during the war. Only four of them were both boys and the right age," Hermione stated, dropping the parchment which had taken them almost six months to find on the desk in front of Harry. "I've underlined all of them. Antonin Dolohov junior, Randolph Lestrange, Vance-"

"Hermione, I can read, thanks," Harry snapped, regret arriving only a second later when he saw his friend's face fall, "Sorry Hermione, I'm a little stressed."

Both Ron and Hermione traded glances, Hermione eventually nodding her head as Ron began to speak.

"Harry, are you sure you want to do this? I get why you want to know who your parents are, but it's not going to help you. I just think mate, that honestly it isn't worth it, it's just going to hurt you, honestly I'm not really sure you should do it-"

"Ron, I get it. My parents could be maniacs, but I honestly don't care, I still want to know who they are. I want to know where I came from. And what if I was taken from one of the people who weren't in control of themselves, or what if my biological parents were just friends of James and Lily, not even Death Eaters but they were killed fighting against them. I need to know."

Both his friends eventually nodded, understanding but reluctance covering their faces.

"Alright, Harry. I suppose we better get started then, we don't have long until we need to leave. Ron, you take Dolohov, Harry, you can have Lestrange. I'll take Rosier and Montague."

An hour later, Harry knew for certain that he did not want to a Lestrange. Reading through the list of Rabastan's crimes left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, and he hoped that the other families were at least a little bit nicer. He almost felt like shouting in relief when he discovered that there was no way he could, in fact, be Rabastan's missing son, not with his wife being of Italian origin. Both of his two faces were far too pale, and neither parent had the blue eyes that he must have inherited from somewhere.

"Well, I'm not a Lestrange," he told his two friends, barely restraining from muttering 'thank Merlin'.

"You're not a Rosier either, though you could possibly be a Montague-, no you couldn't," Hermione corrected, picking up an article in front of her. "Their child was actually a girl. With a name like that! Ron?"

"I don't know, you could possibly be Dolohov junior, you kind of suit the physical appearance," Ron muttered, "He had blue eyes I mean, and brown hair, like you."

"Do you have a photo?"

Ron nodded, passing his two articles across the table to Hermione, "There are photos of both Dolohov parents and junior in there."

Hermione snatched the two articles off the table before Harry had a chance to look at them, lifting them both up to the sides of Harry's face to compare them.

"Should I take the charms off?" Harry asked.

"No, there isn't any point. Dolohov Junior has a rune on his left cheek, some kind of pureblood enchantment. They never fade, you're definitely not him. Anyway, you really don't look much like Dolohov or his wife, they both had more Roman noses for starters. I don't know who your parents were, Harry, but they weren't Death Eaters. At least, they weren't any of these Death Eaters."

Relief washed over Harry at the words. Could his parents still be alive, could they be good people who by some twist of fate lost their child? We're they wizards, or were they be muggles? He barely had a chance to consider the possibility of a normal, kind family before his thoughts were interrupted by their librarian's entrance into their hollow.

"Well, I hope you're planning on cleaning this up! Barely two hours until the Hogwarts express leaves, and you're making a mess! Honestly, Ms Granger, I thought you would know better than this!"

Hermione began a stuttering reply, as both he and Ron stood up and began returning the articles to their original places. After Hermione finished reassuring Madam Pince that none of the articles were damaged, they were all perfectly okay, she joined them.

"Your name though," the girl muttered, frustration crossing her face, "If it's actually your name that is, it rings a bell. Harry James, it always reminded me of something, and I can never remember what exactly. Oh well, it's probably quite a common name. Harry, you do know we're going to found out who your parents were, right?"

He nodded his head as he put the article on Lestrange back into its slot, "Thanks."

"Yeah, mate. And I mean, if they're not Death Eaters, they can't be much worse than the Dursleys, right?"

The two weeks since the Hogwarts Express had left Hogwarts had passed quickly, the train taking Harry away from the only home he could remember, and back to a life of locked doors and shrieked words. During the two weeks that had passed since he had left the magical castle though, Harry Potter had come to a firm opinion, that Ron was wrong, if his parents were worse than the Dursleys and were not Death Eaters, there remained a calibre of human that yet were worse; Marjorie Dursley.

"You were too damn nice to keep the boy here, Vernon, he would have gone straight to the orphanage if he had been dumped on my doorstep. They undoubtedly have more experience with this kind of thing, hopeless cases and such-, not to insult your parenting skills, Petunia, just look at Dudders! Perfectly behaved young man, don't think I could have asked for a more perfect nephew!", Marge gestured with her wine glass towards her nephew, before returning her beady eyes to where Harry was seated. "Just go to shows, as I've always said, if there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup-"

The glass of wine in Marge's hand exploded, soaking her face in wine. Harry tried to steady his breathing, words of the book which he had been silently reciting in his head for the three previous days echoing through his head as both his uncle's beady eyes stared at him suspiciously.

"Oh! Not to worry Petunia," Marj reassured the woman who had rushed to grab a cloth, "I have a very firm grip, the same thing happened Colonel Flubster's a few days ago-, boy, you go grab a cloth, save your aunt the trouble."

As Harry stood, walking towards the kitchen as he struggled to regather the control of his magic, which he could almost feel growing like a bubble within his chest-, like a simple prick of a needle could make it burst-, the conversation about the woman who had sacrificed her life to save his own continued, the words following Harry as if a shadow as he walked, offering the red faced woman the cloth as he sat.

"Not that I have anything against your family, Petunia, besides your sister, they were all perfectly acceptable people. There's always going to a runt to the litter, Petunia, always going to be a runt, of course, with dogs, you drown them," Harry was almost certain that if not for their being an absent of wine glasses, another one would have exploded at his aunt's comment, "Mind you though, your father was always a little off, I think you mentioned in the past that he was always a bit absent wasn't he? Which isn't to say that isn't acceptable, a man must keep his family warm after all, but that could be where you sister got it from I suppose."

Petunia's face had become slightly sour at the comment about her father, but she smiled politely as she replied.

"Lily got her strangeness from one of the neighbourhood boys, I always used to tell her to stop socialising with him, but she never did. Dad though, my father, he was on the frontlines in the World War, he fought alongside Captain America. I wasn't born at the right time I'd say, for him to be a father, but my sister, she was four years younger than me, by the time she was born he was ready. He was a good man though, the war just left more than physical wounds on many."

"Well said, Petunia," her sister in law nodded, now filling her water glass with wine, "Of course, now that you've reminded me, didn't he come here looking for Captain America's son? Such a pity that was, and I suppose your father was probably quite busy looking for the boy."

Harry froze, the words of the Handbook of Do-it-Yourself Broomcare fleeing his mind at the knowledge. Captain America had had a son? His cousin, Dudley, seemed equally as shocked at the knowledge, staring at his aunt Marj with his mouth hung open.

"Captain America had a kid? You never told me about that, Mum!"

Before Aunt Petunia had a chance to reply, Marj began talking once again.

"Of course! It was a big controversy when people found out about him, an even bigger one when he went missing! Probably kidnapped by Nazis or another enemy of Captain America. Of course, there's the theory that he was taken by a scientist trying to recreate the serum, Stark, for instance, but I like to think there is some good in the world. And you really mustn't blame your mum for not speaking of the boy, Dudders, undoubtedly a painful memory for her. He probably would have been a cousin in another life, but instead, he stole her father! Right, Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia smiled weakly at Marge and Dudley, her eyes narrowing upon catching Harry's gaze. Vernon's booming laughter though broke her from her trance.

"And I have no doubt, Dudley, that you would have looked just like the boy! You two would have looked just like cousins, no doubt about it!" Vernon boomed, spit flying over the table in front of them, "Both blonde, blue-eyed and big! Unlike you and..."

The three pairs of eyes which had not already been staring at him turned to face him, all with similar looks of disgust in their eyes.

"Yes, what was the Captain's son's name again, wasn't it-"

"Harry," Petunia informed, looking at him with the same unidentifiable expression she had been since first catching his gaze, her voice becoming little more than a whisper as she continued, "Harry James Rogers."

A few seconds of silence passed, in which Harry's heart stuttered before the woman which had long since been before his personification of the devil began to speak again, pulling him from the quick succession his thoughts were beginning to take.

"Well then! That's just disrespectable, naming your own son after Captain America's son, when that boy is almost definitely dead! Especially when you were family friends! And could you imagine a boy less like Captain America boy, the nerve of that girl," Marge ceased her rant to laugh, ignorant of the way which Harry's heart had begun to beat faster, "What did I tell you, Petunia, Vernon, rotten, absolutely rotten."

This time when the glass in Marge's hand exploded, it was followed in quick succession by rest of the glasses sat on the table, it's substance splattering across the faces of the people who were both his relatives and his tormentors. Somehow, Harry thought as he stared at the red liquid soaking one of Aunt Petunia's best tablecloths, this might not be so easily explained by Marge's firm grip.

Several more seconds passed in which Petunia's face regained its colour, and Vernon's face became the colour of an apple before the familiar word ripped through Four Privet Drive.

"BOY!"

At the earliest possible time, Harry fled the house in which he had grown, running to the only place that offered peace from his relatives, shelter from the smouldering sun, and possibly, he hoped, answers.

You're being ridiculous, he thought as he entered the library, how in Merlin's name could be be Captain America's son? There were probably heaps of other people in the world named Harry James, or Harry James or whatever, it's was just a coincidence.

But despite his mind's protests, a small part of him had begun to hope, a tiny flame that had been ignited by both the name spoken across the table the night before, and his aunt Petunia's unreadable expression as she had looked at him. Why on earth would Lily Evans have named her son after a boy who she had never met, but in his aunt Marge's words would have been like a cousin? Especially, a boy who wasn't even her own son, and as far as his and his friend's searches could find, had no previous record.

Or perhaps, argued the part of the mind which remained rational, you so badly want to find your parents, to know that they weren't really Death Eaters or that they gave you up because they didn't want you, that you're thinking irrationally.

But Harry had long since accepted that as fact, that this was most likely an illusion of a wishful mind, but it had come to the point where he knew that refusing to offer himself the knowledge of who Harry Rogers had been, would only leave a question in the back of his mind until the matter was solved.

As he passed by the librarian's desk, he ignored her suspicious looks, likely due either to his aunt Petunia's warnings or his being a teenager, as he continued on his way to the history section, shuffling through the books before finding 'Captain America: The True Story of America's Hero'. Casting a last glance at the librarian who had remained staring at him, he offered a quick smile which she didn't return, before ducking out of her sight and into one of the many alcoves of the library.

Harry flipped the biography open, glancing through the pages before landing on the chapter labelled 'Personal Life'. Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled the book open and began to read.

Steven Grant Rogers was born in Brooklyn, in the year of 1918 on the July the 4th to Irish immigrants, Sarah and Joseph Rogers.

Harry stopped, taking another deep breath as the already known information washed over him before skipping forward another few paragraphs.

During Rogers' recruitment in 1939, he was first introduced to Agent Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, an Englishwoman who in 1944 he would secretly marry. The two's connection has been described as instant, the two meeting before Rogers had been injected with the serum, and sources claim that Carter was interested in him before it, due to the 5'4" asthmatic's determination.

During the year after their marriage, the two would conceive their first and only child, who would be named Harry James Rogers through the brief contact in his father's final moments. Harry was born on May the 22, weighing less than the average new born should, weighing only 4.8 pounds. Though he showed no evidence of inheriting the super soldier serum, to the disappointment of many, he was considerably healthier than his father's own original body, despite having inherited his asthma. Harry James Rogers was named after his father's best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and his first name so that, in his mother's words, 'he could be his own person'.

Unfortunately, on the 17th of May, 1946, Harry Rogers was reported missing by his mother, which prompted a worldwide search for the not quite year old, who was unfortunately never found. Many theories have questioned the whereabouts of America's hero's only child, including that of his being taken to see if one could find the secret of the Super Soldier Serum in his blood, but the genuinely accepted cause of the boy's abduction is that of revenge against his father.

Before Harry could truly begin to think of the words spinning in his head, his eyes were flying to the images on the page in front of him, of a skinny man with military tags draped around his neck, of a pretty woman with hauntingly familiar kind brown eyes, too dressed in a military uniform, to lastly a small baby wrapped in a white blanket.

It wasn't possible, it truly wasn't possible, but Harry had already begun to draw the resemblances between the photographs and his own face; the woman's hair, the soft curls, the man's ears, sticking out ever so slightly. It wasn't possible, but the eyes which he had spent so long looking at in the mirror were an exact match to both the baby in the photograph and the man which was his father.

How? Could his father have been Harry? Could he have approached Lily Evans, a family friend and asked her to protect his child? Or, a small part of his brain had begun to whisper, you are Harry Rogers, but you somehow ended up in this time. Was time travel possible? Could Lily Evans have stolen him from his cot all those years ago, and brought him forward to this time to face Voldemort? Magic could do incredible things, but surely it couldn't explain how if he was really Harry Rogers he hadn't aged in over thirty years?

He didn't know, Harry thought as he stood and walked towards the photocopier, but, he was certain he knew people who would know the answer to the questions, who would know if he was truly Captain America's son or not.

And either I'm his son, Harry thought as he left the library, the librarian's eyes remaining on his back and the photocopied photographs underneath his arm as he strode out of the place which had planted a thousand questions within his brain, Or I'm about to make a massive fool of myself.

Well, this might be slightly late. Oops

I know this is late, but I'll hopefully get a few more updates out of the next few weeks, after that, however, I'll be back at school at which time I have to balance homework, which is why this chapter is so late. But this story is most definitely not abandoned.

Chapter title from The Strumbella's 'Spirit'.

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