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

Chapter Three

Number four Privet Drive was empty by the time which Harry had reached the household, with it's other inhabitants having taken Aunt Marge back to London, from which she would return to her dogs, and thankfully, out of Harry's life.

Less helpful though, was the absence of aunt Petunia, who's gaze over the table the night before had helped to lay the foundation of the questions which now plagued him. Had she thought her sister's naming him Harry James strange? Had she questioned the name as she had watched him grow, comparing him to a boy who should long since be dead?

The thumping in his chest had continued to grow, the thought of waiting for his aunt's return to begin questioning her unbearable. Harry began to pace back and forth in front of the window, dropping the photocopied pages about Steve Rogers on the couch as he watched out the window? How long would it take for the Dursleys to return? How long had it been since they had left? As he continued to pace across the Dursleys good rug, his mind was full of unanswered questions which his mind was desperately trying to supply answers to.

According to the words which had been spoken the previous night, Dum Dum Dugan had spent years searching for his friend's missing son, and if Harry was indeed Harrison Rogers, he could probably assume that that was the link which had brought him to this family. Had the man who he had long since thought his grandfather given him to Lily Evans to raise? Or could he have left something behind that helped his youngest daughter to find him? Before the thought had fully processed through his head, Harry was running towards his cousin's bedroom.

When Harry had moved into his cousin's second bedroom, Dudley had only chosen to keep a few things, such as the things he had not yet become bored of, such as his computer, but also the one thing which Dudley knew Harry would have been thrilled to keep: Dum Dum Dugan's journals.

His cousin's room was, unsurprisingly, a mess but it didn't take Harry long to find the journals, not with their being the only books on the shelf which otherwise only contained the many things Dudley had collected over the last few years. The journals were sat beneath a remote control tank, which looked to be almost as covered in dust as the journals themselves were.

There were four journals in total, all quite small, leather bound, and one, Harry couldn't help but notice looked like it had blood on it. Flipping through each journal, Harry gave a disappointed sigh when none looked to give the answers which he had sought. Though each journal was almost entirely full of the tales of Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, both before and after the war, besides the one which was dated September 2,1945-, none gave the answers to which he had hoped they would.

Though the journals offered little confirmation of his suspicions, Harry did feel that another piece of a puzzle had fallen into place at the knowledge that Harrison had been known to family friends as 'Harry'. Harry once again began to flip through the journal, hoping to find something of interest besides the depressing comment of 'He's gone', dated 11th of March. When nothing revealed itself, he began to read the journal, which had begun with the words 'It's over'. Harry quickly became engrossed in the novel, in the hope that he might find the answers which had plagued him for over half a year in it, but found himself jumping when he heard the front door of Four Privet Drive open.

Silence followed the door opening, in which Harry stood, silently attempting to put three of the four journals back underneath the toy tank before a high pitched shriek of 'BOY' came hurtling at him. Harry barely had time to thank Merlin for it being Aunt Petunia, and for the questions which he wanted to ask her to once again began circling through his head, before a yell of 'WHAT IS THIS MESS'.

When Harry finally reached halfway down the stairs, the journal still clutched in his hand, he was greeted by the sight of a pale-faced Petunia clutching the papers in her hands as she stared at him.

"What is this?" his aunt asked, her voice shaky.

Harry considered the question for several seconds, before answering truthfully, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Petunia asked, her colour beginning to return to her face as she laughed bitterly, "You don't know? I'll tell you what it looks like, you, a boy who lives in my home, with that name, looking at this information? I'll tell you what it looks like, boy, suspicious, and we don't need people asking questions, especially not yo-"

"Especially not me? I think I'm the one who deserves the-"

"You think you're the one who deserves the answers?! You!" Petunia's face had become red, shaking no longer with whatever emotion had overtaken her earlier, but with anger. "You don't think I deserve them! A baby dumped on my doorstep, supposedly my nephew who Lily never thought to mention to me, not even at our parent's funeral, a baby with that name? Why would my sister, who hated that child almost as much as I do, name her baby after him? Don't you think I deserve answers? But no, she had to go and get herself BLOWN UP, leaving me with you, with her eyes, but who's absolutely nothing like her!"

"SHUT IT!" Harry yelled at the last words, the word vibrating through the house, almost feeling like a breeze had passed through it. Surely his mother-, Lily hadn't hated him? She had died for him of course, she couldn't have - not unless she had known what would happen to Voldemort? By the time which Harry regained control of his breathing and his thoughts, he once again found himself looking at Petunia, who was now staring at him as if looking at a ghost. Seconds passed while they stared at each other, Petunia wide eyed and Harry full of anger, until he finally noticed the reason for Petunia's starring: a lock of brown hair dangling in front of his eyes.

Harry's only thoughts were of panic, before Petunia seemed to regain control over herself enough to whisper the words which echoed through the house.

"Get out."

Harry opened his mouth once, perhaps to argue, he wasn't sure, but Petunia cut himself once again, in the same whispered tone.

"Don't argue, get out of my house now. You've brought my family enough trouble."

This time, when Harry opened his mouth it wasn't to argue, perhaps it showed on his face because Petunia didn't cut him off. "I'll go get my stuff."

The first thing Harry did upon reaching his room was release Hedwig, who took to soaring above the house of Privet Drive, causing thrilled shouts from one of the neighbour's children. After Harry finished packing everything he owned - along with the Dum Dum Dugan's journal, he hoped the man wouldn't mind - into one of Dudley's old backpacks he continued down the stairs to find that Petunia had already opened the cupboard door. Dragging the trunk from the place which had once been the only place he could call his own, he stared at the small area before bitterly whispering, "Goodbye home."

Taking one last glance at the cupboard, now almost entirely full of cleaning supplies, he grabbed one of the small plastic which dotted the shelves, before stuffing them in a pocket, and closing the cupboard door behind him.

Petunia stood near the door, her face showing no sign if she was struggling with her decision to throw out the boy who had once been her nephew. Instead, she she almost shoved something in his direction, watching him as he carefully the object out of her hand.

"That's was the journal that my father put all the information about his search for Harry R-, you, in. After he was killed, I was supposed to keep it. Instead my sister teared all the information out," Harry's eyes flew to Petunia's, which had begun to show something that looked suspiciously like sympathy. "I don't know what she did with it. There's also some money, it should be enough to get you London, at least if you walk for an hour first, I know there's that place there, you should be able to stay there until your school starts again."

Whatever sign of sympathy there had been disappeared with the next second, in which Petunia straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at him as she began to open the door. "You need to keep your face covered, at least until you get out of Surrey, after that I don't really care, but if you lead anyone back to us you will regret it."

As Harry stepped out the doorway, pulling the hood of Dudley's old oversized jacket over his face, and carrying everything he owned, he turned back to face Petunia one last time.

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

The woman's eyes narrowed at him, "Never come back here."

And as the door slammed behind Harry, he wondered if he should be happy to be leaving the place which had long since been his hell, or worried that he had just left the place which he had lived for the twelve years of his life. But perhaps, Harry thought, amused as he walked along the ordinary streets of Privet Drive, his reflection in the passing the face which he was born with, that was really only a bit over a sixth in his life anyway.

The Leakey Cauldron was both very similar to how Harry remembered it, and simultaneously incredibly different. Though the place was still darkly lit, the ground sinking from use, the lack of people who stood, gawking at him and scar, or those who were trying to look like they weren't staring which, needless to say, did not work, was enough to change the place drastically. The scar had unfortunately remained on his forehead despite his change in appearance, but without the trademark black hair, he rarely recieved a second glance.

The weeks which passed in which Harry wandered both Diagon Alley and muggle London were the most peaceful Harry could remember, the only source of possible fear being the escape of Sirius Black, a man who was often referred to as 'You Know Who's right hand man'. But, comforted himself, if he did happen to come across the man, he wouldn't even recognise him as Harry Potter. Harry spent the first week of his freedom in the sunlight in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour doing his homework, where there were many wizards and witches who were willing to help with the homework he did not understand. The fact that the Hogwarts curriculum did not appear to have changed since they had gone there certainly helped. When not doing homework or admiring the new broom the 'Firebolt' in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry found himself converting the money in his vault to the British pound, and wandering the streets of muggle London.

The streets of muggle London were as busy, if not more so, than Diagon Alley, and Harry often found himself in the bookstores or libraries of the city, desperately trying to find more information about the boy which he may or not have been. It was during those times that he occasionally found people staring at him, when he was standing next to a poster of Captain America saluting, or holding a book about Agent Peggy Carter. Though there were many books on Captain America, the one on the woman who might be his mother was something he hadn't hesitated before buying. Neither did he hesitate before buying 'Harrison Rogers: the search for America's lost son'. Despite the growing number of books that lay besides his bed in the Leakey Cauldron, his search was offering little useful information, though it offered many more possible puzzle pieces. A theory for instance, had begun after Captain America's crashing his plane, which thought that the man might in fact be alive within the ice he had crashed in, not aging due to the super soldier syrum. However, the only solid information Harry found was that if he was the missing son of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, he could truly be proud of the woman who might be his mother.

He was yet to tell either Hermione or Ron of his suspicions; he was quite certain that Hermione would think he was drastically grasping at straws, and truly, who could blame her. Ron, however, would end up telling someone in his excitement. Despite being quite blind to the ways of muggle culture, had grown up with tales of Captain America from his father, and seemed to have a mild case of hero worship for the super soldier. Harry had gotten a shock the previous year when Ron had traded his favourite chocolate frog card, Merlin, who was quite rare, for one of Dean's Captain America trading cards. Harry did feel rather guilty for keeping his suspicions from his two best friends, but he took comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to for much longer.

He had recieved seperatte letters from both Hermione and Ron a few days prior, asking that they could meet him in Diagon Alley a few days before going back to Hogwarts, to which Harry had eagerly agreed, leading him to once again being sat at one of the booths in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, but this time, waiting for his two best friends.

It was Ron he spotted first, looking wildly around the ice cream parlour as he entered, Hermione close behind him, two two ordering icecreams before beginning to question where he was. It took a few seconds, in which Harry could hear them discussing the possibility of his not yet being there, before Ron spotted him, freezing slightly before pointing in his direction. Hermione's eyes widened upon spotting him, before narrowing in disbelief.

"Harry James Potter, what were you thinking?" the girl asked as she slipt into the chair across from him, an icecream in her hand and Ron a second behind her.

"I was thinking I'm not actually a Potter, Hermione," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Hermione glared at him, and he sighed, "It wasn't a choice, 'mione, it just happened."

"Accidental magic?" Ron asked, aghast, "Surely you've grown out of that by now, I mean, most people get the hang of it when they start going to Hogwarts."

Harry glared at Ron for a few seconds, the redhead eventually realising the implications of what he was saying, and rushed to correct himself, Hermione rolling her eyes as he did.

"I don't mean you're slow, or anything Harry," Ron stumbled, "I just mean, maybe you're just so powerful that you haven't got proper control of your magic yet! I mean you did manage to defeat You Know Who, it would make sense."

Several heads in the parlour turned to face them at the name, but all quickly returned to their ice creams.

"Ronald," Hermione hissed at their friend, "Do try to be a bit quieter. Oh, but Harry," she suddenly swung around to face him, "How long has it been since it happened? How did the Dursleys react? Are you alright?"

Harry could barely keep himself from wincing at the question, to which Hermione's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh Harry, you haven't been staying at the Leakey Cauldron by yourself, have you?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she continued, horrified, "Harry! Sirius Black, didn't you know how much danger you could be i-"

"He's not going to recognise me with this face, Hermione. And I'm being careful."

Ron scoffed at the comment, "The day you're careful Harry, that's a day I'd pay to see. Actually I wouldn't pay but-, but anyway, Hermione's right, Harry. If you had told us you could have come with us at Egypt. There was plenty of room for you, it would have been great fun. More fun than you could have had here. What have you been doing here, anyway?"

Harry sighed, his two friends now both staring at him with expectant looks on their faces."I've been trying to find my biological parents."

Once again, Hermione and Ron shared careful glances, before looking at him.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, you haven't found them?"

"I don't know," Harry responded, shaking his head, "I have a possibility, I guess, but it seems impossible .It was something aunt Petunia mentioned, but you're going to think I've gone completely insane. I have it all back in my room at the Leakey Cauldron, I'd much rather show you, but please, just please, listen to me before having me carted off to Saint Mungos."

Both Ron and Hermione glanced at each other again as Harry stood, confirming that his suspicion that he was quickly going to become sick of their shared glances, before too standing to follow him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

His room at the Leakey Cauldron was hardly the five star hotel one might expect from such a famous place, Harry had been severely underwhelmed when he had first stepped into the room which he would be staying for several weeks, but now, with the books and photocopied pieces of paper scattered across the floor he barely noticed.

It seemed that neither Ron or Hermione shared the same oppinion though, both of their eyes taking in the room's dusty curtains and the rest of it's equally drab furnishing, giving Harry the few seconds he needed to grab a couple of pieces of paper and push the rest of his research under his bed, before they remembered the matter at hand.

"Harry, calm down," Hermione said, as Harry picked up a plastic figure that he had knocked to the ground in his frenzy, "Whatever it is, it surely can't be that bad. And your asthma, Harry, getting stressed, especially in a place as dusty as this, is not going to do any of us favours."

Harry laughed nervously, looking at the photo of Peggy Carter in his hand, and the plastic soldier in the other. "You really don't understand how absolutely crazy it's going to sound, Hermione. Just please, hear me out."

Before either of his friends had time to reply, Harry placed the toy soldier into his pocket before offering his two friends the photograph, causing both of their eyes to widen as Hermione grabbed the piece of paper.

"Harry-"

"Merlin, mate," Ron cut Hermione off, eyes wide, "If that's who you think is your mum, I can't blame you, you look like her, that's for sure. Is she a muggle?"

"Ron, be quiet, please." Hermione spoke, voice hushed and leaving little doubt for Harry she knew who the woman in the photograph was. Ron's eagerness faded quickly, confusion overtaking it.

"Harry, I understand that it must be hard for you, to not know who your parents are, but, Harry, this is-"

"Insane?" Harry laughed, "Yeah, that's what I thought at first, but Hermione, please, just hear me out."

Harry waited several seconds, in which Hermione eventually nodded and Ron continued to look confused.

"I feel like I've been left out of something here, guys," Ron commented, eyes glancing between them, "Maybe explain? Please"

"Ron," Hermione began, after a few seconds of silence on Harry's part. "The woman in the photograph was Captain America's wife, and the mother of his kidnapped son."

Before Ron began could raise his disbelief, Harry spoke again, "What was Captain America's son's name, Hermione?"

Ron fell silent, and Harry could see the realisation enter Hermione's eyes as she stared wide at him, mouthing the name.

"That's why it sounded so familar! Harry James!" Hermione cried, as if she had found the answer for a question which had long plauged her, "Oh, but Harry, just because you share the same name-"

"And look like his mother-"

"Doesn't mean you're him. There's only so much magic can do, it surely isn't possible that you could have time travelled."

"I'm not suggesting time travel, Hermione," Harry sighed, dragging his hands through his hair, "There was a theory after the war that Captain America might be alive within the ice, not aging. I know, it sounds impossible, but Howard Stark believed it, so surely there's a chance? And perhaps who ever kidnapped m-, Harrison Rogers, could have somehow frozen him in time too."

Both Ron and Hermione remained silent, looking at the photograph in front of him, before casting their eyes back to Harry. Undettered, Harry continued, this time shoving a photo of Captain America and the Howling Commandos towards them. Gingerly, Ron took the paper, starting Harry on his rampage again.

"It's not just the fact we share the names or look alike-, here," Harry said, handing them another photo, this time of the baby Harrison Rogers. "My mum, Lily Evans I mean, she was the daughter of Dum Dum Doogan, one of the Howling Commandos. He was Captain America's friend, and when Harrison went missing, he spent years looking for him. Why would my mum have named her son after him? According to Aunt Petunia, who's convinced I am Harry Rogers by the way, she hated Harrison-"

"Harry, be quiet." Hermione spoke, her face now complementative as she stared at him. Harry looked at her expectantly, and Ron glanced back and forth between them, occasionally stopping to compare Harry to the photographs of the people who might be his parents. Hermione sighed, nodding, "There's most definitely a lot of evidence, and I really can't say that any thing Howard Stark agreed with could be completely insane, but surely you understand that this, at the current moment, it just looks like a theory. It looks like something that a wishful mind made up."

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, before sighing dissapointedly, and nodding, and began trying to think of something to say. Before he had the chance to though, Hermione began to speak again.

"Which is why, Harry, Ron, we need to find more evidence. I'm quite certain that Peggy Carter is still alive, I saw something about her on the television a few weeks ago, and I'm quite certain that she would love to have her son back," as a gentle smiled pulled at Hermione's mouth, Harry could barely keep the grin from his face.

"If you are Harrison Rogers, you've been gone from your home for far too long."

Title from Radical Face's Wrapped In Piano Strings

Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter, they really did encourage me to write. Please keep them coming, I really appreciate them!