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: "Reunion" by Rorschach's Blot.
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Chapter 1 – The Loveliness of Lists
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And if you go chasing rabbits and you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call.
– White Rabbit
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Harry hoped he'd wake from this dream soon.
Though it had now been a good hour or more since he'd regained consciousness and been dragged bodily from the toilet and dumped here, and reality had yet to reassert itself. After three more hours, he was forced to conclude that maybe this wasn't the product of an alcohol and Pixie Sticks-fuelled delirium after all.
After another two hours, Harry had regained sufficient composure that he no longer felt like screaming his head off, fainting, laughing hysterically or fleeing into the night every time he turned around and saw his parents, Sirius and Remus alive and in the (teenage) flesh.
He'd sat in the car with the other Marauders and pretended to read his Care of Magical Creatures (COMC) textbook "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" by Newt Salamander or something, while having his prolonged silent freakout. His ears caught snatches of the surrounding conversation, only barely paying attention.
"How are you enjoying living with the Potters, Padfoot?"
"Superlative! Better all round for my parents and me to be out of each others' hair for good. Luckily, Uncle Alphard left me a bequest in his will, otherwise I'd be completely destitute. Will's being held up in probate though, likely to be a year or more before I see a knut…"
"Can't believe none of us became prefects a second year in a row, we need to celebrate our good fortune …"
"How the heck did Lily manage to become Head Girl in sixth year? That's unprecedented!"
"Actually, it's happened five times before, according to Hogwarts: A History. If she does well, she may even get Head Girl next year too."
"Two years in a row? McGonagall will be so smug …"
"Minister Bagnold's back in for another term. Dad says that people don't like changing horses mid race, so all the morons running the place will likely stick around as long as the war lasts …"
"She's still the best option we've got … look at the rest of the duffers angling to take her throne …"
"Did you hear about Stebbins? Crouch's merry men dragged off his pa yesterday and he hasn't been heard from since …"
"DMLE's getting worse … how much longer before you can't tell the difference between them and the Death Eater scum they're chasing?"
Harry closed his eyes and reviewed his situation. According to Remus' copy of The Daily Prophet, the date was currently 1 September 1976. Perhaps things would make more sense when put into their larger perspective:
- - Graduated from basic level Auror Academy, check.
- - Got wasted with Ron, check.
- - Ate and smoked loads of substances I've never heard of, check.
- - Did untested and incomplete magic ritual in order to something something, check.
- - Fell into toilet, check.
- - Ended up in Pettigrew's body in 1976, check.
- - For some reason, still Head of Potters and Blacks, check.
- - Met parents and their friends somehow still alive, check and check.
Nope, still didn't make a lick of sense.
Since his mind was still a jumble of thoughts, images, memories, he decided to start rebuilding his mindscape. Occlumency was still just as slow, painful and difficult for him as it had been in the first few years of learning it. Of the many skills of Harry Potter/Peter Pettigrew, mind magic was not one of them. Knowing little else could be achieved until he had his head on straight again, Harry persevered and slowly, gradually, his addled mind began to take on some kind of order again.
The first step was to reorganise his scrambled memories and knowledge into groups or categories and assign a Watcher, a mental construct to manage the information. Then he could deal with each lot at one at a time. All his magical knowledge and experiences of the magical world from his Hogwarts letter to the Battle of Hogwarts was stored in a vast library, tended to by a librarian which looked a lot like an Otter with prominent beaver-like teeth and a big bushy mane. She gave him a cheery wave as she set to work categorising her books. His childhood at the Dursleys was packed away into a cupboard under the stairs with a White Owl watching over it.
Everything he'd gleaned about his family, his Potter and Black heritage, and information from the Black libraries, he stored in Grimmauld Place, protected by a giant black Grim. The shaggy beast grinned his biggest doggy smile at him and rolled onto his back for a belly scratch. Everything he'd gained from Voldemort's horcrux and Dumbledore's memories was buried under gravestones in the Little Hangleton cemetery. A baleful, red-eyed Nagini patrolled. Harry could still remember the feeling of the influx of experiences, memories, knowledge and skills that absorbed into him. The feeling of he and Dumbledore watching the evil child in his mind dissolve away and be assimilated, at the mystical Kings Cross Station.
Whatever random scraps of Pettigrew's skills and memories he could find floating around (and there were depressingly few), he hid under a dinner table and covered it with a bright, checked tablecloth. A Dormouse sat in a teapot on the table as a guard, the lid perched jauntily on its tiny head like a sailor's cap. All his Auror training and post-Hogwarts life was merged into a throne of swords, upon which sat a Lynx with a deep, measured voice and calm eyes. It would probably take months to really integrate his new self with the self he'd somehow jumped into, but this was plenty good to start with.
Alright friends, he said to his Watchers, now we've got all that sorted, what in the name of Merlin's merkins are we going to do now?
Compile a list of our assets and liabilities, and then put together a list of tasks that need to be done, in order of priority, stated the Otter in a bossy tone. The Lynx and Owl nodded in agreement, the Grim and Dormouse were indifferent, and Nagini just glared at him balefully.
You and your lists, Harry sighed. Still, it's a good start. Anyone else have any suggestions?
You need better clothesssss, and a better haircut. Your appearance issss a disssgrace, sniffed Nagini. You may as well jussst kill yoursssself now and make the world a much more tasssteful place.
Duly noted, he replied dryly.
Opening his eyes, he stood and made his way to the door. Noticing the questioning eyes, he said lamely, "I, uh, have to go to the bathroom."
"Try not to fall down the toilet this time," snickered Sirius.
"Duly noted," he replied dryly.
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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In a different bathroom stall, Harry pulled out the unfamiliar wand and tried it out. He quickly discovered that Peter was a leftie. This was going to take some getting used to. Eventually he felt comfortable enough with the wand to try some magic. He conjured a floor length mirror along one side of the stall. Then, stripping down to his underwear, he took a critical look at the body he now inhabited. "A little lump of a boy, indeed, Professor," he murmured to himself.
He observed 'himself' carefully. Very short, the shortest of the Marauders by a head at least. Thin mousy hair. Small, watery eyes, and a pointy nose. Prominent overbite. High, squeaky voice. Just like a rat. "More like a no-style gimbo with front teeth the Druids could use as a place of worship," Harry muttered. He glanced down at his right hand. "At least you're all still with me," wiggling his fingers. With a flash, two of the surprises appeared on his fingers and gleamed back at him. The Potter and Black Head of House rings. Both rings were simple, but elegant affairs, a style that many of Britain's older and more prominent families of the time favoured. The Potter ring had a band made from the metal known to be the most magically conductive, mithril. The Black family ring was of a similar design, a halo carved from a garnet, said to have been found in the stomach of the dragon slain by the first Black to enter the lands now known as Britain over a millennia ago. Both lacked the gaudy, oftentimes overly large stones that were so commonly found on the rings of Britain's "younger" noble houses. Atop their surfaces, carved into metal and gem alike, were the identifying crests of each house upon their respective rings. Harry hadn't the faintest idea why, if he'd somehow ended up occupying the rat traitor's carcass, his Lordships would come for the ride. As far as he knew, Pettigrew wasn't related to any of the major pureblood houses; or to anyone else even the slightest bit prominent in the wizarding world.
Emptying Peter's pockets and pouch, he discovered some change, a few letters from his family (who lived in America for some reason), a few packs of exploding snap cards, a couple of chocolate frogs, and a dozen powder-blue items that caused him to raise his eyes in curiosity. Well well, Peter. What possible reason could you want these for?
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Liabilities:
- - A body that is short, pudgy, weak, unfit, unattractive, and worst of all, cowardly. Very unlikely to survive firefights with Death Eaters, let alone the Dark Tosser himself.
- - Poor magical ability. Professor McGonagall said Pettigrew was mediocre, not much power, intelligence or academic ability.
- - No political power, influence, social standing of any kind. Can't rely on the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry to back up a total nobody.
- - Caught in the middle of a civil war between Dumbledore and Voldemort. Voldemort at the height of his power: physical, magical, political and financial.
- - No Prophecy or horcrux in my head, so one Killing Curse and I'm done for.
- - No Ron or Hermione by my side. This one really hurt. His stomach clenched tightly as he thought about what may have happened to his two best friends. The magical reaction was so powerful it must've levelled the cottage and the landscape for a mile in each direction… no, he was not going to finish that thought.
Mentally reviewing the list, Harry was seized by a desire to laugh hysterically once more. No status, no political power, no famous name, no Boy-Who-Lived fame, just a complete nobody. He had finally attained his lifelong dream of being completely normal, one of the ordinary everyday drones, able to disappear into a crowd. Right when such qualities were most likely to get him killed. If nobody would listen to him, how in the nine levels of wizarding hell could he prevent the deaths of his family and others? Fate certainly had an ironic sense of humour. Moving on.
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Assets:
- - Pettigrew will never join Voldie or betray the Potters now, that's for damn sure!
- - Extremely useful animagus form. Only three people know about it. Ideal for scouting, surveillance, espionage, escape artistry. Can talk to rats and mice, who can get anywhere.
- - Expertise in potions. Peter was the Marauder's go-to brewer. Good enough to brew Polyjuice for the fake Moody. Good enough for the Dark Tosser to force him to be Snape's potions assistant. Good enough to brew the potion that brought said Dark Tosser to life.
- - At least somewhat adept in combat, since he came out the winner in every fight he ever had with Sirius. Powerful enough to cast the Killing Curse, and to blow up an entire muggle street with the Blasting Curse. And conjurations, can't forget about those; they were bloody hard to do.
- - Some skill in Charms, as evidenced by his hand in creating the Marauders Map.
- - Rat cunning.
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That was all he could think of. Moving on.
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Task List:
Item 1. Get Untraceable Wand and Find Knowledge of Wandlore.
A new set of wands, wand holders, and books on wandlore. He remembered how much trouble the Ministry had given him over the underage magic restrictions. And Riddle's lack of knowledge of wandlore was what ultimately led to his demise; it certainly wasn't Love that did it, he snorted to himself. Add one more checkmark in the 'Things Dumbledore was wrong about' column. Merlin, it's starting to get long…
Item 2. Find Out How Many Horcruxes Riddle Has Made and Get Rid of Them Without Him Knowing
How many of his trinkets has he made in 1976? How can I stop him making more? Diadem is at Hogwarts already so it's the easiest to reach. Bellatrix, Regulus and Lucius are still students and haven't joined the Inner Circle, so I doubt the Cup, Locket and Diary are in their possession. But the real question is, has he made them yet?
Item 3. Find Out If There's a Way to End Voldie Without Having to Destroy Horcruxes.
Sounds counterintuitive, since the whole point of horcruxes is to prevent anyone from being able to kill you. Dumbledore said no, but the old man was obsessed with his own Prophecy-based scenario, and I never looked into alternatives. Can we freeze Tommy-boy into a block of stone and store him in the deepest vault at Gringotts for all eternity? Or drop him into the Marinas Trench? Can we chop off all his limbs and leave him helpless? Or take away his magic somehow, turn him into a squib? Can we just throw him through the Veil of Death? Will require much research.
Item 4. Keep Parents and Marauders Alive at All Costs!
Self-explanatory. Bonus points for keeping their family and friends alive too. Was it even possible to change the past? Hermione once implied that it was. What was it she said? Something about how there were stories of witches and wizards going back in time and accidently killing their past selves. If that was possible, then surely it was possible to stop people from dying.
Harry considered the problem for a bit before he concluded: either (a) it's impossible to change the timeline in any way, or (b) it is possible. If (a) is true, then whatever I do won't make the slightest shred of difference either way, so I may as well behave as if (b) is true. Better to try and have no impact, than not to try and realise later I could've improved things. So full steam ahead!
A chilling thought arose. What if (b) was correct and his interference ended up preventing his own birth? Would he cease to exist? A close examination of himself revealed the sober truth: if him ceasing to exist was what it took to prevent thousands of deaths and colossal national suffering, then it was worth it. He'd take his lumps and move on to The Next Great Adventure. Maybe he'd be reincarnated as a fluffy cloud and float around all day. Rest up. Take it real mellow, and so forth. Moving on.
Those were all the items he could think of right now.
Don't worry, I'm sure more will come to you in time, the Otter reassured him.
With that ominous 'reassurance' ringing in his ears, Harry returned to his friends.
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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Seated at the Gryffindor table with his fellow Marauders, Harry – no, got to think of myself as Peter now, otherwise I'll slip up all over the place – savoured the delicious meal of roast pork and vegetables. He sighed in happiness. In spite of the many times he'd almost died at Hogwarts, it still felt like Home. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was sitting at the teacher's table atop his golden throne, as if Harry had never watched him die. The 'Boy-Who-Lived' felt a lump rising in his throat and tears bead in the corner of his eyes, at seeing his beloved mentor alive once more.
To his left sat a tall, slender boy who, with a bit of a shock, Harry recognised as Neville's father-to-be, Frank Longbottom. A much younger Frank Longbottom who still had all his faculties intact. A shock of curly black hair, round head tapering off into a sharp chin. The gold Head Boy badge glistening on his robes. Harry found himself mesmerised by Frank's giant shining forehead.
"So, you and Lily, huh? Two Head students from Gryffindor this year," James commented, "McG must be ecstatic. Like the cat that got the cream."
"She is in an abnormally good mood," Frank agreed. They looked over to their Head of House seated at the teachers' table. Professor McGonagall appeared as grim and stern-faced as ever.
"How can you tell?" inquired Remus.
But Frank's answer would never be known, for at that moment the Headmaster rose and began his long and rambling opening speech. Only two items stood out as being of note. The first was the introduction of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts (DADA) instructor, a former American Auror who apparently was married to their Care of Magical Creatures (COMC) teacher, Professor Newt Scamander. A redoubtable stony-faced Iron Lady in her mid-70s, her fierce eyes scanned the Hall intently.
"You're kidding, right?" Sirius exclaimed incredulously. "Porpentina Elizabeta Scamander-Goldstein – who on earth needs 14 syllables in their name? Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only has six!"
"Sounds like someone's jealous, Mr Four Syllables," snarked Remus.
"Why don't you just call her PESG for short?" James added.
The second item was a true surprise: the introduction of visiting students from Beauxbatons (France), Durmstrang (Scandinavia), Ilvermorny (United States), Koldovstoretz (Russia), Uagadou (Africa) and Mahōtokoro (Japan) who would be residing in Hogwarts for the year, as part of an inter-school exchange program. This announcement occasioned a large rumble of whispers and pointing amongst the Hogwarts students. Each foreign school had sent 10 students apiece: one male and one female from third to seventh year. Hogwarts in turn had sent 60 Hufflepuffs to the six other schools, leaving the House of the Badgers considerably less populated than usual.
"What's going on? Oh no, don't tell me it's the Triwizard Tournament again!" Harry exclaimed in dismay.
James turned to him, a look of consternation bespangling his brow. "What are you blathering about, Wormy? The Triwizard? Weren't they those crazy championships held in the old days, where tons of competitors and audience members kept dying? Why on earth would you think they'd resurrect that hoary old thing? In the middle of a war, no less! And what do you mean by, 'again'? The last one was like, 300 years ago or something, wasn't it?"
Try to keep your thoughtsssss to yoursssself, sssimpleton! hissed Nagini.
"Oh, nothing. Just remembered something about it in Hogwarts: A History," Harry replied. He laughed nervously. James scrutinised him with suspicion, but fortunately became distracted by the delegations of foreign students that were beginning to arrive in the Great Hall. Prongs and Padfoot slowly began to smile with unholy glee at the thought of all the fresh, virginal students that were theirs to introduce to the wonderful world of pranks, wheezes and boyish hijinks. Pranked for the very first time.
"I would recommend you avoid that," Frank interjected sharply, seeming to read their thoughts. "All the visiting students are children of diplomats, aristocrats, Aurors, ministry officials, business leaders, sports stars and the like. Their parents and patrons would be unlikely to take it in good spirit."
Hossstagessss, hissed Nagini.
"In other words, they're hostages," Harry said.
Frank grimaced. "Between you me and Peeves, that's not far off. But best not to say it in polite company."
"Eh, what's this?" demanded Sirius.
Harry explained. "By having all these children of the elite stay for the year, the Headmaster gains an extra layer of protection from the Dark Tosser. There's already a bunch of little Death Nibbler spawn here," he jerked his head in the direction of the Slytherin table, "reducing the likelihood of attack. With all these foreigners present, Voldie risks starting a war with magical France, Eastern Europe, America, Africa, Russia and/or Japan if any of them get hurt. Which makes Hogwarts, theoretically, off-limits."
"And it gets a good chunk of the 'Puffs out of the line of fire," Frank added.
"Not willing to send anyone important eh?" Sirius drawled.
"Hey, that's rude!"
"Not necessarily wrong though," James pointed out. "We get the next generation of their best and brightest, and what do they get in exchange? A bunch of mediocre nobodies."
"Well in that case, you'll be pleased to know that instead of those 'mediocre nobodies', all classes with the Hufflepuffs will now include all 12 foreign students in that age cohort. And every Durmstrang and Koldovstoretz student will be rooming with us in Gryffindor Tower," retorted Frank with an evil grin. A grin that grew even wider at the Marauders' outraged protests. "If you don't like it, tough. The Frogs and Japs are staying in Ravenclaw Tower and the Yanks and Africans are with the 'Puffs."
"This is so unfair," groused Sirius. "We have to put up with a bunch of bloody dark wizards-in-training every day, while the Ilvermorny and Uagadou students get the 'Puff dorms almost entirely to themselves; probably enough space that each one gets their own room!" He sighed in longing.
"Had enough of us already?" Remus needled.
"What I don't understand is why they aren't staying in the dungeons with the snakes. They'd probably get along just fine with each other," James mused.
Why would you be stupid enough to multiply your enemies? queried the Lynx dismissively.
Prek! the Owl barked in agreement.
"That's probably exactly why Professor Dumbledore hasn't put them there. I'll bet he has no desire to foster dark wizard networking opportunities," said Harry.
"That still doesn't explain why we have to endure 'em!" said Sirius stubbornly.
Frank smirked. "Maybe he feels that Gryffindors alone have the moral fortitude to withstand their eeeevil dark magic vibes, and even Lead Them To The Light!"
Harry was about offer his two knuts, when he was hit on the back of the head. Reaching around, he grabbed the paper aeroplane which was even now transfiguring itself into a note. Scrawled on the parchment in near-indecipherable script, was the simple, mind-bending message:
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"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry Potter."
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He fell off his chair.
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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Walking back to the Gryffindor dorms with the other Marauders, the mysterious note clenched tightly in his fist, Harry found himself deep in the depths of the uncanny valley once more. Around him were all sorts of people he recognised from paintings, photos, illustrations in books, or those whose identities he was able to deduce based on the descriptions and tales he'd collected over the years about his parents and their times. He also recognised younger versions of his teachers, friends and colleagues.
Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Gilderoy Lockhart, Frank Longbottom, Xenophilius Lovegood. Dawlish. Diggory. Diggle. Jones. Jorkins. People made way as Lily Evans strode by with her ladies-in-waiting in tow: Mary MacDonald, Alice Longbottom (McKinnon at the moment, he corrected himself) and her twin sister Marlene, and trotting along behind the coterie, a much younger, shorter, but still just as sallow and sour, Severus Snape, in his second-hand shabby robes and Sunday-best sneer. A passing redheaded seventh-year gave Harry a sultry wink as she scampered by, who the deuce was that? Did Pettigrew have a fling with an older girl in school? A girl who looked strikingly similar to Lily Evans? He shuddered, really really not wanting to follow that disturbing train of thought. And of course, the Blacks. Bellatrix, Narcissa and Regulus, on their way to the Slytherin dorms.
He wondered where Andromeda was. Bellatrix was the eldest, so shouldn't the middle sister still be at Hogwarts too? Maybe she'd already been expelled from the Black family. Thinking about the Blacks stirred up some nagging worries in the back of his mind.
They're your problem now, all of them, the Grim rasped. You're their Lord and you're responsible for protecting them and keeping them on the straight and narrow.
And how was he supposed to deal with a bunch of the darkest of dark wizards? A family that had spent generation after generation despising the weak and delving into the blackest, most evil magic in existence? They were hardly likely to listen to a duffer like Pettigrew. A sudden, sharp thought brought him up short: the Black and Potter family tapestries, like all family tapestries owned by the ancient Houses, were magically self-updating. The next time one of the Potters or Blacks happened to glance at theirs, they would no doubt be surprised to discover that the Lord of the House was now a completely unrelated nobody. How would they react?
You know exactly how the Blacks will react, chuckled the Grim in his gruff, doglike manner. And you know what you have to do about it!
There wasn't much he could do – wanted to do – about the Potters, but by Salazar's sweaty snake-infested stockings, there had to be a way to neutralise the Blacks before they tracked him down to give him a fiendfyre enema. Time was of the essence, he couldn't afford to let them take the initiative! Looks like he had a new item that went straight to number one on his Task List.
"Suffer or strike!" he muttered to himself. "In order not to be struck, strike!"
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