I'd like to apologize in advance for any grammatical or spelling errors you may find while reading this. I'm posting this just a few hours before I'm leaving for Christmas and I don't have time to edit before I leave. I haven't even packed yet. I also won't be posting another chapter until after the New Year because I won't have access to a computer while away. Hopefully this will tide you over until then.

Happy Holidays!

By the way, I do not own Harry Potter or anything that you may recognize from another source within this story. Harry Potter is the property of the lovely J K Rowling, and I will never stop being grateful for the wonderful world and characters she created.

June 16th, 1973

The worst part about being eleven again, Harry decided, was how scrawny he was. It wasn't nearly as bad as the first time around, when he'd been subjected to the Dursley's neglect, but even without having his growth stunted by malnutrition he was still short for his age. It was entirely unfair, but it did distance him in appearance from his father so it wasn't all bad. Silver linings and all that, he supposed.

In the wizarding world, 1973 was not much different from 1993 and neither was Hogwarts. There were many familiar figures, like Dumbledore and McGonagall, and other than a slight rearrangement of the Common Room, Gryffindor Tower was as welcoming as ever. The similarities far outweighed the differences, which was good otherwise the last year could have gone much worse.

Landing in 1972 had never been part of the plan, much less landing in 1972 as an eleven year old. He'd been found lying naked in the rain and the last thing he remembered of that night was being bundled into a car while a kind voice had told him that everything would be okay.

The next thing he remembered was waking to the nauseating smell of disinfectant that seemed to linger around all hospitals, muggle or magical. An old woman was sitting at his bedside, knitting what looked like a very long scarf and when she realized that he was awake, she'd set her scarf aside and had called in a nurse. He'd been in perfect health, except for a mild fever brought on from his time in the rain.

Then the nurse had asked for his name. He had opened his mouth to reply, but found that no matter how he racked his brain, he couldn't remember. Looking back on those first few weeks, Harry realized now that the spell that had sent him here hadn't gone quite right. He'd aimed for 1978, just before the worst days of the war would have started. He was also supposed to go back with his mind and body. Instead he'd gone back six years too far, in the body of his eleven year old self and until receiving his Hogwarts letter on July 31st, hadn't remembered anything of his life except a large flash of light and a rushing sound.

It had been a confusing couple of weeks, but he'd gotten lucky; luckier, perhaps, than he'd ever been in his first life. The kind old woman that had found him was Mrs. Charlotte Moores, a wealthy widow who owned a large house outside London. She was a squib who'd lost both her husband and two sons in Gellert Grindelwald's rise to power in the 1940's. She had taken him in, given him a name, and when it became apparent that he would receive wizarding education, paid his way.

Harry had chosen not to reveal to her his entire past for her own safety. He had traveled back in time to defeat Voldemort before his actions could lead to the destruction of wizarding Britain and despite the fact he'd landed far too early, in a much too young body, he was determined to do so. As a squib she had no mental defense against Voldemort's legilimency and while he trusted her, it was too early to put his plan in jeopardy in such a way.

She had taken him in though, fed and clothed him, and for that he would protect her anyway that he could.

"What do you think?" A voice from beside him snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced over to see Timothy, one of his dorm mates looking at him expectantly.

"About what?" Harry replied. Timothy heaved a great sigh, as if it physically pained him to repeat himself.

"I asked if you'd like to meet up in Diagon Alley during the summer for ice cream with us." Timothy said, glancing around to the other first years seated around them. Harry hesitated for a moment, before the bright faces of his dorm mates forced him to cave.

"Yeah, alright," he said, smiling a bit at their enthusiasm. Harry knew that 'Hadrian' came off a bit odd. He was too mature for his age, too bold, and far too knowledgeable. Harry hadn't spent much time around eleven year olds since he was one the first time, and so trying to act like one hadn't been easy. His four dorm mates didn't seem to mind though. In fact they flocked to him and seemed to think that he had an answer to any question they could have.

"I'll send you an owl about it when we know when we're going to meet up," Timothy was saying. Harry shushed him gently when he saw Dumbledore stand up from the corner of his eye. The hall gradually quieted to Dumbledore's raised hands and when they were all silent he began to speak.

"A fine end to another fine year!" he said. "This year the House Cup goes to Hufflepuff, who gathered an impressive 483 points. Well done Hufflepuff!" Loud cheering came from the Hufflepuff table while polite applause came from the other three. Given Harry had already gone through his Hogwarts education once, he honestly didn't care much about the House Cup. In fact, hadn't cared much about the Cup after his third year the first time around either. He couldn't actually remember who won for his fourth, fifth, or sixth years.

"I'd like to wish you all a lovely summer holiday, and I can speak for all of the staff when I say we will be looking forward to seeing all of your faces again in September. But for now, enjoy the feast!"

As Dumbledore sat down and the entire hall began to load up their plates, Harry found his eyes drawn to a particular group of second years near the end of the Gryffindor table. He could say with certainty that he did look eerily like his father, and that he really did have his mother's eyes. He had cherished every opportunity he'd had over the year to speak with Lily and had found his idolization of her turn into genuine fondness. She was only twelve, but already Harry could see the bravery and kindness that he'd been told about all his life.

He'd also managed to, at the very least, become acquaintances with Severus Snape who was as greasy as ever, but lacked the bitterness of the adult Snape that Harry had known. He'd also managed to befriend Regulus Black, which had been strategic, but Harry found himself sincerely enjoying the company the Slytherin. He was spoilt, and wasn't used to thinking for himself or questioning the ideals of his parents, but deep down he had a good heart.

He hadn't been able to spend nearly as much time with the Marauders though. They wouldn't actually be known as that for several years, but Harry could see the brotherly bonds developing that would lead Sirius, James, and Peter to become animagi and later the creation of the Marauders Map.

James and Sirius were reckless at this age, and already they focused the majority of their pranks on the Slytherins. Remus was as sickly and scarred as Harry had expected him to be, but Peter had been the big surprise. Harry had thought he would be able to spot the traitor in him immediately, that he'd have to hold himself back from killing the rat on sight, but instead Harry had found an innocent boy, eager and while not as naturally talented as his friends, keen to learn.

Harry had decided to withhold judgment for now, but if he could, he'd like to change Peter's fate as well. His plans had changed drastically, but Harry supposed that maybe that was for the best. He would change history, and hopefully, create a much better future.