CHAPTER TWO

Traveller's Luck

Harry was getting quite fed up with the barrage of headaches she was getting. She could have killed for some of Mrs. Weasley's chicken soup with extra vegetables, and the warm dining room of the Burrow right then and there. She indeed would have murdered for a treacle tart. Harry groaned and opened her eyes. The act caused her a brief moment of pain as her eyes were not expecting the intensity of the light that surrounded her and had shut her eyes again because of it.

Then, Harry felt the sensation of a gentle breeze brush against her face and through her clothes. She dared to open her eyes again and took in her surroundings; doing so had sent Harry into an almost fight-or-flight mode. She was no longer at Kings Cross or at Hogwarts or even lying on the ground of the Forbidden Forest. Harry was in London. Sitting against the wall in bloody fricking London.

Harry knew the hub-bub and the noises of London anywhere. But as she looked around her, something dawned on her very quickly – something that told her that there was something not right here. The cars that drove on the road were old, looking, likes ones from fifty years ago. Uncle Vernon had fixed plenty of those for her to notice. Some of them looked like Bonnie and Clyde cars. The double-decker buses were red, but had a very old-timey shape.

The people stood out just as much. The women around her were dressed strangely in dresses that had some hideous floral patterns, checked patterns and made the women in them look slightly older than they were. If they were not wearing dresses, they wore knee-length skirts and all had their hair up; most had a hat on as well, and those hats were nothing like the Sunday best ones that Aunt Petunia had. They looked older and some had a face veil attached to them. Harry made a mental note not to be caught dead in one of those ridiculous dresses. To her surprise, many of the women who passed her were wearing gloves. The kind Petunia would sneer should only be worn for evenings or garden parties. All their shoes had some kind of heel, but looked incredibly old fashioned, like something a grandmother would wear.

As for the men, they all wore suits – she had never seen adults dress so formally on a busy day unless they were businessmen. Many of them wore fedoras or bowler hats, and most of their jackets and trousers looked tailored. Harry was pretty certain that all the men in the city could not be businessmen! She also noted a few Kent fasson overcoats; one of Vernon's colleagues had one and Harry could replay Vernon's jealous ramblings over and over again. Some of them walked with a cane, especially the ones who looked like they exuded money.

The people who had the time of day to notice Harry gave her odd looks, especially at her clothes, but didn't stop to ask her any questions. Harry was pretty certain that there may have been some period drama being filmed and that someone had neglected to make sure that the out-of-place teenaged girl was out of the way, so simply decided to leave her to the director to call security. But as Harry looked more closely at the buildings and saw no film crews or lighting that could indicate she was trespassing on a film set, her film theory was quickly thrown out of the window. Plus, damaged buildings and rubble from what looking like bombings were also a very clear indication.

Suddenly, a hollering voice with a high pitch reached Harry's ears over the top of the hustle and bustle of this strange London life. With her survival instincts kicking in, Harry followed the sound until she saw through the break in the crowd, a young boy wearing an old timey cap and tweed jacket standing on a crate, holding up newspapers to the passers-by. The boy was around eight and was dressed just as strangely as the people around. When she got to the stall of newspapers, Harry picked one up and looked at it for any information that could help her discern where and … when she was.

Hitler.

The name in the headline sprung out to her almost immediately. Oh no. She then turned the page to find a story about King George VI and Queen Elizabeth once again meeting with the people of London.

Harry immediately scanned the newspaper for the date, and she found it in the right hand corner of the newspaper. July 31st, 1944. It was her birthday … but fifty years in the past.

Harry felt her heart skip several beats, paling considerably. Her fingers subconsciously began crumpling the edges of the newspaper slightly in her shock.

"Excuse me, miss. Are you going to buy a paper?" the boy asked Harry cautiously, giving her clothes a pointed look.

Harry whirled around and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "No, sorry. I don't need the newspaper … I just needed the date."

The boy frowned, looking quite concerned. "Are you all right, miss?"

"Not really." She gave the boy a look that she knew was almost pleading. "Which street am I on?"

"Charing Cross Road, ma'am," the young lad answered, looking and sounding a little uncertain. When Harry heard that, her heart had stilled for a moment. She knew where she could go. "You need help or something?"

"Or something," Harry agreed as she put the newspaper back. "Thank you."

With that, Harry walked away and began formulating a new plan of action. She needed to get to the Leaky Cauldron and to Diagon Alley. Once she got there, to familiar ground, she could plan her next move. Plus, since she was fifty years in the past and had been hit by a Killing Curse on the same day, the world owed her bloody butterbeer for her efforts.

Halting in her tracks for a moment as a flash of panic rushed through her, Harry searched her pockets for her wand. A few people who had been walking behind her grumbled at her to watch out but she barely heard them. The wand she took from Draco Malfoy. Yes! It was still there! Smirking to herself, Harry continued down Charing Cross Road with a spring in her step.

I can tell you, Harry almost burst into tears when she lay eyes on the Leaky Cauldron. The building was still as gnarled as she remembered, but fitted well enough into the aesthetic of the world outside that it didn't look too suspicious to Muggle eyes. Harry stood there looking at the door for a solid forty seconds before going in. It was like coming home and seeing that your room hadn't been changed all too drastically.

Harry may have been a little nervous when approaching the building but once she was inside, a wave of calm had overcome her and she felt at ease for the first time in a long while. The interior of the pub was as dark and as warm as she first remembered, and was quite lightly packed for the time of day. There was a large group of teenagers – probably Hogwarts students – sitting in a group together with drinks, laughing and chatting. There was a witch and a wizard having lunch together, and a few people at the bar. Harry studied a few of them quite intently. Little had changed in wizarding fashion over fifty years, but the hair styles were definitely of the time. There was a wizard was studying his drink, looking sombre, while another was reading and quite absorbed into his reading material. The third man, who also had his back to her, seemed to be marking papers.

"Can I help you?"

Harry looked up sharply and met the eyes of Tom the barkeeper. She had to do a double-take because not only was this Tom considerably younger, he did not walk with a hunch and had a full head of hair, but it was definitely him. Wearing a nice, neat set of robes. Harry had no idea who she had expected to be there, but somehow she thought everything would have changed during time travel.

Unfortunately, while time seemed to have slowed in her head, it had not in the real world. The bar keeper had farrowed his brow at her. "Miss?"

That shook Harry out of her stupor.

"Sorry," she answered with a quick smile. "I was wondering if you could let me into Diagon Alley. It is quite urgent."

Tom regarded her for a moment with narrowed eyes and gave an unusually sharp twist of the towel inside the mug he was drying off. "Do you have a wand?"

What an odd question to ask. Do I look like a Muggle or something? Harry thought to herself.

"Of course," Harry held up her wand for Tom to see.

That didn't seem to ease what suspicions the bar keeper had. Tom's eyes narrowed even more. "How old are you, miss?"

Harry tried not to look taken aback. "Seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Tom frowned at her. "Are you a Hogwarts student?"

"No," Harry gulped. Then an idea struck her. It was a good thing she knew her Magical History and that Voldemort had provided her with the perfect back story. Hey, that Snakefaced Cue Ball was good for something! "No. I need help. I … I am an orphan. My parents … they died. Grindelwald's men attacked without warning. My parents told me to run – they didn't make it." Harry's eyes began welling up as she began replaying every moment she heard her mother begging for mercy, courtesy of the Dementors. Harry sniffed, "I just got here and I was hoping to get to Diagon Alley to find a job or something."

She had no money, no home, no clothes apart from the ones she was wearing – a job in Diagon Alley was the only way Harry knew she would be able to scrape together some Galleons to be able to survive. Harry saw no other way.

"Pardon the intrusion, my girl, but what is your name?"

Harry froze and snapped her head around in the second. She thought for a moment that she was back in that strange limbo that was Kings Cross for a moment because that voice was eerily familiar. And it was for very good reason, because standing next to her with marked papers and butterbeer in hand, was Albus Dumbledore. Quite young looking, his hair was grey, not silver – he was maybe in his early forties but it was definitely him. The strange coloured robes sort of gave him away. Harry internally questioned herself why she had not noticed before.

She shook herself out of her shock and cleared her throat.

"My name is Hera, but everyone calls me Harry … sir," Harry answered with a small smile.

Dumbledore plopped himself in the empty seat next to where Harry was standing. "Harry, I hope you are not offended by my intrusion but I couldn't help but overhear your predicament from the other end of the bar."

Harry resisted the urge to scoff or roll her eyes. Somehow she very much doubted that. "It's not a problem, sir."

"Good, because if you don't mind me saying, you look like you are in need of some assistance quite badly."

Harry laughed bitterly at this. "You could say that again, sir. That is why I need some kind of job. So I know what I will be able to do to help myself."

Dumbledore smiled. "You are a very resourceful young lady, Harry. As it happens, I might be able to offer you another resolution to your problem. You are seventeen, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I ask the story and level behind your schooling?"

Harry looked a little glum at this. Time to see how well she could bend the truth to fool one of the greatest wizards of the 20th century. "Well, I was home schooled. I suffer from an inherited condition, and my parents were quite protective of me so they decided to educate me at home with the help of friends and tutors."

The professor's brow furrowed in concern. "I see. And has this condition bothered you considerably off late?"

Nope. He's technically not even my plague yet.

"Not as much as it used to," Harry admitted truthfully.

"Do you think you would be able to handle being a mainstream school, with other students?"

Harry's face lit up in an instant. "Absolutely, sir!"

The famous twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes. "Ah, good! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the Transfigurations Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry shook his hand quite firmly, and almost started laughing in relief. She had thought of trying to get to Hogwarts by trying to get into contact with the current Headmaster and explain her 'situation', but apparently the Fates had thrown her a bone.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Harry replied formally.

"The pleasure is all mine, dear girl. So, how would you like to attend Hogwarts?"

"I would be honoured to! But as I said before, I have no money. For books or robes, let alone food."

"Do not fret, dear girl. Hogwarts has a fund for that at Gringotts Wizard Bank." Dumbledore handed her a crisp white and golden card with his extensively long name on it. "Show them my card and the goblins will help you."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

"You are very welcome, Harry …?"

Harry swallowed a little. Merlin, she forgot to give a last name! Fortunately, the answer came quite quickly to her. "Evans."

Harry saw Dumbledore relax completely and beam at her. "I look forward to teaching you at Hogwarts, Harry Evans. Now, Tom," he turned to the barkeeper, who had been clearly eavesdropping on the entire conversation, "please house Miss Evans until she finds some suitable accommodation and please make sure she has dinner," Dumbledore was handing Tom some gold Galleons already. "The stake and kidney pie is heavenly here!"

Harry paled. "Sir, that is too much!"

The damn twinkle in his eye grew brighter. "Nonsense dear girl. I highly doubt your parents want their daughter to sleep on the streets with no food."

"I will have Room 13 made up for you," Tom said kindly, handing her a set of keys. Harry smiled a small smile of thanks.

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye glowed quite brightly as he took out a pen and notebook. "Now, how about you tell me which subjects you had during home-schooling. For your last and N.E.W.T year, you usually do the subjects you did during your sixth year but as you were not schooled at an institution, your subjects will be based on that."

"Well, I was taught Charms, Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfigurations mainly but I also got some schooling in History of Magic. I had some manuscript studies because my parents were into collecting rare books. I suppose I know a little about Ancient Runes and Elemental magic." Thanks, Hermione. I owe you three when I get back.

"Lovely! I will see what I can arrange back at Hogwarts with the staff. Here is a list of books you will need for the seventh year."

Harry blinked quite despondently as she took the letter and smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much, sir."

"Did you take any advanced classes?" he continued.

Harry blinked a little. In her time, there was not much of a different in the levels of the courses at all! "Erm," she gave herself a moment to come up with an answer, "I had Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts," kind of true, "Advanced Charms," Patronus definitely counted, she argued to herself, "and Advanced Herbology." Thank you Neville for all those study sessions!

"Indeed! Two of those are open, but Herbology has no Advanced class as not many are taking it for N.E.W.T level. Is Advanced Transfigurations an option, or do you think it may be too much?" Dumbledore began scribbling again.

"No, I would love to join!" Harry replied enthusiastically.

"Then that is settled then," the Transfigurations professor closed his note book. "I will see to it you are enrolled in these classes. I will also ensure that the Headmaster and the Head Boy and Girl will be made aware of your past and condition, so that there no nasty surprises all around. I will also arrange for the Head Boy and Girl to meet you on the Hogwarts Express."

Harry could not help but give a grateful smile to the man who she had many conflicted feelings about. "Thank you, sir. Really."

Dumbledore beamed at her. "I am always happy to assist a brave young witch such as yourself. Your parents would be proud of you. Come on. I will take you to Diagon Alley. I have some business there to attend to myself so it isn't a problem."

The jovial wizard took the strangely dressed, out-of-time witch out back and tapped the wall outback in the exact same pattern as Hagrid did with his pink umbrella when Harry was eleven. She tried not to crack up at the fact the security system had not been updated in over fifty years. It was actually quite worrying if you think about it.

Despite being in 1944 and in the midst of the Second World War, Diagon Alley was as bright and as busy as it ever had been. The fashion sense of witches and wizards had not updated by much in over fifty years – there was just a lot more fur lining the dresses of the witches. At the sight of the same alleyway Harry almost once more burst into tears of joy.

"Will you be all right?" Dumbledore, who had seen her face contort, asked kindly.

"Yes!" Harry reassured quite quickly. "Yes, thank you. If it wasn't for you-"

The Transfigurations professor waves his hand dismissively. "No, none of that. You are a strong woman in your own right; a right lioness. I wager you will end up in Gryffindor."

Harry smiled. "Perhaps, sir."

"See you in a month, Miss Evans!" Dumbledore waved.

"Bye, sir!"

The strange man was lost in the Diagon Alley crowd quite quickly. Harry chuckled to herself and breathed a sigh of relief. She could genuinely not believe how lucky she was sometimes – perhaps there really was a Potter curse or something.

Harry weaved in and out of the crowds quite quickly, but still managed to take in the sights. Apart from a few tweaks in styles in Madam Malkins' and Twifitt and Tattle's nothing was really that different. That, and the fact there was one other book store other than Flourish and Blotts in the alley. Harry made a mental note to visit it soon.

Gringotts Bank had not changed in the slightest. This made Harry very happy indeed. The inscription was the same, the entrance hall was as grand and as formal as it had been on her first visit and the goblins were as formally dressed as ever in 40s suits. The only problem was, Harry had no idea which goblin was in charge of the Hogwarts vaults, so she decided to go to the one goblin she knew.

Griphook.

Harry silently prayed to any deity who would listen that Griphook was still alive – and lo! He was. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief and when she approached him, she bowed. "Good day. May your gold be ever flowing."

The goblin looked up sharply, shocked to be addressed in a respectful manner by a young witch. A young witch dressed in extremely strange clothing. Was that jacket made out of leather?Griphook smirked a little. This could be fun.

"May your enemies fall at your feet, my dear. How can I help you?"

"My name is Hera Evans, but everyone calls me Harry. I am a transfer student to Hogwarts but I need some money from the fund. I am an orphan, you see. My parents, they were recently killed in a Grindelwald attack and I was offered a place at Hogwarts today."

Harry handed Griphook Dumbledore's card. Griphook nodded, but something in his gut told him there was more to this girl than met the eye. Perhaps it was her unusual eye colour, her demeanour or the aura of power around her? He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Of course, my dear. I will help you in any way that I can. But first, I need to verify something. Part of the process, you see. Would you follow me to my office?"

Harry's heart sank. She already knew the goblin was as cunning as a nest of vipers. It was stupid to think she could fool the same Griphook fifty years in the past.

Griphook's office was neat and quite impersonal. He gestured for her to take the seat on the opposite side of his desk and he got some parchment and a needle. "Prick your finger and let three droplets of blood fall onto the parchment."

Harry sighed in defeat and did as she was told. When the third blood droplet fell onto the vellum, a family tree grew out before her very eyes. Further information formed under the roots of the tree.

Hera Elizabeth Potter, "Harry"

Date of birth: 31st July 1980

Father: James Charlus Potter (to be born)

Mother: Lily Catherine Potter, nee Evans (to be born)

Heirships

Potter (by blood, not yet claimable)
Peverell (by blood)
Black (by blood adoption, not yet claimable)
Gaunt (by conquest, not yet claimable)
Slytherin (by conquest, not yet claimable)

Inherited Gifts

Animagus prowess
Mistress of Death
Parselmouth
Legilimency

"Well, well, well," Griphook chuckled. "A Traveller! Well I never!"

"Please don't tell anyone," Harry begged. "They will throw me into Azkaban and throw away the key."

"Calm yourself, my Lady," Griphook chuckled. "We will not breathe a word of this to anyone. As far as the world is concerned, you are Hera Evans. But as you can see, you have the right to claim your Peverell heritage. It would mean you do not need to rely on Hogwarts' vaults."

"I will need to take some money out or Dumbledore might get suspicious," Harry argued back immediately.

Griphook smirked. Good, this girl had her head firmly on her shoulders. "Indeed. You really do have the cunning of your ancestors. I will give you enough for your books, robes, quill, trunk and text books. That should throw the old codger off the scent. Now, should I take you to the Peverell vaults, my Lady?"

Harry considered for a moment. A vault that hasn't been used with Merlin knows how much gold? Only a fool would say no.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "Could you also explain as to why I am listed for Heirships?"

Griphook was very surprised. "You mean you were never informed?"

"Nope," Harry replied, popping the 'p', following closely behind the goblin. "My parents were murdered by another Dark Lord when I was one, so they never told me. I was raised by Muggles who hated magic with every fibre of their being; I never knew I was a witch until I turned eleven. No one else told me – not my godfather, not Dumbledore. No one."

The young witch had to breathe in and out a couple of times to quench her rising anger, and to stop her magic from exploding.

"That is unacceptable!" Griphook seethed. "An outrage! Unfortunately we have to wait fifty years to prosecute them."

Harry barked out a laugh.

She followed Griphook to the carriages that descended down into the vault. Harry was happy to note not even the security system of the goblins had been updated in fifty years. She had been in these carriages before and it felt as though Griphook was taking even deeper than the Lestrange vaults. Harry's stomach curled when she saw the chained and tortured dragons outside the deepest vaults. Yes, she did not regret setting the Ukrainian Ironbelly free from its prison. No one had the right to treat these dragons in such an appalling manner.

There were four Peverell vaults; Harry guessed there was one main one, and one that belonged to each to one of the three brothers. Griphook took out the key to the vaults and opened the one in the middle – Vault 1357. The Peverell family vault was twice the size of the vault Harry saw when she was eleven. Not only was gold stashed there, but there were enough ancient tomes to fill a library. There were also several boxes filled with only-Morgana-knows-what. Harry shook her head in disbelief.

Griphook went inside and retrieved a small fancy black box from inside. He opened it and showed Harry a golden ring with a dark black-green stone with the Peverell coat of arms etched into it. Griphook took it out and held it out to Harry. Harry reached out to take it, but before she could, the ring leapt onto her middle finger. Damn, the thing was eager!

The goblin chuckled at the shocked reaction on Harry's countenance. "Oh yes. You are the rightful Heiress all right. Congratulations, Lady Peverell."

Harry blanched a little. "I can't have people find out. It's too dangerous."

Thanks to her and Hermione's hunt for the Hallows, Harry had gotten to know just how embroiled both Dumbledore and Grindelwald were with the Peverell brothers and their so-called Gifts from Death. Should anyone ever find out she now had the name Peverell added to her family name, Tom Riddle would be the least of her worries.

Griphook gave her a knowing look. "Do not fret, Lady Peverell. Grindelwald will not hear about this from our lips. I can even put a powerful glamour onto the ring, so that it looks like a normal aristocratic ring if you wish?"

Then and there, Harry decided she liked the goblin a whole lot more than she did in her time. "Yes, thank you."

"Of course. It is a pleasure to be of service. Now, how much would you like to take out?"

"Erm … two hundred Galleons and … may I also take a few books with me?"

"Of course. They belong to you now," Griphook smirked. "Do you have a particular wish on the topic, or shall I pick which ones you may find more riveting?"

Harry blushed. "I wouldn't know what books they had, so you may pick."

By the time they had returned to Griphook's office, Harry had two hundred personal gold, one hundred Galleons from the Hogwarts fund and six exquisite looking books on various different subjects.

As Griphook was doing the paperwork, Harry, who had been fumbling with her thumbs nervously, piped up. "So, Mr. Griphook, do you by any chance have any job vacancies or summer internships free at the moment?"

The goblin looked at her as though she said, "I have suddenly grown a nice golden beard". "Sorry, come again?"

"I am looking for a job," Harry clarified. "I don't want to simply live off vault money, and I also need a place to stay. I would need to pay rent, get food, somehow buy clothes – for that I need a stable income. Do you have anything to offer me, or know someone who is looking for help?"

Griphook regarded her for a moment before sitting back in his chair and folded his arms. Most aristocratic wand-wielders were more than content to live off their vaults. But apparently Harry Potter-Peverell was not. Strange. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact her Muggle relations were horrid to say the least?

After around a minute of studying the young witch in front of him, he stated, "Gringotts is currently looking for Curse-breakers. Most of our recent additions and a few of our veterans have fallen prey to Grindelwald and we find ourselves in need of anyone we can find. Have you got any qualifications in Arithmancy or Ancient Runes?"

"In my own time I didn't take either," Harry admitted, "but I did study Ancient Runes with my friend Hermione, who did take it. In this time I have no qualifications because I was home schooled by my parents. I have an inherited condition that kept me at home. I do have a vast array of experience with dark hexes and curses."

"Well, I am sure that we can come to some arrangement," Griphook assured with a grin and took out a contract. "We will send you any assignments – you will be paid by the hour, and the pay doubled upon satisfactory completion. We will not be sending you on any expeditions seeing as you are going to be a student of Hogwarts. Where are you currently staying?"

"The Leaky Cauldron."

"Good. Which room?"

"Room 13."

"From now on, we will be covering your expenses, my Lady. Until you find yourself a place to stay. Now, we do have a non-disclosure agreement that we need you to sign and here is a book on Goblin Law that you must read. We will not require you to take the test yet as you are on a trial period but should you wish to continue working with us, we will need you to take the exam. Is this agreeable to you?"

Harry frowned. "Will the expenses be subtracted from my wages?"

Griphook chuckled. "No, no. We do not extort children."

"That's … comforting to know." Harry sighed and picked up the quill and signed her name.

Griphook grinned. "Welcome to Gringotts, Lady Peverell."

***********

As usual, I am playing in the sandbox created by JK Rowling. I hope you have enjoyed reading this update and I would love to hear your thoughts!

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