December 26, 1975

He cast the spell two more times with the exact same outcome. This has to be a fucking joke. Right? There was no way he was actually transported back to 1975. Right? Harry quickly calculated. 30 years... 3 rotations... 30 years…

"Fuck!"

"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time!" Hermione's words swirled through his mind. He slowly stood up, while his brain tried to comprehend what had just happened. That was when he noticed the difference in his height. He no longer stood around six feet and two inches. Harry was probably barely scraping the six feet mark. What the hell had happened with his body while being sent back in time?

It did not matter right now, Harry decided. There were a thousand other things to contemplate on. Yet, Harry could not even begin to grasp the situation in its entirety. He only knew one thing, he had to get out of here. He had gotten to know Croaker and the other Unspeakables over the last few months and if he remained here any longer, it might be too late.

Standard operating procedure for any time traveler was keeping them in quarantine, pumping them full of Veritaserum, and tearing through their mind with Legilimency attacks, until there was nothing left of him. The Department did not joke around with anything concerning the study and magic of time. People usually had a reason to go back in time and changing certain events led to scenarios one could not possibly even imagine. Therefore, as a rule of thumb, no time traveler was left unattended.

Harry jumped out of the chair and quickly snatched his leather back from the table, praying everything he had left in there would still be present. When his fingers came in contact with the soft, cold fabric of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry sighed in relief. The Hallow would allow him to sneak out of here undetected.

He threw it around his neck and pulled down the hood, seemingly vanishing from existence. Double checking that he had taken all his possessions, he walked over to the door and into the corridor. Just in time as Harry heard footsteps approaching him from around the corner and checked once more to see if he was fully concealed.

"What's the status, Croaker?" A cold shiver ran down his spine as Harry recognized the voice as Augustus Rookwood. The only thing worse than the Unspeakables learning about his existence would be if Voldemort caught a whiff of it. He held his breath as the two men in dark grey Unspeakable robes turned around the corner and headed straight towards the office.

"We have a code Bravo Red." Croaker growled: "But it's probably just a miss-input because we recently moved a few of the time turners from one shelf to another."

Harry frowned. Code Bravo red was an active rift, a time traveler could use to slip through. Pretty much exactly what had happened to him, if he was not mistaken. Nevertheless, he needed a distraction to either obliviate both of them and escape, or he could just...

His mind surprised himself with the brilliance of the idea that just came.

Rookwood was left-handed, holding his wand between his outstretched fingers as he approached the very door Harry just came from. The tip of the Elder Wand peeked from underneath the Cloak and Harry fired a silent tripping jinx, followed by a cutting curse.

His target stumbled over his own feet and fell to the cold stone tiles with a yelp. From the outside perspective, it looked as if somehow the entire sleeve, starting from his shoulder, was ripped off of Rookwood's robes during the fall, leaving his pale arm exposed. The split second it took the man to realize what had happened was enough for Croaker to fire a silent stunning charm at his colleague. The bright red beam of light connected with Rookwood's chest and the man's head slumped back to the floor.

"Fucking hell..." Croaker whispered as he leaned over the unconscious man and trailed the tip of his wand along the Dark Mark that was clearly embedded into the pale skin of Rookwood's forearm. Three more pairs of footsteps echoed through the corridor, coming to a slithering halt before the two men: "Croaker, we heard that there is a code Br- What in Merlin's name happened to Rookwood?"

"Fuck the code Bravo Red." Croaker growled: "We have far more important things to worry about now." He said, gesturing towards their colleague's arm.

"The Dark Mark!" One gasped in a whisper.

Harry grinned satisfied. He had seen enough already and also confirmed his theory. So far, he did not seem to have traveled into some parallel universe, but simply back in time. All events, up until the point of his arrival should have been the same as in his own past. Of course, the revelation of Rookwood's true loyalties would already change the future in a way he could not predict.

It had been necessary, but Harry knew that he needed some time to think before making any further drastic changes. The more he changed, the less value his knowledge of the future held. Luckily, the Department was so occupied with the discovered Death Eater, that Harry effortlessly slipped through the dark corridors all the way to the elevators leading up to the Atrium.

He thought briefly whether he should conceal himself but depending on how crowded the Atrium was this morning, he would be in much more trouble if he ran into someone while under the Invisibility Cloak. In one fluent motion, he pulled the Cloak from his shoulders and stored it safely within the depths of his leather pack.

He spotted the stairs leading up to the ninth floor, where the different courtrooms were placed. The memory of a fifteen-year-old Harry Potter's hearing with those morons Fudge and Umbridge swirled through his mind. Who was even Minister right now? It should be Millicent Bagnold if he was not mistaken.

Harry sprinted up the stairs, headed towards the end of the corridor, and increased his pace even further until he finally reached the lifts. The Elder Wand flicked once more, and he felt his robes adjust to his new body size. As soon as he found a private place, he would find out what exactly happened to his body.

Glancing over his shoulder one more time, Harry checked if anyone was approaching and then quickly called for an elevator. With a loud RING, its golden doors opened, and Harry got inside immediately, ready to get out of here.

He impatiently waited as the doors slowly closed, but when barely a few inches of space were left between the doors, he suddenly heard loud footsteps. Then, a large, slightly callused hand, sporting a thick signature ring, was shoved in the small gap between the doors. Fuck! Harry grimaced as the doors slowly opened back up. He would have preferred to ride by himself.

However, the face that appeared as soon as the door was fully extended had him gaping with his mouth wide open for a full three seconds before he pulled himself together and powered up his strongest Occlumency shield.

The man that stood before him was tall and broad-shouldered. He was dressed in deep purple robes of the Wizengamot, wearing a small crest on his chest, depicting a Griffin. Harry would have guessed his age at around the mid-fifties, but his unruly dark hair was still full, with barely a hint of gray at its side.

The man radiated a sort of presence he had only ever seen in a wizard's presents like Dumbledore's, or some powerful professor at Bern University. Nevertheless, the stranger, also, went through a small slip in his demeanor, when his hazel eyes found Harry before he cleared his throat and took a tentative step forward.

Harry cursed and forced himself to remain a neutral expression on his face. Of all the people he could have possibly run into during his first hour in a new timeline, he ran into Charlus William Potter. He had recognized the man immediately, even if it had not been for the memories Minerva showed him in Dumbledore's pensieve. Everything about the man in front of him screamed Potter and reminded him so much of the few pictures he had of his father. What the hell should he do?

Charlus entered the elevator, unable to tear his eyes off Harry. He too pressed the button for the atrium and they both watched the doors slowly close in a very uncomfortable and awkward silence.

"I am Charlus Potter." The man suddenly turned to him, offering his large hand. Harry almost flinched for his wand at the sudden movement: "May I ask your name, young man?"

His name... Harry frowned... he could not tell him. At least not right now. But the resemblance between them and especially between him and his son must be evidence enough that there had to be a somewhat close blood relation. Harry desperately tried to calm his nerves. If this went wrong, he was royally screwed. But he had to give it a try.

"My name is Harry, sir." The boy replied and shook the offered limb firmly: "Harry Peverell."

Charlus' eyes almost bulged out of their sockets and Harry did not miss the small gasp. So, the man did know about his ancestry. Good, perhaps that would make things easier.

"What leads you down here, Mr... Peverell?"

Well, fuck. Another lie then: "I recently moved to Britain, Lord Potter." Harry decided to address the man formally. He was in his Wizengamot robes after all: "I went to get the necessary paperwork set up, but unfortunately, I exited the lift one floor too late. The atrium is where I should be heading."

Charlus did not seem to suspect anything so far. Either that or the man was an exceptional Occlumens: "I will guide you back out, Mr. Peverell." He shot him a polite nod: "If you don't mind me asking, where did you move from? Your accent sounds British and so does your name?"

Harry groaned internally. Why did the man have to ask him so many questions? He would have to go over all of his answers once more to make sure his backstory would be coherent. Harry could not dare to draw any attention to himself. At least not right now:

"I moved from the continent, sir." Harry replied politely: "But you are correct in assuming my family is of British origin."

With a loud RING, the door to the elevator slowly opened on the floor the atrium was positioned in. Charlus gestured for Harry to step out first and followed him right after. Not too eager to reveal any more information about himself, Harry quickly walked over to the fireplaces. He could feel his grandfather's eyes on him. Even saying so sounded extremely wrong.

"Well, Mr. Peverell, as a gesture of hospitality and to welcome you to Magical Britain, I would like to invite you to dinner with my family." The man suddenly spoke just before they reached the Floo: "Let's say 6:00 pm tonight, does that suit you?"

Harry hid his scowl as well as he could. He knew that this was a formal invitation, but it sounded almost like a request, and in a way it was. If he did not show up or decline it, he could find himself in even more trouble. Charlus Potter must have been a very popular and influential man during this time. Definitely, not some he wanted to get on the wrong side of.

"That suits me just fine, Lord Potter." He replied with a nod.

"Perfect!" The man's face actually displayed a genuine smile: "The Floo address is Potter Manor, we will key you in the wards as soon as you enter your fireplace."

"I am looking forward to getting to know you and your family, my Lord," Harry replied while taking a handful of Floo powder and stepping into the nearest fireplace. In a way it was true. He did want to get to know his family, but first, he needed time to figure out the mess he had created and make a plan for how exactly he was going to deal with it.

He threw down a handful of powder and said: "The Leaky Cauldron." He vanished in a green flame, leaving behind the curious expression on his grandfather's face.

The pub that served as the entrance to Diagon Alley looked just as it had in his time. He approached Tom, the barman, who despite being 30 years younger, also looked very much the same.

"Good morning, sir. I would like to have a room for a week, please." Harry inquired while skimming through his leather back for some galleons.

Tom's smile turned into a frown when he noticed him. Nevertheless, he complied with the request: "Of course, sir. My name is Tom. Now let me check quickly… That will be 5 sickles per night, good sir."

Harry thought he must have heard incorrectly. While he knew inflation had been a bitch in recent years, especially in the muggle world, it must have been even worse in Magical Britain. In his timeline, a single night at the Leaky cauldron would have cost over two galleons.

Luckily, Harry always carried some spare Galleons in a small wallet in his leather back. Checking its contents, he saw roughly 100 Galleons and a few silver coins. Deciding to keep the Galleons, for now, he counted 35 silver pieces for the seven nights he intended on staying and received a small key in return.

"Are you by any chance related to the Potters, good sir?" Tom asked as Harry turned to leave for his room: "This is Magical Britain, my friend. Aren't we all related to each other, Tom?" Harry shot him a grin and quickly headed up the stairs.

Fate must be having him on because Harry's room was the exact one, he stayed in during the summer of his third year, after blowing up Aunt Marge. Well, at least the Dursleys were the least of his problems right now. He threw his leather bag over to the bed and slumped down into the chair across from the undersized wooden table that stood in one corner of the room.

The jug of water would hopefully help him calm his mind. Harry rubbed through his hair, making it stand up even more. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He needed to organize his thoughts. He also needed a solid plan and a clear approach to his situation. The analytical part in him, that had grown stronger since the removal of the Horcrux took over his brain, gave firm directions.

Walking back over to the bed, Harry skimmed through his bag for some parchment and a quill. Sitting back down, he began writing down his thoughts to clear his mind, something that had always helped him during his studies in Switzerland.

How to: Timetravel

So, first things first, the year was 1975. He guessed he should start with everything that he knew about this time period:

1975: Bagnold is Minister. Crouch is Head of DMLE. Dumbledore is Headmaster. Flitwick, Slughorn, McGonagall, Sprout teach. DADA position is cursed. Mom and Dad are at Hogwarts, fifth year. Death Eater activity increases and Voldemort is on the rise.

Finishing the last sentence, it was pretty much the first time, Harry realized he would have to do it all over again. He would somehow have to kill Voldemort a second time. But he did hold the advantage this time around, did he not? Now he truly held A Power He Knows Not. The Power of future knowledge.

Well in order to defeat Voldemort, he would have to take down his Horcruxes first. He continued writing, moving towards information that was variable and not yet confirmed.

Dairy: Either in possession of Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy

Cup: Either in possession of Voldemort or Bellatrix Black / Lestrange

Ring: Probably gaunt Shack, Little Hangleton

He paused and played with the thick golden ring on his own finger. So far, all three Hallows seemed to have survived their jump through time. But what happens to his father's Cloak, Dumbledore's wand, and the Gaunt ring? The Elder Wand is the strongest wand in the world. There can't possibly be two of them at the same time, could there? He would have to ponder over that question later.

Locket: Possession of Voldemort until he asks Regulus Black for Kreacher

Diadem: Hogwarts

Nagini: Not made yet

Harry Potter: Not made yet

Harry grimaced. Now there is the question of what he actually wanted to achieve. While he could curse the entire situation, he realized that he had also been given a chance. Or better yet all the people that died during the first wizarding war, people that deserved a better future, had been given a chance with his arrival. Well, he obviously intended on changing a few fates.

TO-DO:

Save parents, meet family

Save Sirius and Longbottoms

Peter Pettigrew?

Kill Death Eaters and Voldemort

The list was rather simple. But what more was there to it? Well, perhaps one more point. If he wanted to spend time with his future - past family, then he would need to enroll at Hogwarts. That way, he could also get rid of the Diadem and perhaps even the Basilisk. Enrolling at the school also gave him another chance:

Enroll at Hogwarts

Live teenage years the way you should have

Have some fucking fun with the Marauders

Talking about teenagers. What the fuck had happened to his body? Harry walked over to the small bathroom attached to his room and took off his robes to take a glance in the mirror. Now, how the hell did this happen?

He barely recognized himself. On a positive note, his eyesight was still fixed. Also, his hair was still somewhat tamable and looked a bit more elegant than what he remembered of James and Charlus Potter. All thanks to a neat little charm he had learned in Switzerland. However, his body was different. He had undoubtedly shrunken back down to around 5'10 / 5'11.

The defined muscle mass he had packed on over the years of Quidditch and dueling training at university was severely reduced. He still looked fit and lean, but whereas he had probably weighed in at around 200 pounds before he got here, he now perhaps scratched the 170-pound mark. Not ideal at all.

On the bright side, looking the way he did now, things fit significantly better with the background he had shared about himself so far. He looked more like an athletic teenager, perhaps 15/16 years old. Besides, he should still grow and gain the weight back in time.

Now for his back story. Certain people could never know that he was here or who he really was. The most obvious one was Voldemort. If the monster learned of Harry's knowledge, then it would be all for nothing. Next, he needed to avoid Dumbledore as best as possible. The man was too astute to be easily fooled and the name Peverell would already catch his attention. Last but not least, he hoped that the Unspeakables would forget the little incident and instead focus on the more obvious issue the Department now faced.

Harry dressed back up in front of the mirror and went to the desk once more to continue writing down his decisions:

New Name: Harry Peverell

Perhaps a middle name was needed to make the name more realistic?

Harry Ignotus Peverell

And now his background:

Only child, born to a pureblood father and muggle-born mother.

Parents murdered when he was one year old.

Raised by muggle relatives on the continent, privately tutored at age 11.

Hobbies: Quidditch and dueling.

Returned to Britain to start a new chapter of his life...

He decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. It would be easier whenever he was forced to tell a bit about himself. In addition, it would dishonor their memory to lie about his parents' invaluable sacrifice. Of course, he could make himself a pureblood and lie, but for some reason, it just felt wrong. He was who he was and the less he lied, the better for him.

So far, so good. Now he only needed to become Harry Ignotus Peverell and have it confirmed officially. His gaze swept out the window and over Diagon Alley and its many shops. It rested on the white marble building that was Gringotts. The bank would be his first destination.

He pocketed his notes, shrunk his leather bag, and locked the room. Then he headed for the backyard of the Leaky cauldron that served as an entrance to the Alley and tapped the necessary pattern on the stone bricks. Ignoring the few curious looks he received, Harry walked past the apothecary and Flourish & Blotts to head over to Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

The unique poem over the entrance remaining one of the few constants from more familiar times. He had to be careful. He did not really intend to steal from the goblins. If there was anything left from his ancestors, then it should rightfully belong to him. So, Harry confidently walked up to the closest teller and cleared his throat.

"I would like to make a withdrawal from my account, Teller Goblin," Harry stated politely.

"Name?" The goblin grunted without even looking up.

"Peverell," Harry stated firmly.

The goblin looked up in surprise, his tiny eyes narrowed: "Lying about your heritage within these walls is considered a crime, wizard."

"Good thing I am not lying then." Harry said confidently: "I am the last descendant of the line. Therefore, I would like to inquire if my family ever possessed a vault within your fine establishment."

"Very well." The Goblin flashed him sharp black teeth: "Wait here, while I get the director, wizard."

A minute later, the teller returned with an older Goblin, who Harry recognized as Master Ragnok, Director of the British branch. Harry cursed under his breath. Ragnok was perhaps the unkindest goblin he had ever met. It had been a mess to negotiate a solution with Gringotts after Harry damaged the entire branch while escaping on a dragon.

"Good day to you, Master Raknok." Harry greeted him politely with a short respectful bow. Perhaps a good impression would favor the outcome of this discussion.

The Goblin seemed surprised, but his voice remained firm: "If you indeed are who you claim to be, Mr. Peverell, that you should have no issue confirming your identity with a blood sample. Be warned, if you lied, then you are subject to goblin jurisdiction."

Death then... Harry grimaced

"I accept." He nodded and presented his palm. The director sliced his thumb with a small silver knife and let three thick drops of dark blood trickle down onto a plate. He then hid the plate from Harry's view for a minute and Harry could only guess that they analyzed it with some strange goblin magic. Nothing they would ever share with wizards, that much was certain.

After another minute passed, both goblins looked up at him: "The magic in your blood does confirm that you are a Peverell, and it is not too far diluted for you to claim the vault."

"Brilliant," Harry replied, doing his best not to allow the goblins to see how relieved he was. He already had too many enemies and problems in this timeline. Stealing from the Goblin nation was not something he intended to add to that list.

"How many galleons does the Vault currently hold?" Harry inquired

"200 Galleons." The director responded with a sharp grin.

Harry's face and spirits fell in disappointment. He would have expected a significantly larger number. How did his ancestors spend all their money? Or was the majority simply transferred over to the Potter vault? On the bright side, he was recognized as the rightful owner. Now he simply needed a full birth certificate so his claim could not be dismissed and was officially certified.

"Very well." Harry sighed: "Is Gringotts able to create a birth certificate for me? Stating my full name and date of birth? Will a copy of such a certificate automatically be displayed in the family records of the Ministry?"

"Yes, to all three questions, wizard." The Director grinned and Harry already knew they were going to pull a nasty stunt on him.

"Let me guess, such a service will cost 200 Galleons?" Harry groaned. Fucking sneaky goblins.

"For you, we will make an exception and price it at 199 Galleons." The goblin smirked evenly: "We dislike the idea of having an empty vault in our bank, after all."

"Fine, take the 199 Galleons, then." Harry simply shrugged. Money should not be an issue as soon as he was at Hogwarts. If he could hold out until then, he could sell the Basilisk or anything he found in the Room of Hidden Things. This time he won't let some inbred pureblood destroy it with Fiendfyre.

"Very well, wizard. We will return with the certificate shortly. What full name and date of birth shall be displayed?"

"Harry Ignotus Peverell." Harry replied confidently, trying to get used to saying it out loud: "Born July 31st, 1960."

15 minutes later, Harry left the bank with a copy of his birth certificate. At the same time, deep within the hall of family records, down in the Ministry of Magic, the original document appeared on a shelf. He now had a name to himself. Now his journey could start.

On his way back from the leaky cauldron, Harry passed by a man with a self-made paper advertisement. A grin spread across his face as he read the name of the company.

"Sir!" the man approached him: "Could I interest you in investing in a start-up? I can assure you my idea has merit, and my products will be of a quality unknown to the wizarding world as of yet."

"Do you sell shares?" Harry inquired, already set on buying as many as he could.

"Yes, good sir!" the man nodded enthusiastically: "There is a 20 percent stake left for 100 Galleons."

Harry smirked: "I buy the full 20%!" He dug deep into his bag and pulled out the amount that was agreed upon: "There you go! Where do I sign?"

The man's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. It had taken him over three weeks to sell the previous 80% and no one had wanted to buy more than a 5% share. Now, a young man, who barely looked old enough to have left Hogwarts bought the entire rest: "Sign right here, good sir! I promise you will not regret it!"

"Oh, I know I won't" Harry grinned under his breath as he signed the papers.

"Now let me show you some of the prototypes!" The man nodded eagerly.

"Perhaps another time." Harry shook his head: "I am kind of in a hurry, but I wish you the best of luck. Reports on your venture will reach me by owl."

He continued walking down the Alley, leaving behind a very confused Jon Nimbus, who stared at him with a bewildered look.

Around 5:55 pm that evening, Harry stood in front of the floor of the Leaky Cauldron, taking a deep breath. He had dreamed of this moment ever since he saw his family in the Mirror of Erised in his first year. Hours had been spent, looking at the face of James Potter smiling down at him. Now he would meet the man. No, the boy.

He was almost equally as excited to meet his grandmother. Dorea had been a dear friend to McGonagall. In fact, they were so close that Minerva had been chosen as godmother for James. And then, of course, there was Charlus, his grandfather. Harry had heard many stories about the man, be it from Minerva or Slughorn. From their first encounter this morning, he could already tell that Lord Potter was a pure powerhouse.

It would be the easiest to simply tell them who he really was, but then what? He was, at least mentally, significantly older than his dad, especially since James Potter had been an immature prankster until his seventh year. His grandparents could probably keep a secret like that, but James likely did not even know what Occlumency was, let alone how to protect his mind. It would be so easy for Dumbledore or anyone else with an elementary understanding of the mind arts to discover Harry's true identity. That could simply not happen. He would not risk it.

For the sake of the mission, he had set for himself, Harry needed to keep his identity a secret. From now on, he was Harry Ignotus Peverell, a privately tutored, talented teenager, who started a new chapter of his life in Britain.

With newfound dedication, Harry took a fistful of Floo powder and walked into the fireplace:

"Potter Manor!"

He vanished in a whirlwind of green fire, only for his head to peek out in a very different, beautifully decorated room in the colors gold and red. Charlus Potter sat on a chair next to the fireplace and looked up when he noticed Harry: "Ah, Mr. Peverell, we have expected you."

He pulled his wand but frowned after a small flick. Charlus looked to Harry questioningly with wide eyes: "Apparently the wards have already accepted you. You can step through, young man."

Harry did not need to be told twice and took a step forward. Standing up in the Potter fireplace to his full height, the Elder Wand flicked in his palm and vanished any dust or ash that might have accumulated on his deep black robes.

The silent piece of magic earned him a curious look and a raised eyebrow from his grandfather: "Come over to the dining area, Dorea, my wife, and my son James are expecting us."

Harry felt his heart slam in his chest and his throat felt dry. He simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and followed the man into a large dining hall. A boy with unruly black hair around his age sat at the far end of the table and looked up lazily.

Hazel brown met emerald-green. Until...

"Merlin's saggy balls, what the fuck is this?!"