FicWad

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, ideas, and
situations created by JR Rowling and owned by her and her
publishers. I own the original elements & characters. No money
is being made by me, and no trademark or copyright infringement
is intended.


Chapter II


The next two days were very uncomfortable for Harry, as he suffered being questioned, poked, and prodded. He used his Occlumency more than he had in years and managed to convince the healers that his personal memory was gone.

Dobby was mostly kept away, although the little elf showed his loyalty by continuing to try to be near his new master. Finally, Harold accepted that his 11 year old son had his own elf and managed to convince Dobby to go to Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow to wait for his young Master.

Harry did meet his 'mother', Mary Jordan Potter, as well as James. ('Jamie' to the family, just as Henry had been called 'Harry'). Harold's father made a brief appearance in a Bath chair, obviously crippled and dying from the hexing he took in the attack. Harry noted that all four Potter males had the same hair and similar features and builds. Henry James, Harold, and James all had the same light hazel eyes. Henry had his mother's brilliant blue eyes. Harry noted with a slight smirk that Mary had strawberry blonde hair. Obviously, their obsessions with redheads was not confined to James and Harry.

Harry was told Saturday afternoon that he had one more person to meet the next morning, and then the healers would decide if he could go home.


Sunday, May 9, 1971


Harry had been pleased to see that Madam Pomfrey, just out of her master training courses, was the healer on Sunday duty. He had a pleasant half hour talking with her, as St. Mungo's had emptied out from those injured in the Massacre.

Harry's last examiner showed up a little after 9:00 that morning, and it was Albus Dumbledore. Harry studied the canny sorcerer as he introduced himself. He of course had known Dumbledore while in his 150s, and had seen him as he was at 100 in Riddle's diary. Then, Dumbledore had still looked to be in his early fifties, his dark red hair just starting to silver. The Dumbledore of the 1990s was completely silver-haired.

The Dumbledore of 1971 was mostly silver-haired, with some faded red still detectable in the bright morning light. "Good morning, Mister Potter," he said taking a seat. "I am Albus Dumbledore. From what I've been told, you've never heard of me."

Harry pushed the Legilimency probe away, to the surprise of Dumbledore but having no choice, even if he had wanted to put this off for months at the least. Furthering the Headmaster's shock, Harry raised his hand and flicked it, creating an area of privacy around them.

"What. . . ."

"Hello, Albus, it's nice to see you."

"Who . . . who are you?" Dumbledore demanded, trying and failing to stand, as Harry had stuck him to his chair.

"I need you to swear an Unbreakable Oath not to reveal what I tell you without my permission," Harry said. "If you prefer not to, I'll simply Obliviate you, plant the idea in your head that you examined me, and send you on your merry way."

Dumbledore thundered, "I am Albus Dumbledore. . . ."

Harry cut him off, "You are an interfering old fart who tries to play chess with people's lives and who played with me too often. I will swear I am not a Dark Sorcerer, if that's what you're afraid of. Now decide."

"Who are you?"

"Ob. . . ."

Dumbledore held his hand up, and then made his Oath.

"I am Harry Potter," Harry said.

"Impossible! No eleven year old. . . ."

"I am Harry James Potter, not Henry John Potter."

"You're trying to tell me you're the Harry Potter I went to Hogwarts with?"

Harry smiled. "No, I'm the Harry Potter who was born at the end of July in 1980, who got this scar not a few days ago but on Halloween, 1981, when Voldemort tried to kill me after killing my father, James Potter, and my mother. Instead, it destroyed Voldemort's body but not his magic or his essence. You made a unilateral decision which put me in a loveless Muggle home where I was then abused for ten years. Skipping over a lot of now- alternate history, you were murdered in 1997 by an agent of Voldemort's who was pretending to be your spy. I and some friends managed to do what you failed to do. I killed Voldemort in June, 1998, as I had been prophized to in 1980, but at a very high cost, including to me, physically and emotionally. Some other friends and I performed a fairly Dark ceremony in 2010, causing my death and the willing deaths of two of the three participants -- one a dying man and the other our mutual lover. I don't know if that future is erased now, or if I'm in an alternate time line, although I believe the second to be the most likely. I was sent back to my uncle Henry's body, because he was killed in the Massacre."

Dumbledore shook his head.

"I can still Obliviate you," Harry offered.

"What . . . what are your intentions?" Dumbledore asked.

"To stop Voldemort with less cost to society this time," Harry said simply. "Maybe this time, I'll survive with fewer injuries, the chance to find love, and hopefully with less fame this time. I don't want to end up in your position, either having to be so active that I draw every political attack possible, or badly playing chess with people's lives behind the scenes."

Dumbledore winced.

"As for what I can do for you now, I can give you the names of all the Death Eaters I know of, although I'm sure you'll point out at annoying length that the ones who are too young to have already joined, or who haven't been born, are totally innocent and that those wearing the Dark Mark. . . ."

"The what?"

Harry rolled his eyes and explained the Dark Mark, before going on in a dry tone of voice, "Now that you tried to derail me, the problem is you always look for the good in people. That's a good thing in the Headmaster, but it's dangerous in a war leader. Voldemort is a terrorist. You or I -- well, I could if my body matched my power -- are about the only two people in Europe who could stand up to him one on one. But his thugs are just that. Over-bred thugs for the most part, but thugs. Don't let him really scare people. By 1975, people started calling him 'He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who'. People started rolling over and dying or giving him payoffs because they were afraid of his reputation."

Dumbledore still looked like there were a dozen different directions he needed to go in. Harry took care of some of his doubts by making his own Unbreakable Oath -- that he had no desire to become a Dark Sorcerer and that, if he was ever told by people he trusted he was heading in that direction, he would change or leave society.

Dumbledore was relieved, but still torn.

"Look in that drawer when you go," Harry said, gesturing at the nightstand just outside the privacy zone he had established. "You'll find the names I told you about, and congratulations."

"For what?"

"You'll be famous for one more thing . . . because I also wrote the directions to something called the Wolfsbane Potion, which a large team of Potion Masters and Alchemists, including yourself and the Flamels, worked on from the mid-1970s through the late 1980s. Granted, you'll need to have it tested independently, but you'll need it for a new student in the autumn . . . won't you?"

"How. . . ?" Dumbledore frowned, and then he realized what this potion must be connected with. "Oh, of course. You are from the future."

"2010," Harry confirmed. "You or Professor Slughorn will need to brew it. It's not a cure, but it does keep werewolves from mutilating themselves, and the ones who hate the condition most, the ones who feel the most guilt over something they can't control, those are the ones who hurt themselves the most. And that especially will include Remus, while werewolves like Greyback, who revel in the bloody nature of the werewolf, thrive. By the time I get full control of my magical core, which should be in well under a year, hopefully much less, I may be able to help Remus directly, but I'm not certain."

"Then thank you," Dumbledore said. "We don't have a great deal of time. Is there anything else you can tell me today?"

"Riddle plans on making six Horcruxes, and to date he has made four. I have no idea where one is right now, and you can only easily get to one other. The location and a strong warning are in the notes. We should destroy it together. Grab it now and hide it."

Dumbledore thought hard for over a minute. Finally he nodded. "I find you mentally competent, and will suggest your family accept your amnesia and try to build new personal relationships with you."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore stood. "And Riddle?"

"Should be down-sizing his attacks for more than two years, or at least that's what he did last time. He might have hundreds of supporters around Europe, but he only semi-trusts his Marked followers. He only had between thirty and forty Marked Death Eaters and he lost what? twelve or so? He needs to rebuild. Still, there will be a lot of strong-arm tactics used on those potential recruits. It's all in the notes."

"Then I shall see you on the First of September, if not before." Dumbledore left, a very confused and thoughtful man.

Harry looked into the nearest corner. "Did you get all of that, Great-Grandfather?"

Henry James faded into view. "How did you know?" he asked. "I can even stay hidden from Albus."

"I'm more powerful than Albus," Harry said. "I couldn't see your aura, as he could without that spell, but I did detect the actual spell. Maybe your spell was weaker than normal, since it had to cover the bath chair."

"Are you going to Obliviate me?" the injured man demanded.

"Do I need to?"

Henry James looked at Harry thoughtfully. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

"Sometime in August, I believe, sir," Harry answered sadly.

"And Henry was really dead when you took over his body?"

Harry nodded. "It wouldn't work on someone who was torn apart or dying of a long-term disease or anything like poison, but yes, he was dead."

"Did I understand that Albus is letting a werewolf into Hogwarts?"

"He's a very good man, or will become one," Harry said. "The Potion will make it easier for him and safer for everyone else."

"Fair enough. So, you're really James' son. Who did he marry, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A Muggle-born redhead who was brilliant at Charms and Potions," Harry answered.

"Technically, you are now a Pure-Blood," Henry James pointed out. "That might make things a bit easier for you. I probably can't teach you much, at least not by showing you. Still, I can tell you a great deal."

"I would appreciate that, Great-Grandfather." Harry raised his hand to stave off a protest. "I know, from now on, just Grandfather. Constant Vigilance and all that."

"You knew Alastor?"

"I did. He was a good man. He was killed in 1997."

"He and I fought when we were at school. I was the most Gryffindor of the Gryffindors, and he was the most Slytherin of the Snakes. We fought, but it was all clean competition, and we went through auror training together, and were partners for almost twelve years in the late Thirties and through the war." Henry James smiled. "Let me tell you things about the Potter family you might not have been able to learn, Harry."



As May faded towards June, Jamie Potter was a very confused young lad. Before the attack, he had been the slightly spoiled, brilliant, favored son of a fairly prominent and very wealthy family. Harry had always been in his shadow, smart but not brilliant, active but not athletic, shy not outgoing as Jamie was. Jamie was glad his brother had survived an under-powered Killing Curse (having lost their sister, aunt, and grandmother, Jamie knew that losing both his siblings would have been worse), but this seemed to earn him nearly as much interest as Jamie's knocking out a 'Death Eater' with a well-thrown stone to the temple.

Worse, the family dynamics had changed a great deal. Grandfather had been the powerful patriarch, but now he was physically becoming a shell although he was still mentally and magically still himself. He was also spending most of his free time with Harry. Father was busier than ever -- that was his way to deal with having lost his mother, sister, and daughter, had nearly lost a son, and would likely soon lose his father. Mother was still crying over her daughter and was also spending more time with Harry than with Jamie.

The biggest change was in Harry. It was as if he was a totally different person. For one thing, Harry could now actually out fly Jamie, which had been far from their previous relationship. Jamie was still more athletic than Harry, but Harry was working out and even running -- soon Harry would surpass Jamie if Jamie didn't start training as well. Harry even had his own elf, although it now mostly cared full time for Grandfather.

Harry had been the butt of many of Jamie's minor pranks over the years. There was now something about Harry that made Jamie realize that while Harry seemed to have a better sense of humor, it might not be a good idea to cross him.

"Aren't you ready yet?" Mrs. Potter asked, sticking her head into Jamie's room.

"Sorry, Mum," Jamie said.

"Are you alright, sweety?" Mary asked, concerned.

"No," Jamie said in a rare fit of candor.

"Life is very different," Mary agreed. "We all miss your sister. Your brother has changed. Your grandfather was seriously injured, and to be frank, he may not recover. That is going to affect your father, myself, and you. We can let these things embitter us, or we can learn from all these things and become better people."

"I suppose," Jamie said moodily.

"Your brother could have just laid back and whined about how unfair life had treated him," Mary pointed out. "Let's be honest. That would have likely been his reaction before he lost his memory. Now he's determined to take control of his life. That's something most people never learn. You have a lot to be proud of, and so do the rest of us."

"Thanks, Mum," Jamie said.

"Now, do you want to go buy your things for Hogwarts or not?"

Jamie smiled and ran to give his mother a hug.



"Is everyone ready?" Harold asked.

Jamie and Harry nodded while Mary reached for the floo powder.

"Any questions before we go?" Harold asked.

"No, sir," Jamie said. "But. . . ."

"Go on, son," Harold said.

Jamie looked at his family, including Grandfather, sitting in the magical Bath chair off to the side. "I was wondering, would you mind if I went by 'James' instead of 'Jamie'? I don't want everyone at Hogwarts calling me by a nickname."

"If you wish," Harold said. He looked at Harry.

"I like' Harry'," Harry said. "I suppose I'll have to get used to being called 'Henry' at Hogwarts, but I'll answer to either."

"Then let's go. Who goes first?"

Harry gestured to James. "You're the elder, James."

"Thank you, Henry," James retorted with bow. He took some floo powder and tossed it into the fire. "The Leaky Cauldron."



Harry endured the snickering James made when Harry landed on his arse. 'Now I remember why I hate the floo,' he thought as they made their way through the pub. He had not used the system for over twelve years. Glancing at Tom, Harry smiled to himself as the barkeep flashed them a toothy smile. Harry hoped the innkeeper would not lose his teeth to a torture session in the late 1970s this time around.

Diagon Alley looked much as Harry had seen it on his first trip, if a bit busier. Their books and potion ingredients had been pre-ordered. They had access to family three compartment magical trunks and a large number of cauldrons and most of the other supplies and equipment they needed. All they needed, therefore, were their school robes, cloak, and hat, and of course their wands.

'Madam Malkin' turned out to be the mother of the Malkin Harry had dealt with, while the daughter was a senior assistant. Harry was glad there were no Malfoys or other nasty types present as they entered.

Part way through their fittings, however, just such a witch showed up with two sullen boys. "You," Mrs. Black snapped, "behave for once. Come Regulus." Regulus stuck his tongue out at Sirius and then scurried away.

"I'd say something bad about brothers, but seeing the two of you, I guess I'd better not," Sirius said, standing on a platform to get measured.

"If you do, say it to James, here," Harry said with a grin. "He's the older by what? Twelve minutes?"

"Nearly fifteen," James said haughtily. Sirius snickered.

"I remember you from some stupid Ministry functions and such. You're Sirius Black, and if you don't remember us, I'm James Potter and this is my ickle twin, Harry."

Harry waved with his left hand, as his right sleeve was being hemmed.

"I was sorry to hear about your sister and the others," Sirius said.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"What did your parents say?" James asked nastily.

Sirius winced. "Nothing nice, but I'm not them."

"Sorry," James said.

"Did you get your wand yet?" Harry asked.

"Eleven inches, walnut and dragon heartstring," Sirius said. "You two?"

"When we're done here," James said.

"Have you met anyone else from our year?" Harry asked.

"No one new," Sirius said.

"His brain works, but his old memories are wonky since the attack," James said. "And we only know the Ministry families and some of the business crowd."

"The Pure-Blood social scene is so bl . . . err, so boring. My cousin Narcissa is the worst of the girls -- she'll be a First year -- and Rastaban Lestrange is worse, although he'll actually be a Second. Oh!" Sirius said. "That's right. They did bring along a greasy little tagalong named Snape last week who will be a First year. I forgot about him" He sighed. "I'm glad I've met you two, or else I'd have no one I'd want to talk to."

"Why?" Harry asked. "We'll all be students. What difference does it make it some of us have parents who work at the lower levels of the Ministry, or work for the store instead of own it? If they have magical ancestors or if they don't? Who would you want for your Quidditch keeper? A Pure-Blood who can barely stay on his broom or a Muggle-born with skill and reflexes?" He sniffed. "People who want everything to go by blood are just idiots who have nothing but bloodlines, people like that idiot Voldemort who killed our sister."

"Strong words, wittle boy," came a mocking voice from the doorway. "You'd better watch what you say and who you say it to. Your betters won't like it."

Harry saw it was Bellatrix Black. He glared at her, and she actually had to take three steps back as he restrained his magical aura. It was still powerful enough to raise all the hairs on James and Sirius' necks, as well as the three attendants. Narcissa was nearly in tears while Bellatrix was almost shivering. "Listen to me, girl," Harry said coldly, "if all you believe in is blood, then don't even think about comparing bloodlines with me. And if you want to be the slave of that half-blood bastard who's trying to take over, leave the rest of us out it."

"Harry!" James hissed.

"What?" Harry asked. "Voldemort is the illegitimate son of a retarded Pure-Blood witch and a Muggle she used a love potion on. His name at Hogwarts was Tom Marvolo Riddle, Head Boy 1944-1945." He shrugged. "He's been running away from that for twenty-five years."

"I don't know who you think you are. . . ." Bellatrix snarled, pulled her wand.

"Enough of that!" Madam Malkin stated from behind Bellatrix, grabbing the wand away. "I've had enough of the lot of you. Out! Take your custom someplace else."

The two Black sisters left the area. Harry wondered if that meant Andromeda, the oldest, was already out on her own. Malkin glared at Harry. "I'm sorry if I cost you some customers," Harry said.

Having heard the noise, Harold and Mary were standing behind Malkin, obviously trying to decide who they should be upset with. Finally, Harold tried, and said, "Harry. . . ."

"I'm sorry Father, but if people forget the truth because they're afraid, it will only make matters worse.," Harry said. "I lost my sister, aunt, and grandmother to that lying terrorist, and I refuse to stand down."

"Then I hope your grandfather has been teaching you some way to defend yourself, because that type of person always tries for revenge," Harold said simply.

"He's right," Sirius said. "I think the only sane members of my family are my uncle, my cousin Andromeda, and me, and I'm not to sure about me."

"I am," James said.