FicWad

Disclaimer: A barrel full of monkeys is not fun. The sight of such a phenomenon can in fact be quite horrifying.



Chapter One: Reversal of Time



Harry Potter staggered down the pathway, a sickening gash dripping blood from the side of his right leg, slowing his movement substantially. It had been nearly ten years since the Ministry had deemed Voldemort back and since that moment in time; Voldemort and his Death Eaters tore through any who opposed them like a hot knife through butter. Harry barely managed to survive a vicious attack nearly five years ago that wiped out nearly everyone in the Order of the Phoenix. Everyone who was not killed was taken as prisoners and Harry suspected they were long dead by now. The screams of terror still were etched in Harry's mind but most times Harry found himself emotionally detached



"Potter, give yourself up!" yelled a harsh male voice. "We killed nearly all the rebels. You are the only one who is taking up this fruitless endeavor in combating the Dark Lord."



"INCEDIO!" screamed Harry sending jets of fire towards the Death Eaters at the end of the pathway, knocking several of them back with severe third degree burns. Harry kept on the move, as such an assault would only slow down his attackers slightly.



"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled another Death Eater but Harry managed to throw himself on the ground and the spell sliced a tree in half crudely. Harry pulled his wand out and quickly used an unlocking charm to open the shack he was heading to. After stepping inside, Harry stepped inside, sealing the door shut before putting up a light anti-Apparition Ward that would only hold the Death Eaters for a few moments.



A loud crashing sound open as the back window in the shack blew open, causing pieces of glass to fly towards Harry. A couple of Death Eaters managed to squeeze towards the window and Harry found that the front door blasted directly open and more Death Eaters poured in.



"Potter, Potter, Potter," drawled a voice. "I am afraid you've run out of room."



"You think so, Malfoy," replied Harry crisply before reaching into his robe and pulling out a vile of a black potion that bubbled sinisterly before popping it open and placing it at his lips. "Any of you move and I drink this magic degeneration potion."



The Death Eaters gasped in shock at the Boy-Who-Lived, the only one left to stand against the Dark Lord would dare drink such a dark potion. If he ingested that potion, it would cause his magic to expand in his body before exploding at the force of a high powered Muggle nuclear bomb.



"He wouldn't dare drink that?" asked one of the Death Eaters in a shocked voice.



"You're bluffing Potter!" yelled Draco Malfoy but there was something in his voice that suggested he wasn't so sure.



Harry held the vial between his fingers in a way where if anyone tried to summon it away from him, at least some of the potion would splash into his mouth.







"Maybe, maybe not, Draco," replied Harry coldly before looking around. "I'm quite disappointed that your glorious leader did not see it fit to show up and kill me."



"Your disappointment shall be short lived, Potter," hissed a cold voice and Lord Voldemort appeared with his Death Eaters bowing to the ground at the presence.



"Good morning, Voldemort," said Harry cheerfully. "The weather we've been having is quite dreadful isn't it?



"Your flippant comments are not a way to ensure a quick and merciful death, Potter," hissed Voldemort. "You dare mock Lord Voldemort?"



"Why not?" asked Harry in an indifferent voice. "I don't care if I die anymore, I don't have anyone to protect. I'm sure there are scattered pockets of resistance who are cowering in some hole doing their best Wormtail impression, but why should I bother with them? You had every opportunity in the world to kill me yet you failed each and every time."



The Death Eaters hissed angrily as Harry looked at Voldemort with a smirk.



"My final act in this world before I die is seeing you crumble at the very feet of your followers, like many tyrants have before you," said Harry as he taunted Voldemort with the magic degeneration potion.



"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled Voldemort but Harry anticipated this move and Harry tipped the contents of the vial down his throat. The curse vanished in mid air as Harry's body began to glow.



"Death Eaters, retreat!" hissed Voldemort but it was too late. Much too late. Harry's body illuminated before a loud explosion went off that could be heard in every direction.



Harry Potter's eyes flickered open slowly, his head ringing madly from the potion he ingested. The after life did not seem to be all it was cracked up to be. Harry had expected not to feel any pain but yet he had a stabbing pain in his head that was slowly going away.



As he raised his arms, Harry could not help but noticing his arms seemed lighter than usual. He shook his head lightly before deciding to properly open his eyes.



Harry seemed to be back in his cupboard at Number Four Privet Drive. Quite frankly, he was at a loss to figure out what he could have possibly done to land himself what could only be hell.



"BOY!" yelled the shrill voice of one Petunia Dursley.



"Yes, home sweet hell," muttered Harry and he stopped shortly. That definitely wasn't the voice he left with. It was a child's voice in fact.



"BOY!" continued Petunia as she wretched the cupboard door open and stuck her horse face inside, causing Harry to recoil in fear. Not because he was scared of his aunt mind you but because she only had a face that a mother could love.



"Yes, Mr. Ed er Aunt Petunia," replied Harry in a sweet innocent voice.



"Don't you dare play innocent with me, boy!" yelled Petunia. "My precious Dinky Diddydums scraped his knee outside and I know you are responsible for this."



Harry just rolled his eyes.



"Look, I've been in this cupboard for the past five minutes, before that I was fighting..." remarked Harry before it struck him. "Of course, time travel!"



"What are you blathering on about?" demanded Petunia.



"Time travel, going back in time, rewinding your life, putting your future self into the past, you know time travel" muttered Harry, waving his hand dismissively while shutting his eyes. "Which means I goofed the potion, wouldn't have been the first time I was sent back in time due to some incomprehensible fluke but that was a road that I preferred not to go done once again."



Petunia just slowly backed away from her nephew. He was babbling about something because of his freakiness. Vernon would straighten the boy out when he got back from work, her husband would not be intimidated by the boy's random nonsense.



"Carry the three," continued Harry underneath his breath before opening his eyes. "I have to be at least five, maybe six, seven at the most."



Harry placed his head in his hands, shaking his head. Even through is sanity had been somewhat compromised by frequent exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, Harry came to the unfortunate conclusion that there may not have been any way to return back to his own time. The Boy-Who-Lived sighed in agitation, if he had to live through this life again, he might have to take up drinking.



Harry heard a loud car door closing outside and the loud footsteps of Uncle Vernon walking up the pathway. There was no way he was going to stick around at Number Four Privet Drive for any longer that he had to.



"Vernon, the boy is acting all loopy again," said Aunt Petunia from outside Harry's cupboard.



"It must be his fault that I was passed up for that promotion at work!" yelled Vernon and Harry could almost sense his uncle's face going purple, even through he could not see it. "I'll be having words with the boy!"



Harry's cupboard was wrenched open and his uncle's purple face jammed inside.



"Boy!" yelled Vernon.



"Uncle Vernon!" replied Harry, matching his uncle's tone but he could not in a million years make his face as purple as Vernon's.



"I lost a promotion at work because of you, boy!" yelled Vernon as he raised his ugly fist in the air, shaking it in a cartoonish matter.



Harry shook his head; he wasn't going to stick around for this a second time around.



"Well what do you have to say for yourself?" asked Vernon, his eyes narrowed angrily and Harry hoped he could still do magic in his younger body.



"Stupefy," said Harry calmly and a jet of red light materialized in mid air before Vernon thumped to the ground.



Petunia screamed in horror as she saw Vernon lying on the ground motionless.



"You killed him you filthy freak!" yelled Petunia as she picked up a broom and attempted jab Harry with it which Harry found to be highly amusing.



"No, merely stunned, he should wake up on his own in a few hours, maybe a day or two, my wandless magic is a bit dodgy," said Harry calmly.



"Don't you dare say that filthy...that disgusting..." yelled Aunt Petunia as she held the broom in her hand.



"What magic?" asked Harry calmly. "How can I explain what type of magic I used, when you don't want me to use the magic. I would have to pull some magical solution out to my hat, to explain magic without utterly the word magic!""



Petunia swung the broom towards Harry angrily.



"By the way do you know that witches and wizards fly on those things," remarked Harry coolly.



Petunia gave a shriek of suddenly realization and threw the broom into the air recklessly before losing her balance and stumbling to the ground much to Harry's amusement.



"Now, Aunt Petunia, thank you for your hospitality for letting me stay in your lovely cupboard all these years, but since I know how the story could end, I need to rewrite the tale so the inevitable ending of the ultimate triumph of Voldemort will not fit," said Harry, before he cackled for a few seconds. "So goodbye, forever, we shall not meet again."



Harry concentrated hard, hoping he could still apparate in his younger form. Much to his pleasure, he managed to disappear, quite crudely but well enough not to get spliched.



Harry dropped straight to the ground right outside the Wizarding bank known as Gringotts. Looking around, Harry was surprised at the lack of Aurors around but then he remembered this was a different time. Voldemort was thought to be defeated, his Death Eaters were either entombed in Azkaban or maintaining the illusion that they never worked for the Dark Lord in the first place.



The golden doors of Gringotts swung open on its own accord and Harry stepped inside of the bank. Goblins walked around the parameter of the bank, ignoring the young boy entering the bank. Harry walked towards the front desk, where a surly looking goblin sat looking at a magazine. When Harry approached the desk, the goblin hastily put the magazine away before straightening up and staring at Harry.



"May I help you?" asked the goblin stiffly.



"I would like to know if I have any vaults," said Harry.



"And your name is?" prompted the goblin as he looked at Harry with disinterest.



"Harry Potter," replied Harry in an undertone just in case there were people nosing around that would stooge off his plans to unwelcome sources."



"Very well," replied the goblin as he stood up. "Flatfoot!"



A second goblin walked into the scene.



"Yes, Mr. Fondlemember," replied the second goblin.



"Escort this young lad to your office, to test him to see if he is really who he claims he is," said Fondlemember.



"Wait a minute, you need proof that I'm Harry Potter?" asked Harry in an incredulous voice before pulling his bangs up and revealing his lightning bolt scar. He hated to do that but he shuddered to think what tests goblins would have.



"You mutilated your forehead, so what?" declared Fondlemember coldly.



Flatfoot pulled out a sharp looking spear and aimed it at Harry's throat, backing the boy up. Several goblins watched with hungry expressions on their face. Making humans wet themselves was a favorite goblin pastime.



"If you are not this Harry Potter, whoever he might be, then you will make an excellent appetizer for our dragons," replied Fondlemember savagely.



Harry just gritted his teeth; he suspected that his chances of defeating an entire bank full of goblins were about the same as Umbridge getting lucky. He might be slightly loopy but he had not crossed into the territory of being completely insane as of yet.



"Move it, child," said Flatfoot, pointing his spear towards Harry, backing him into office.



"Is this how you treat the defeater of Lord Voldemort?" asked Harry in a hurt voice.



"Who is this Lord Voldemort you speak of?" asked Flatfoot. "Some kind of French dessert, perhaps? We goblins do not keep up on the affairs of you foolish humans unless it concerns gold and lots of it."



Harry sank into a chair, seeing a calendar on the wall with a moving picture of a dozen goblin warriors stabbing a wizard to death. According to the calendar, it was September of Nineteen Eighty Six, which at least solved the dilemma of Harry's age.



"We will need to take a blood sample to verify your identity," said Flatfoot before swiping the blade of his spear across Harry's forearm without warning, cutting it deeply. Flatfoot grabbed Harry's arm and dripped several drops of blood onto a piece of parchment. The parchment sizzled, causing steam to rise for it before jagged red writing materialized on it.



Harry James Potter-the heir to the prestigious Potter family fortune.



"The Potter family fortune!" yelled Flatfoot eagerly before staring at Harry and snapping his fingers, causing Harry's arm to painlessly heal. "So, sorry to have doubted you Mr. Potter, but it is Gringotts procedure, how can we be of service to you?"



The goblin was savage to him seconds ago but now that he knew Harry had quite a substantial bit of gold, Harry could not help but notice that the goblin went out of his way to kiss Harry's arse.



"Well, the standard withdrawal of enough galleons to pick up a few essential elements for my plan but I do have a hypothetical situation that I would like to run by you," replied Harry calmly. "Let us say that a wizard, slips a goblin a few hundred galleons, let's say five hundred to have a nice round number. Would that goblin be able to give that wizard a detailed blueprint of all of the wards around the Wizarding prison known as Azkaban? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."



"That goblin may be able to acquire that information from the hall of records here in Gringotts for such a fee, hypothetically speaking," said Flatfoot with a calculating look on his face. "At the same time, also as a purely hypothetical situation, for a total of about a thousand galleons, we can slip in the blueprints to the defense wards around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Ministry of Magic, if that situation does occur that is. "



"Let us go down to my vault, then," replied Harry calmly. "And who knows, maybe a thousand galleons will accidentally find their way into the hands of a certain goblin and then certain blueprint copies may find their way into my hands."



Flatfoot nodded with a greedy look in his eyes, at the prospect of being paid off with a thousand galleons. Harry's spontaneously forming plan was working out to perfection so far. At the very least, he had changed the timeline in some fashion and soon, he would break Sirius out of Azkaban and perhaps free some other guests of the prison to keep the Ministry occupied while Harry made the necessary changes to prevent Voldemort from taking over the Wizarding World this time around. If Harry had to break every rule of time travel to do so, then he was willing to take that chance. He would make fate pay for sending him back into time instead of sending him to the afterlife.



Back at Number Four Privet Drive, Petunia Dursley was cowering in the corner, rocking back and forth. The boy had disappeared right before her very eyes just like her freak sister had done on occasion. Such a form of travel was unnatural and went against everything Petunia Dursley stood for.



Her eyes darted towards the door every few seconds. The other freaks would come any second now when they realized the boy was gone. They hinted they were watching the house. Of course, Petunia never told this fact to Vernon, as she feared her husband would drop dead of a heart attack if he realized such unnatural people could see his every waking move.



The door clicked open and in walked an elderly man with long white hair and white beard, dressed in purple robes with yellow stars adorned on them. Walking behind him was a stern looking woman with her hair up in a bun. Petunia screwed her eyes shut, hoping they would somehow, dare she say it, magically not be there.



"Petunia," said a gentle voice belonging to the freak with the long hair and beard. "You do remember me, I am Albus Dumbledore."



"I know perfectly well who you are," declared Petunia through gritted teeth. "I daydream about murdering you each and every day after you dumped that freakish boy on us and mucked up our perfect normal life."



"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dursley, I didn't quite catch that due to the fact due to temporary deafness, a common affliction in old age, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore. "Now we have found out some mysterious fluctuations of magic happened earlier today but it is of course quite difficult to slip away in the midst of a school year. Could we inquire on where Harry is?"



"The boy left," replied Petunia stiffly.



"Left?" asked Dumbledore.



"He ran off, good riddance I say, maybe we can save our precious Dudley from his contaminating influence yet," said Petunia.



"Harry left here and you did not see it fit to contact the proper authorities," said the stern woman in a disbelieving voice.



"Minerva," declared Dumbledore in a warning voice but Petunia piped up once again.



"Why should we bother the authorities with his freakiness?" demanded Petunia. "The boy left, I hope he dies on the street. He has been nothing but trouble since the first day you dumped him on our laps."



"I told you these people were unfit to look after magical children, Albus," hissed McGonagall under her breath but Dumbledore did not seem to acknowledge either of the statements made.



"Could we see young Harry's room, please?" asked Dumbledore.



"His room," said Petunia in a frightened voice.



"Yes, his room, you know the place where one sleeps at night," said McGonagall if she was addressing a young child.



"Right there," said Petunia in a shaky voice, pointing to the cupboard.



"A cupboard," said McGonagall in a dangerous voice. "YOU MADE A YOUNG BOY SLEEP IN A CUPBOARD!"



"Petunia, I thought better of you," said Dumbledore in a disappointed tone of voice that made Petunia flinch despite herself. "I surely hope you rectify this matter when we find young Harry and bring him back."



"What do you mean bring him back?" asked McGonagall and Petunia in unison with equal amounts of disgust, although for different reasons.



"I have my reasons," replied Dumbledore in a tired voice, worried about where Harry could be right now. There were still Death Eaters out there who could harm the boy and if that happened, the Wizarding World could be thrown into chaos. "I have people who are searching for Harry right now, rests assure Petunia, we shall be in touch quite soon."



Dumbledore turned to leave with a cheerful smile. McGonagall glared at Petunia in disgust for a few more seconds before walking off. Petunia sank down, dreading the inevitable return of the boy. A six year old was not going to be a match for the search party their head freak had sent out.



Not to mention Vernon was still knocked out on the floor. That Dumbledore did not have the decency to revive him.



Back at Gringotts, Harry departed from the bank, with his newly acquired blueprints, as an interested party watched from across the street.



"Well, if it isn't the famous Harry Potter," drawled a blond haired man under his breath, leaning against his cane with the bumbling forms of Crabbe and Goyle standing at his side. "His guardians must be unfit, letting him roam Diagon Alley alone. A boy of such power should be raised in a proper family, being taught proper ideals."



"Malfoy, if I must intrude, good sir, but Crabbe does have a smashing good idea," replied the voice of Goyle.



"Very well, Crabbe, what is it?" asked Lucius Malfoy, who turned to Crabbe but Crabbe just stared at him blankly. "Well, tell me you dunderhead, I haven't got all day."



"Crabbe cannot speak, I say, born a mute, but quite gifted at silent spellcasting, old bean, I'm sure that must have slipped your mind," said Goyle slowly. "But Crabbe is of the idea that he and I should tale the boy, keep him in our sights, you know. Make sure he does not give us the slip."



"A first from you two, a good idea," replied Lucius. "I certainly hope you do not mess this up and get outsmarted by a six year old. If that happens, I may replace you with trolls. I daresay it is a step up."



"Don't worry we won't lose him, my dear chap," replied Goyle as Crabbe gave a vacant look towards Lucius.



"You peons better not mess this up, as with the Potter family fortune merged with that of the Malfoy's, no one could oppose me," said Lucius with a power hungry glint in his eye. "You two follow the boy; I will get these Muggle guardians of Potter investigated and deemed unfit. Then the boy will be mine."



Crabbe and Goyle stumbled to their feet, nearly tripping over each other before they set off as young Harry Potter walked around the nearest corner.