Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own characters and ideas I put into this fic. I've adopted it from Nia River so the original idea is hers. JKR obviously owns Harry Potter.

Chapter 1 – Making Plans

Tues, 30/7/1996

It was nearing midnight at Privet Drive. The only light on the street – apart from the streetlamps – emanated from the window of the smallest bedroom of the residence at number four. In said bedroom there was to be found a dark haired young man – none other than Harry Potter – and surrounding him were a number of parchments littered with calculations.

With a relieved sigh Harry finally set down his quill and leaned back to survey his work. He had wished a number of times over the last hour or so that he had either paid more attention in Astronomy lessons or that he had the old Hermione handy to do the work for him. Either way it would have gone rather more quickly.

Still, although it had taken him some time he believed he had finally finished the calculations for his destination. He had done them multiple times and the last three times all resulted in the same answer, so he felt that that was his best chance of success. He had decided the best course of action would be to go back a month before the fateful Halloween of 1981, setting his destination at around the end of the September preceding it.

A month should give him enough time to get into contact with his parents – most probably via Dumbledore as they would already be under the Fidelius Charm with Sirius as secret keeper at that point. All he needed to do was convince them not to switch to Pettigrew.

Rubbing tiredly at his eyes he looked over at his battered second-hand alarm clock.

"Eleven fifty-one," he muttered to himself.

In just under ten minutes he would be sixteen years old. Once again, Harry would wait until the clock struck twelve until he went to sleep that night. Initially, Harry had hoped that he could make his trip through time that night as there was no chance that the Order would be collecting him then but his calculations showed that the best time would be to wait until the next night, the night when the 'seventh month died.' The irony was hilarious.

Harry looked over to his clock, waiting silently until the digits changed from 11:59 to 12:00. Unfortunately though, this year, there would be no birthday cards from his friends. With a sigh and barely concealed tears for Ron, Hermione, Sirius and Remus, Harry climbed into bed and fell asleep.

Harry was up early the next morning. The first thing he did was pack everything he would be bringing with him into his trunk. By the time that was done the sun was high in the sky and Harry was starving. Of course, Harry was used to being hungry so he just put it out of his mind. He would eat later. After a short trip to the bathroom, Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and left the house through the back door.

As silently as he could, Harry walked to the playground a couple of streets away from Privet Drive and hopefully from the Order members. He just hoped that Moody was not on duty. That man would spot and follow him with that magical eye of his and Harry did not need that right now. Glancing around him to make sure that nobody was in sight; Harry pulled off his Cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. It never ceased to amaze him how a Cloak of that size could fit into any sized pocket, no matter how small.

Harry pulled out his wand and raised his arm, signalling the Knight Bus. A loud bang later and the triple decker purple bus popped into view. Harry hopped on before Stan Shunpike could hop off and bore him with his pre-prepared speech; time was of the essence after all. "How much to get to The Leaky Cauldron right now?"

"If you want to skip the queue then it'll cost you five Galleons." Surprisingly it wasn't Stan working but another teenager a few years older than Harry but Harry didn't recognise him.

"Here." Harry handed him six Galleons. The quicker they got him to The Leaky Cauldron the better. The ride was as bumpy and sickening as his first time on the bus but he made it to The Leaky Cauldron in record time. He donned his hat and sunglasses and stepped off the bus. It wasn't much of a disguise but it did hide his two most distinguishing features.

Harry passed through The Leaky Cauldron quickly, not stopping to chat to anybody, only giving Tom, the barman, a quick nod of the head as he passed. He wanted to get to Gringotts as quickly as possible. He was going to the past and he needed money. He might as well take what was in his vault. It was left to him after all.

At eleven fifty-nine that night, Harry was standing in the middle of his room hugging Hedwig to him. He had shrunken his trunk with an inbuilt feature that he could use without alerting the Ministry of Magic, and then put it into his pocket. The goblins hadn't been too happy when Harry had emptied his vault but Harry wasn't too concerned. It wasn't as if he wasn't going to re-open a vault when he got to the past. That was the first thing on his to-do list when he got there. It would be pretty stupid to leave for the past without a name and funds. He'd end up starving to death before he could do anything productive.

Harry took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. He had expected to feel at least a bit nervous but found he was only determined and resolute. He would change things. Things would be better. Nothing else was acceptable. He had already moved the various clocklike hands until the sun, moon and various stars and planets were aligned as he needed them to be. Now he was just waiting until the clock struck twelve before he pressed the silver button.

Since this time turner didn't seem to have a chain to loop across the travellers' necks he could only hope holding his feathered friend near him and the turner would be enough. Cradling her even closer – wanting to be as sure as possible she wouldn't be left behind – he glanced once again at the time.

"Any second now," he murmured, his eyes remaining glued to the clock. He only had one chance to get this right.

Then several things happened at once. Firstly, the numbers on the clock switched from eleven fifty-nine to midnight. Secondly, Harry held Hedwig even closer and pressed the silver button atop the time-turner. Then lastly – though most certainly not least – the wards around Privet Drive collapsed as Harry Potter left his time behind in a blinding flash of light.

He felt light, uncomfortably insubstantial. Then there was a sort of squeezing which suddenly eased into a feeling of gliding. Almost as though there were no resistance at all. It really was a lovely feeling. Then the squeezing was back before it suddenly eased again. This time without the gliding he had found himself so fond of. He didn't really mind though because he now found that he could feel magic everywhere. It hung so very thickly in the air and he loved the feeling. This was so much better than gliding. He pulled it into himself greedily as he floated about. And oh, but he could float about like this forever. And he would have; but an annoying feeling of wrongness niggled in the back of his thoughts. It was the lightness. The floating was so very nice, but still the lightness just didn't seem right. It felt so uncomfortable and wrong. But then the solution came to him. And it was so very obvious. Why he was positively surrounded in magic. So much magic. And what did magic do? Lots of things of course. It moved things and changed things and stopped things and started things. It even fixed things. And that's just what he would use it for; to fix the lightness. And so he did. And immediately wished he hadn't.

Oh, but it hurt! It hurt so, so much. It was like he was being ripped into an infinite number of tiny pieces and then slowly put together. He tried to cry out and for several moments nothing happened. Then there was a horrible sound and he realised he'd finally remembered how to scream. The back of his mind registered that there seemed to be someone else shrieking shrilly nearby but he soon forgot as the pain continued.

After what seemed an eternity the pain stopped and all that was left was the memory of it. He calmed down as he felt the magic around him again. Even without the floating it felt very nice. He began pulling it into himself again, wanting to feel it even closer. But suddenly it felt as though it was too much. Far too much. Then everything went black.

Harry opened his eyes slowly. The pain had gone but he still felt as if he was in a void. He no longer felt light like he did though, he felt normal. Looking around, Harry saw that there were two other people in the room with him, a boy who looked about four and a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. The three of them were in what looked to be the little boy's bedroom and he was being tucked into bed. Harry tried to get their attention, to apologise for barging in but they just ignored him. It was almost as if… yes; it was just like that time he had been in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

Harry moved closer to the bed so he could listen to the conversation. After all, if this was like a Pensieve then he would have to wait for the memory, or whatever this was, to finish before he could leave.

"Mum?" The little boy spoke first. Harry was surprised to find that he looked very much like a miniature version of himself. Eyes and hair included. Although the hair looked as if it had been tamed – somewhat.

"Yes, sweetheart?" The woman had long, jet black hair and striking blue-green eyes. Harry watched as she sat down on her son's bed beside him.

The boy looked hesitant now that he had his mother's attention but he spoke anyway. "Mum, who is my dad?"

The woman was visibly shaken and Harry almost made to steady her with a hand to her shoulder in case she overbalanced and fell of the bed before he remembered that he was insubstantial here. Wherever here was. "Oh, Kyle." She murmured and brushed the boy's hair out of his face only for it to fall back into his eyes again. She took a deep breath, much as the boy – Kyle – had done moments ago before speaking again. "I knew you were going to ask me this. I just didn't think that you would be asking so soon." The boy – Kyle – said nothing, just waiting patiently for an answer. "Your dad is called James Potter."

Harry reeled back in shock. James Potter? This kid's dad was James Potter? But that couldn't be true; if it were then he would have been Harry's half-brother. But that was impossible… wasn't it?

Turning back to watch the memory, or whatever this was, Harry shook his head, as if to clear away the thoughts, he would think about that later. A lot later. Harry listened as the boy's mother explained how James had been in school when he – Kyle – was born, and how he didn't know about him. She went on to say that he knew about him now but that as there was a lot of fighting going on where he lived he couldn't come and see him, even though he wanted too. Apparently he felt that it would be too dangerous for anybody to know he had a son as he was on the frontlines of the fights.

Harry was still dazed as the memory faded out. He barely noticed when another scene began to play out before him. It was almost a duplicate of the first memory. The boy was asleep and he looked older. The mother sat perched on the side of her son's bed with a card in her hand and was shaking him awake. The boy opened his eyes blearily and smiled as his mother wished him a happy birthday.

The scene had a homey feel to it and Harry watched as the boy tore open the card that had a big number '6' on the front and then a present that his mother had pulled out from under the bed. The happy mood wasn't meant to last though as screams were heard from outside. Harry followed the mother over to the window and saw what was obviously Death Eaters creating havoc out on the streets.

The woman began to panic and quickly grabbed her son and prepared to Disapparate with him. She was too late however as just as the boy had untangled himself from the sheets his bedroom door was blown off the hinges. The head Death Eater himself stood in the doorframe. He really was a terrifying sight. He looked nothing like he had when he had resurrected himself in Harry's Fourth Year after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He looked more like a properly aged Tom Riddle. Well, except for the eyes, they were just as red and deranged looking as they had always been when Harry had seen him.

Harry watched, horrified as Voldemort began torturing the woman in front of the young boy. He couldn't tear his eyes of the scene, it was morbidly fascinating. It was like watching a car crash; you knew what was about to happen but even so you couldn't tear your eyes away. The boy began screaming for Voldemort to stop but he didn't pay any heed. Finally, a long time after the woman had screamed herself hoarse, Voldemort seemed to grow tired of his games. He cast one final curse at the woman and a beam of sickly green light slammed into the poor woman's body, killing her instantly. The boy was shocked into silence and Voldemort, the bastard, laughed.

Suddenly, a Death Eater rushed into the room, almost crashing into the Dark Wanker. "My Lord," he began. He sounded rushed, out of breath. "The Aurors, they've arrived."

Voldemort sneered at the man. "Very well, activate the portkey." The Death Eater did as he was told and quickly left the room. Voldemort took one last look around the room and impatiently cast the Killing Curse at the boy who was now shaking his mother, obviously trying to wake her. Without a backwards glance, Voldemort activated his portkey, leaving before the Killing Curse had even hit the boy he had aimed to kill.

Harry watched as the same sickly green light that had struck the boy's mother, hit the boy himself. The boy was thrown across the room by the force of the Curse. But, to Harry's amazement the boys eyes flickered and he looked as if he had fallen asleep. Harry stepped closer to the young boy, and saw that his chest was still rising and falling. The boy had survived the Killing Curse. Just like Harry had.

The scene faded out again and then Harry was only able to glimpse the occasional scene. He watched as the boy grew older, as he travelled the world, learned languages and magic. From what Harry could gather the boy lived with an aunt and uncle and while they did not seem to be as bad as Harry's own relatives they seemed to always push the boy, making sure that he was the best at what he did. Harry always saw the boy with a book in his hand and if Harry had to have made a comparison then he would have said the boy was like a male version of Hermione.

The last scene he saw though was of the boy in a hospital, surrounded by Healers who were all frantic. They seemed to be trying to revive the boy. Although, Harry thought, he could hardly refer to him as a boy now, he was the same age as himself by the looks of things. Slowly Harry moved as close as he could to the teenager. He had no idea why, he just felt compelled to do so, but Harry reached out and touched the teenagers arm.

As soon as Harry's hand made contact with the teenagers arm, Harry felt the same sensation as he had felt when he had pressed the button on that Time-Turner. Once again he felt light, uncomfortably insubstantial. The squeezing that reminded Harry so much of Apparition was back again and then, as soon as Harry thought he was going to suffocate the squeezing stopped and he felt as if he was gliding. The feeling was hard to explain, it was almost a cross between flying and ice-skating. He felt no resistance from the elements at all. He felt free. It really was a lovely feeling.

Then, just like the last time the squeezing was back before it suddenly eased again. The gliding feeling was no longer there either but Harry could see the magic surrounding him again. But, he could also see, what were they? They seemed to look like – but no, that was impossible. Then again, was it? He had only seen a Pensieve once but Harry was sure that he was surrounded by both magic and memories. Suddenly, just knowing that it was what he was meant to do, Harry found himself embracing all the magic and the memories. And immediately wished he hadn't.

The pain, it was so much worse than it had been the first time. Harry didn't even know how that was possible. He felt like he had been thrown into a wood chipper and then after he had been thrown out the other side, some sadistic fool was thoughtful enough to put him back together. If that really was the case then Harry would have cursed the fool into oblivion. Oh, the pain! It was so much, he didn't know if he could stand it at all. Not for one second longer.

As soon as that thought entered Harry's head, the pain stopped, it was if it had never happened. All that was left was the memory of it. He calmed down as he felt the magic around him again. Even without the gliding it felt very nice. It was calming him, soothing his traumatized nerves. He began pulling it into himself again, slowly this time, he had after all learned his lesson but that didn't mean that he didn't want to feel the way the magic played against his skin. But suddenly, before Harry could even register what was happening, the world went black around Harry once again, and he knew no more.

Well, at least until he woke up again.