Time Travel Story

A/N: I have read many time travel fanfics, and I have always found them unrealistic. This is the story of what really happens if Harry Potter travels back in time.

Harry groaned. It had been stupid, really, attempting Hermione's new version of the Tempus charm (one that showed the date as well as the time) while turning a time turner, but Harry was a true Gryffindor, and if he stopped to think before jumping off a cliff, it was only to check that he had at least one half-baked idea to avoid going splat at the bottom, and to remember to yell, "Gryfffffiiinnndoooorrr!" before jumping. Okay, maybe he wasn't that bad, but that's the way Hermione had put it last time he did something brilliantly stupid and nearly got himself killed. Right now, it seemed apt.

Opening his eyes, Harry saw that he was in a familiar place. Well, that was at least somewhat comforting. Wait... Harry's Room carved on the wall... creaky cot... spiders... "Oh bollocks!" said Harry, "The cupboard under the stairs."

Five minutes later, Head Auror Harry James Potter, age 55, had ascertained the situation and taken tally of his resources. I'm ten and a half years old, living with the Dursleys, it's 1:00am, and I've got a bunch of worn-out hand-me-down clothes and not much else. Wait, that's not true. I still have my magic... don't I?

Fortunately, Harry's mature magical core had apparently traveled back in time with him (weird, i'nnit? and how convenient) and he could do a good bit of wandless magic, though the most complex spells were beyond him. A couple minutes later, his trousers had pockets that were RATHER bigger on the inside, and a waistband that actually fit him, though the legs were still too baggy. (It wouldn't do to let the Dursleys notice anything freakish). Definitely got my magic, thought Harry with a smile. As an Auror, he knew that the Ministry tracked underage magic through charms on wands sold by Ollivander, so his wandless magic wouldn't be detected.

Now the only thing he needed was a plan.

At 6:00 in the morning, in one of the many hidden drawers in the Headmaster's desk, a golden key glowed briefly, and disappeared. No one noticed. Hundreds of miles away, a goblin grinned ferociously at a little boy, and the little boy grinned back, ferociously.

At the end of the day, Flourish and Blotts, Borgin and Burkes and various other shops that sold books in both Diagon Alley and Knockturn placed orders to replenish their stocks.

When Harry came home at 8:00 that evening, his aunt demanded where he'd been all day, angry that his chores hadn't been done. Harry resisted the urge to confund Petunia into doing them herself, but could not restrain a small smile, thinking of the shrunken and lightened trunk in his pocket. It had been an exhausting day, but at the end of it, he was pretty sure his new collection had the information he needed.

At first, he had considered letting the timeline flow much as it did the first time, collecting the hidden Horcruxes and replacing them with transfigured dummies, and waiting to kill Voldemort at the end of fourth year. But Harry quickly dismissed this fanciful bit of intellectual stupidity as a brain fart coming from his Slytherin side. The Gryffindor way to do it was to stop the bad guy now. And then throw a wild party.

Besides, any actions he took would have ripple effects, and there was an enormous risk that things would not play out as they had. No, the only advantage Harry had gained through time travel was his extra knowledge of the past, which he had gained in the future.

It was finally September 1st, and all the first year students were standing in the Entrance Hall waiting for McGonagall to call them in. When the ghosts came through the wall, generating gasps and screams, Harry, who had edged towards the back of the crowd, whispered, "Expecto Patronum", sending Prongs through the wall right as the glowing white stag came from the tip of his wand.

"Harry, what was that?" Oops. Of course Hermione had noticed.

"Long story. I'll tell you later, Hermione. After the Sorting." Thankfully, she let him off with a look that clearly said, You'd better. Perhaps she was more nervous than he'd thought.

Professor McGonagall returned and led the students into the Great Hall.

"Patil, Parvati!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Potter, Harry!"

Gasps and whispers broke out. Students stood up to get a better look. "Did you see the scar?" "He's shorter than I imagined." "Do you see those eyes? So dreeeaaamy..." "It's really Harry Potter!"

Harry ignored them all and strode forward confidently, face an expressionless mask. McGonagall dropped the Hat over his head and stepped back.

And waited.

And waited.

Ten minutes later, Harry whispered, "There she is. Finally."

No one heard him, because the student body had broken out in whispers again. Nor did anyone notice why he said it: a witch in red Auror's robes had just opened one of the side doors to the Great Hall. But everyone noticed what happened next.

Harry lifted the Hat off his head and, in one swift fluid motion, pulled out a long silver broadsword with the word "GRYFFINDOR" emblazoned on its blade, put the Hat on the stool, and pushed the stool away from him with one foot. He held the sword in his left hand and took two quick steps away from McGonagall.

The Great Hall gasped. Or rather, everyone in the Great Hall gasped except the imperturbably Professor McGonagall, who began, "Mister Potter, what..."

She was cut off when Harry's wand appeared in his hand, he flicked it towards the Head table, and he shouted:

"Accio Lord Voldemort!"

Amid screams from the students, a purple-turbaned professor flew from his position at the head table, kicking his chair backwards and tumbling through the air from the overpowered spell. As he flew, Harry's wand was a blur, rapidly casting two other spells that met Quirrel head on in the one and a half seconds before he reached Harry's position in the center of the Great Hall. At the same time, his eyes met the Headmaster's, and he sent a message using Legilimency.

Albus, a dueling ward, if you please.

As the summoned professor, arms flailing, approached, Harry took one long step to the right and swung the sword in his left hand. The goblin steel sliced neatly through the protective spells, garlic, and cloth, ripping the turban off Quirrel's head and leaving him with the merest scratch down the side of his head behind the ear. He was now revealed to be quite bald.

Except for the second face on the back of his head.

"HARRY POTTER!" screamed the red-eyed face, "DIE!" Quirrel's body leapt up from its sprawled position on the floor, and, taking an awkward backwards step toward Harry, gestured furiously with one hand and shouted, "Avada Kedavra."

Nothing happened.

"Pathetic." drawled Harry, sending wordless Incarcerous and Petrificus Totalus spells at him. "You didn't even notice that I bound your host's magic. Silencio!"

Harry stepped closer to Quirrel and reinforced the Body-Bind before turning to the Headmaster, raising an eyebrow and sending him another Legilimency message. Then Harry turned back to his prisoner and began drawing runes

Dumbledore, getting the message, magically enhanced his voice. "Ahem. Students, please remain calm and stay in your seats. I have set up a strong dueling ward. It appears Mr. Potter has the situation well in hand. Mr. Potter?" Albus Dumbledore may have been over a hundred years old, but he was every bit as quick as Harry. His wand had been out in an instant, and the dueling wards sprang up even before Quirrel stood up again. He had no idea what Harry was doing, but considering the presence of Voldemort, his duty was to protect the student body. There would be questions later.

"Indeed, Headmaster," nodded Harry. Finishing his runic array, he stepped back, swept his wand in a large cross pattern, and incanted, "Malignis Spiritus Exorcizamus."

As the spell struck Quirrel's face (the one on the front of his head), a black vapor was pushed from his body. Harry waved his wand, and Quirrel's body, still wrapped in ropes, slid across the floor away from Voldemort's ghostly form.

What happened next was a blur. As the vapor, still mostly formless, resolved to show Voldemort's glowing red eyes, Harry dashed in a square around the exorcised spirit with inhuman speed, drawing the edges of a cube in the air with his wand. He stopped suddenly, robes swirling, and intoned:

"SANCTUS VINCULUM!"

Harry pushed magic into his voice, causing everyone in the room to shiver and feel as though they had just passed through a ghost. A translucent, glowing yellow cube appeared in the air around Voldemort. The shade dashed against the side of the cube and bounced off it. The wall flexed slightly but held firm.

Harry took a deep breath. He smiled, "Hello, Tommy-boy."

The shade attempted to force its way out through the corners and edges, testing each side of the prison like a wild animal. Then it seemed to calm down and glared at Harry. Finally it spoke.

"How dare you! I am Lord Voldemort. You cannot touch me."

Harry's smile turned predatory. "Oh really. What do you think this is, then?" and he tapped his finger on the yellow cube like it was a snake tank at the zoo.

The spirit stopped swirling and stared intently at its captor. "You have great potential. Join me, and we can rule the world."

Harry snorted, "Hah. Did you get that from a Muggle comic book?"

"I am immortal. You are doomed! Severus! I require your services! Kill this brat and free me!"

Harry looked towards the head table and winked cheekily at Snape, who simply sat frozen with a constipated expression on his face.

"Immortal, are you?" sneered Harry. "I wonder how you managed to get an O on your History NEWT. Did you know that the average life expectancy, of the 2,145 Dark Lords recorded in magical history, is only 57 years? And of the 83 people who have successfully created Horcruxes, they lived an average of just five years – five – after creating their first Horcrux? And of the four who created more than six Horcruxes, not including yourself, not one of them lived past the age of 80? Compare that to the average wizard nowadays, who lives for 137 years. For a guy who named himself "Flees From Death", you sure are stupid."

"You lie..." hissed Voldemort. But his voice betrayed a hint of fear.

"For the record, I know where ALL of your Horcruxes are, and I've already destroyed three of them."

Voldemort screamed in rage and rammed into the side of the yellow cube, which flexed outwards, but held as before. His captor added a silencing charm.

Harry turned towards the Auror, who had her wand out and was trying to convince Dumbledore to lower the dueling ward. "Madam Bones, perhaps the DMLE would be interested in interrogating the Dark Lord Tom Riddle under Veritaserum? Professor Dumbledore, would you let her through the dueling ward? Thank you."

Dumbledore spoke, "Very well. But there will be explanations later."

Harry grinned at the man who rarely explained himself, enjoying the irony. But he nodded.

Amelia Bones was thoroughly confused. Tom Riddle? She had never heard the name. But the spectre gave off the darkest of auras, and it had been possessing a Hogwarts professor, so it was clearly evil and of interest to the DMLE. Moreover, it had called itself "Lord Voldemort".

Even more puzzling was the boy, exuding an aura that screamed power, both in his magic and in his self-assured actions. Were the stories true, then? Was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, a hero extraordinaire, rescuing damsels in distress and defeating dark lords and dragons and trolls? She had always told her niece Susan that the stories were fictional and that the dark lord was probably defeated by Harry's parents. But now, as she walked to the middle of the Hall, she could forgive Susan for getting a little starry-eyed as she watched Harry Potter from the Hufflepuff table. Okay, a lot starry-eyed. Along with her friend Hannah Abbot, and most of the other girls in the hall, including, surprisingly, some of the Slytherins.

"Mr. Potter, I presume? Can you hold that containment spell a little longer? I'm afraid I don't know that one."

"Certainly."

"Thank you. Poppy, would you see what you can do for Quirinus? He appears to be still breathing, though I don't know how after a full possession."

Harry had the answer. "I put a temporary binding on his magical core before performing the exorcism. That prevented Voldie from stealing most of Quirrel's magic when he left, which would have killed him. You'll have to put a more permanent binding on in order to keep him alive, since his magical core was destabilized by the possession. I think he'll be a squib, but maybe St. Mungo's can help him."

"You seem to know a lot for an eleven-year-old," said Poppy Pomfrey, the school mediwitch.

"I know. Talk later, Veritaserum now." Harry produced a small spray bottle from an inside pocket of his robes. "This is a modified version of Veritaserum, containing aqueous humor from a Basilisk's eye, among other things. It affects ghosts. Case in point," he cast a silent spell, and Peeves was summoned to his side, "Peeves. Would you volunteer to be our guinea pig?"

The poltergeist was shaking in fright. "N-no, Harry Potter sir, please don't. It wasn't Peevsie, I didn't do it."

Harry smirked, and misted him with the spray bottle. "What is your name?"

"I is Peeves now, sir."

"What was your name before you died?"

"Tweaky the house-elf, sir."

"On Halloween, October 31, 1921, who put a potion in the pumpkin juice to turn all the professors' hair orange?"

Peeves was silent for a second. "It was Mistress Minnie McGonagall, sir. It was a most splenderiferous prank! Those were the days... pranksters not so brave anymore, so Peevsie helps!" The poltergeist's mood had done a complete 180, and he was practically bouncing in glee at the remembrance. No one had dared to prank the Headmaster since Dumbledore filled the position. Though, if the Weasley twins' reaction was any indication, that would not be true for much longer.

"As you can see, the effects wear off after about forty-five seconds." Harry released Peeves, who looped and blew a raspberry. "But there is no harm in spraying the ghost again."

Harry opened a small hole in the corner of the translucent yellow prison and quickly sprayed the spectre before he could escape. "Madam Bones," said Harry, raising the silencing charm, "would you do the honors?"

The head of the DMLE nodded. "What is your full name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, Junior."

"Do you have any aliases?"

"Yes."

"What are your aliases?"

"The Heir of Slytherin, and Lord Voldemort."

"Did you personally kill Edgar Bones, James Potter, and Lily Potter with the Killing Curse?" Amelia had to be sure that there weren't two people calling themselves "Lord Voldemort".

"Yes."

Amelia sighed. She was a professional, and as much as she was itching to get her hands on the Dark Lord's testimony, proper procedure said that field interrogations should be limited to identifying the prisoner and establishing his status as a suspect. Any questions that could incriminate others should be saved for a private session.

"Very well. Mr. Potter, since Mr. Riddle here appears to respond to spells targeting ghosts, I believe there is a spell used to contain a ghost in a glass bottle. Do you know it?"

"Certainly," said Harry. "Actually, I came prepared." He produced a glass bottle with the ectoplasm-impervious charm as well as unbreakable and anti-summoning charms. Holding the opening against the wall of the yellow prison, he opened a hole in the shimmering yellow barrier and slowly shrunk the cubic prison until Voldemort was forced into the pint bottle. Capping it, Harry finally dispelled the spirit prison and passed the bottle to Madam Bones.

"Here you go, one Dark-Lord-in-a-bottle. guaranteed to be genuine or your money back. By the way, Amelia," Harry lowered his voice so only she could hear, "I hereby resign from my position as an Auror due to accidental time travel."

"Accidental time travel? Merlin save us, how did that happen? You know the Department of Mysteries will want to speak with you."

"Yeah..." Harry looked sheepish, "Don't ever use an experimental spell at the same time as flipping a time-turner. The results are, shall we say, unpredictable. And don't worry about the DoM. Most of my future knowledge has just been rendered useless."

"Gryffindor, then?"

Harry smirked, and nodded.

"Well, I do believe the DMLE owes you their gratitude. I will contact you when we schedule the interrogation."

"Thank you. Oh, and I want to be there when he gets snogged by a Dementor."

After Madam Bones sealed the Dark Lord in an evidence bag and left, the Headmaster cleared his throat.

"Mr. Potter, I believe we have a sorting to continue?"

"Ah, yes." Harry picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and conjured a scabbard for it, strapping it on his back. Putting his wand back in its holster, he summoned the Sorting Hat wandlessly, causing yet more gasps from the audience, since it was the first overt wandless magic he'd cast since entering the Hall.

Hmm... yes, as promised, that was quite the show, whispered the Hat, mentally. You are most deserving of that sword, a true Gryffindor. But I believe there is only one place in this school where you will truly be at home, and it's not Gryffindor Tower.

It's not?

Of course not, said the hat. You are brave to a fault, loyal to your friends, more studious than some Ravenclaws, and you have one of the most cunning minds I have seen in many a year. But oh, yes, there's only one place for you...

"DEFENSE PROFESSOR!"

A/N: The end. Sorry, as fun as this was, it was always going to be a one-shot. I love Super!Harry fics, but as Less Wrong points out, they need a credible antagonist, and I haven't got one.

Yes, Tweaky/Peeves is a tribute to DobbyElfLord's story, "Altered Destinies".

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