*Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. This is a fanfiction, and I am in no way profiting from it.*

Unless you count personal entertainment. Then you can cuff me here 'n now.

Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. When he was younger, he would lay there for ages, making pictures out of the swirling paint like children often do with clouds. Now, however, he didn't even see the mounted collection of light bulbs that were dimly outlined through the creamy whiteness of a round, glass bowl. If he were looking properly, he would have seen the shadows of multiple dead flies cradled in the light's basin, as Aunt Petunia rarely came in to clean any more.

This fact was made even more obvious by the clothes, newspapers, and broken quills scattered around the floor. Harry hardly bothered to even unpack when he got home, so he had been basically living out of his trunk ever since. He was on his fourth set of clothes, which would only make sense to a teenage boy, as he had been at number 4, Privet Drive for nearly two weeks.

He ran a hand through greasy, unkempt hair and curled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory that had haunted him for weeks. Sirius, mocking Bellatrix, his face lighting up with every flash of a wand in the room around him… Bellatrix, her face twisting with fury, whipping her wand around with practiced dexterity… a blaze of light…Sirius…falling…

Growling, Harry rubbed hard at his face, hardly noticing the tears he smeared away. He was going mad here, shut in this dark, miserable room, met only with disdain whenever he left. He doubted the Dursleys had even noticed a difference in his behavior—all they cared about was that he was out of their way.

If only Sirius' name had been cleared in his third year. He would have been able to live with Sirius for years. His Godfather wouldn't have been so eager to leave the protection of his prison. He wouldn't have…

Merlin, if only… if only he could go back in time.

Harry sat up slightly, leaning his head against the headboard. The wood dug into the back of his skull, but he hardly noticed. He was a wizard, wasn't he? Why couldn't he go back in time? He had done it before, after all, when Sirius had needed saving the first time.

Why couldn't he save Sirius' life now?

Swinging his legs off the bed, Harry began stuffing things into his pack. His invisibility cloak, the last bit of money he had left over from last year, and his Gringotts key, were all crammed inside. He pulled on a cloak and his wand was stuck hurriedly into his pocket. Then, with hardly a hesitation, he swung the pack over his shoulder and left.

Sneaking out of the house was hardly an issue. He had done it so many times that he avoided the creaky steps instinctively and shut the front door with nary a click. Once he was on the curb, he held out his right hand.

It was a warm night—Harry hadn't a clue what time it was. Perhaps two in the morning. The air had lost that stuffy, overly hot smell that summer so often brought along, now replaced with a refreshing scent of newness. Promise, even.

Harry's arm started to get tired, and he was beginning to feel rather silly. Just as he was about to put his hand down, however, the Knight Bus screeched around a corner, huffing to a stop just in front. Harry leapt back a pace, sure that if he had been a few inches closer, the bus would have taken off his nose.

The ride was much less interesting than his last, though perhaps it was only because he wasn't exactly paying attention. Even Stan Shunpike, the conductor, seemed to be less chatty. Harry glanced over at the pimply young man to see him leaning up against a wall, his eyes screwed shut and a light snoring emanating from his lolling mouth. What may have been the shadow of a smile tickled Harry's lips, but only for a moment.

The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, as could be expected for that time of the night. A scraggly-haired witch and what looked like a hag sat in a shadowy corner, muttering to each other. Harry avoided looking at them and strode past, pulling nervously at his fringe, thinking maybe he should have worn a disguise.

Once he was inside Diagon Alley, Harry reached into his pack and pulled on the invisibility cloak. Now it was time to get down to business.

Knockturn Alley wasn't difficult to find. The alleys were slightly dingier, the signs slightly more crooked, and the shadows slightly creepier. There was a close call with a particularly fat wizard, causing Harry to squeeze into a dusty corner in order to evade detection, but otherwise, the trip went rather smoothly.

Patting spider webs off his dad's cloak, Harry searched the signs for something promising. If anyone could see his face, they would have given a wide berth to the boy with a somewhat mad expression. Or rather, offered him a job, since this was indeed Knockturn Alley.

Harry stopped in front of a shop with Morbur's Magical Mysteries lettered across the front window. This seemed as good a place to start as any. He stuffed the invisibility cloak in his pack and pulled up his hood before entering.

Candles lit along the wall, sensing his presence. The little shop was crowded with shelves, glass cases, and dusty furniture, leaving a thin, precarious, maze-like path in which to walk. Harry browsed slowly, inspecting the objects closely. A few were labeled with a dark green ink, in a hand that Harry could barely make out.

He was squinting at the tiny paper atop a pair of dingy trainers when someone spoke behind him.

"Find what you're looking for?"

Harry nearly leapt out of his shoes. He spun around to see a tall, beanpole of a man wearing a long, oddly colorful scarf. It wound around his neck multiple times then trailed behind him on the floor. His hair was a nest of grey and dusty brown, and he wore a pair of tiny spectacles on the tip of his curvy nose. The man looked at Harry expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"Er—No, actually." Harry tried to lower his voice in an effort to sound older. "Do you happen to have—well, what I mean is… I need—"

"Enough!" The man said in an exasperated voice, holding up a hand. "I can see that you dun quite belong here, do ya?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. He was a fool to come here. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll just…" He turned.

A hand fell on his shoulder, spinning him back to face the man. Harry gripped his wand tightly. "That dun mean you have to leave, boy." The man scowled. "I simply can't stand to be lied to." He looked Harry up and down. "Relax. I'm not going to hex ya." He grumbled under his breath. "Kids." Then, with a wave, "Follow me."

Harry hesitated, watching the man's scarf drag on the carpet behind him. He was finally beginning to think this through, and he didn't like where this was going. Constant vigilance, as Moody always said. Then Sirius' face returned to his thoughts, and Harry clenched his jaw. He had come this far, after all. He had to see this through, or else he would spend all his time wondering.

Striding quickly to catch up, Harry followed the man. Then he realized the man had been chatting to him casually the whole time.

"—not that I care. I only took this place because it was dirt cheap. Granted, you dun get kittens and fluffy unicorns prancing through the door, but I pride m'self in helping every customer. Ah! There you are, boy. I was beginning to think you left me talking to m'self." A crooked smile flashed on his face before disappearing. Harry found he preferred it when the man didn't smile. "Now tell me." He collapsed into a worn armchair and reached for a mug on the end table to his right. "What can I get ya?"

He eyed the man for a moment. "I want to go back in time." Harry's voice was flat. "Do you have something that can do that?"

The man took a long draft from the mug, then set it down with a clank, sucking at his teeth. "Ahh. Time, is it?" He looked at Harry sideways a moment. "Time's a funny thing. S'not in a line, like lots of other people seem to think. Think of it as more of a ball of twine. It's always criss-crossin and getting into knots. And every now and then, when two points are destined to touch… well that's when the magic happens."

Harry waited. "So… you'll help me?" he said uncertainly.

"Course I will!" The man snapped, leaning forward. "Toldja I help everyone, didn't I? I'm just sayin that things might not end up like you expect, that's all." He pulled himself to his feet. "Wait here." With that, he disappeared into the teetering stacks of mysterious objects.

Harry shifted his feet awkwardly, looking around. He was beginning to lose his drive again. After all, what if something went horribly wrong? Could he really trust this strange man in Knockturn Alley?

He rustled around in his pack, checking how much money he had. The total came up to ten galleons, five sickles, and seven knuts. Panic tied a knot in his stomach. Was that enough for a rare object like this? What would the man do if he found out Harry didn't have enough?

Gripping his wand with a sweaty hand, Harry peered around. Which way was the exit again? Maybe it would be best to leave now before things got complicated.

"Got it!"

Harry jumped again, this time yanking out his wand. The man froze, his eyes narrowing. "You going to attack me, boy?" The wand was quickly shoved back in his pocket. "Thought naught. I got what you're looking for. Isn't she a beauty?" Between his fingers he held an intricate, deep blue box about the size of a walnut.

At Harry's silence, the wizard kept talking, his voice almost reverent. "It's called an Aevus Obio. Got it off an old man years back. Said to be careful who I sold it to." The man looked Harry in the eye, a look of intense curiosity on his face. "I'm not the type to try things out for m'self. I just sell the things, see. But I admit, something this gorgeous… it's been tempting me for years. Had to hide it in the back just so I wouldn't see it every day." The man chuckled fondly under his breath. "Take a look." He held it out to Harry, who took it with careful fingers.

It was heavier than it looked, made of something like wood and etched with strange symbols. It didn't seem to open in any way, although Harry thought he felt something shift inside when he moved it.

"How does it work?" Harry ran his fingers cautiously over the surface.

The man shrugged. "How should I know? He never explained, did he? Only said that the right person would figure it out." He looked at Harry closely. "You interested?"

Harry swallowed thickly. Here we go… "How much?" Doubts flew through his mind, but he somehow kept his voice level.

The reply came with glittering eyes. "How much you offering?"

"Ten galleons?" Harry winced inwardly.

"Is that a question or an offer?" The wizard growled.

"T-ten galleons." He tried to sound confident.

The wizard stood back and looked Harry up and down. "Tell you what. I'll give it to ya for ten galleons, sure. But only if you throw in a lock of hair."

Harry blinked. "A… lock of hair?"

"Well," said the man, grinning, "It's not every day you get the great Harry Potter in your shop, is it?"