The facts:

1. If I were J.K. Rowling, I wouldn't post stories here on this site, when I could make a load of money out of it.

2. My writing style, I believe, is far from J.K. Rowing's.

3. It's called a fanfiction.

Therefore: I am not J.K. Rowling, and thus I do not own Harry Potter. And I'm not earning anything from this.

EDIT: 5/25/2013 I have Britishisms now guys!

Temporibus Retroactis

Chapter One:
Privet Drive

[Al]

Albus Severus Potter wasn't stupid.

He had common sense and, although he was not quite as clever as Rose Weasley, his cousin, he was regarded as fairly smart for a fifteen-year-old. He was pretty knowledgeable about the world in general. Being the son of two of the most famous war heroes, Al was fairly well-known in school. People had tried to deceive him into thinking that they were his friend before, just so that they could have a taste of the limelight. Al had therefore taken it upon himself to know when someone was lying. He didn't use magic- he was sure Legilimency would be beyond him- but instead tried using Muggle psychology and body language (Al first heard of them while he was going to Muggle school as a kid). He was nowhere near an expert; but most of the time, he liked to think that he could tell if someone was trying to deceive him. He still used common sense a lot, though. For instance, if, during lunch, someone had told him that he would later be on a random street he had never seen before, Al would have used common sense and immediately decided that person was lying without even bothering to check his or her body language. Al certainly wouldn't have trusted that person.

At this late hour, however, Al would have entirely believed them.

Because now, Albus Severus Potter was indeed standing on a random street he had never seen before.

Al tried to remember how he had gotten here. He thought back to where he had been. He had been doing homework in the Gryffindor common room. That was it. Everyone was chattering about the preparations for Halloween (which was exactly eight days later) and he had tried to block them out while doing his Charms essay. That was it. He was nowhere near- Al squinted at a sign in the distance- Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It rang a bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn't figure out why. At least he knew that he was still in England. Sure, he wasn't in Godric's Hollow or Hogwarts anymore, but at least he did not end up in Antarctica or somewhere like that.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The street was lined with no-nonsense rectangular houses. They were uniform, which made Al think that the street was entirely Muggle. Wizards would never like houses like this. That and he couldn't see any gnomes or magical plants growing.

But another concept disturbed him: night was falling and he had no place to stay. His parents guessing that he would wind up on Privet Drive of all places would be pure luck.

He vaguely wondered what his family would be doing as of the moment. He guessed Lily would be fussing in her sweet, innocent little girl who can blow you up in a moment's notice manner about the whereabouts of Al, as would his Mum, Ginny. James wouldn't care and think his brother finally had a change of heart and decide to see sense and become a prankster, who James always claimed Al was deep down, and was playing an elaborate scheme. Teddy had been in the Ministry last Al checked. Harry would be…Al didn't know.

His environment provided a ready distraction. He continually observed the house nearest to him, which was apparently number six. It appeared as if the evening news was playing; the clock had stricken seven o'clock. The currently playing news was a load of claptrap about a water-skiing budgerigar called Bungy; Albus paid little attention to it. He pricked his ears for anything else, but the entire lane seemed to have tuned into the exact same program at the exact same time. This street was so stereotypical; it was unnerving.

Even more alarming was the crack which filled the air, similar to the sound one makes if he Apparates, as if on cue. Al reflexively dropped on his knees as he looked wildly around for any sudden arrivals. There was the sound of a little girl's yelp from number two, a cat racing out from under its shelter under a parked car. Number four seemed to have the most intense reaction; there was a screech from what he assumed was an unpleasant woman, a holler originating from whom he presumed was an even more unpleasant man, and the sound of, maybe, a teacup breaking. His eyes darted to the quaint square house which had overreacted just in time for his eyes to land on a familiar frame which rose out of the hydrangeas; just an outline, really, of a slight build and unruly hair, as where he had heard the name Privet Drive before reverberated in his head.

It was the place where I grew up, he recalled Harry recounting, not fondly but in a remarkably emotionless tone. It's where your Uncle Dudley lives now.

Al had never really met Dudley Dursley. He presumed that his parents predicted with the same foresight they had when providing James with a name so fitting to his personality, that the result would be utterly disastrous should their children ever meet their Muggle uncle, but from what he had heard from Ron, Dudley was somewhat disagreeable. So why was…

And it hit; everything suddenly made sense. It explained why he suddenly was on Privet Drive and why Al was certain that he should know the figure standing near the Dursleys' window.

He'd been displaced twenty years in time.

Once, when a much younger Al had asked, "Daddy, why didn't you grow up with Grandma and Grandpa Potter?" His father had looked at him reminiscently and said, "I did, Al. I did." Al now knew how much of a lie that was. Harry did not come of age with his parents around.

He'd gained consciousness with these people, the nasty Dursleys. Come to think of it, nasty was something of an understatement.

He blinked as Harry James Potter drew out a thin stick Al recognized as the legendary holly-and-phoenix-feather wand as if pulling a sword from its scabbard, or perhaps a gun from its holster, from his waistband. Yet he had hardly drawn himself out of the midst of the withering begonias when a hand darted out of the window.

A fat and beefy hand which Al, the most mature of the three Potter kids and perhaps the entire clan of the Weasley children, immediately labelled "sausages."

Al stared in horror as the hand clamped around his father's neck. He could hardly peer around Harry to see a burly man- the exact opposite of how Harry looked like- hissing something Al couldn't make out. The younger wizard instinctively extracted the slender rod of ash he called his wand and dropped on his knees between a car and the low garden enclosure of number four.

He realized that was an immeasurably good move when he took note of the irked-looking faces which had been stuck out of several neighbouring windows. His position left him conveniently out of sight, which Al was grateful for; the sausage-fingered man didn't seem to be fond of either seeing wands or Harry- and thus, the nearly identical Al, who spotted Harry, who stowed his wand back into his belt and stuck an expression on his face which Al identified as a poor attempt at seeming innocent; he'd seen it on James's face enough.

"Lovely evening!" barked sausage-finger, gesturing to a woman from number seven. Al tilted his head, trying to figure out what the gesture was as he glanced above the Dursleys' garden fence, before he identified it as a wave. "Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!"

He proceeded to grin hysterically- it looked forced and somewhat painful- until all the interested neighbours withdrew into the shade of their houses, then the grin resumed to being a horrible contortion.

Al spied Harry step closer to the Dursleys' window, apparently taking care to stop just past the point where sausage-finger could recommence throttling him. Al watched in grudging fascination as the man he now assumed was Vernon Dursley snarled a few more words to the Boy Who Lived. He inched slowly closer and strained his ears to hear Harry speak in a hushed, cold tone.

"…do I mean by what?"

Al sighted his Dad glance up and down the street; he dove into the safety of the incredibly truncated wall.

"Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our-"

"I didn't make that noise," Harry said with finality; Al believed him.

A woman Al supposed was Petunia appeared beside Vernon, incensed.

"Why were you lurking under our window?" she demanded.

"Yes- yes, good point, Petunia! What are you doing under our window, boy?"

"Listening to the news," returned Harry in a stoic tone.

Al's head buzzed: what was wrong with listening to the news that Harry had to stay in a flower bed of all places?

Apparently, a lot was. "Listening to the news! Again?"

"Well, it changes every day, you see," said Harry; Al suppressed his laughter at his father's cheek in a snort.

"Don't you be clever with me boy!" grumbled Vernon. "I want to know what you're really up to- and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot…"

Al tilted his head in interest; what did sausage-finger mean when he said Harry's lot?

The conversation didn't seem to want to offer him any more enlightenment.

"That's all you know," Harry retorted moments later, giving Al the impression he was missing something.

"You're a nasty little liar. What are all those"- Petunia's voice went so low, Al couldn't hear the next word- "doing if they're not bringing you news?"

A few seconds later, Harry deadpanned, "The owls…aren't bringing me news."

"I don't believe it," Petunia snapped.

"No more do I," Vernon agreed vehemently.

"We know you're up to something funny," said Petunia.

"We're not stupid, you know." Al doubted it.

"Well, that's news to me," said Harry in a tone Al had never heard him use before. This was closely followed by the sound of footsteps behind Al, and not too far from him, a teenage Harry James Evans Potter stepped over the garden wall.

The Malfunctioning Map

[Lily]

Twenty-six years later, Lily Luna Potter was regretting wishing that her brother would disappear.

Yes, Al was annoying and arguably insensitive, but Lily didn't want him to actually vanish into thin air. Even worse was, the Marauders' Map offered no tiny dot labelled Albus Potter in microscopic handwriting. The professors had been somewhat distressed; Harry Potter's second son, simply popping out of the grounds! There had been no clue on Al's whereabouts for a day and Lily was already missing her brother and the ever-present gleam in his eyes, which made him look as though he was always subduing a smile; and his annoying, know-it-all quips, despite the fact that Lily always felt overshadowed by both of her brothers. Al was the quiet, thoughtful, clever one, he had never gotten below an Acceptable, which was actually quite some achievement; James was the sporty prankster, who was exceedingly popular within Hogwarts. Lily was good at practical Charms and Muggle art. Only the former ever did her any good, as Muggle art wasn't very appreciated by the Wizarding world.

"Not sulking, are you, Lils?"

Lily lifted her head hopefully upon hearing her second brother's nickname for her; that is, until she realized that it had been James's voice. (There was hardly any difference between the two; only the thoughtful tone Al sometimes adopted and James's ever-carefree air distinguished them.)

"Hey," she said, her mood plummeting down.

"You look like you've been down at the dumps." James observed, the teasing tone in his voice fainter than ever as he regarded his youngest sibling, plopping down beside her as their parents always insisted he do in Hogwarts. James despised it when he was reminded to do so ("Mom, I'm in sixth year! Do you even know what this will do to my popularity, hanging with a fifth and third year just because they're my siblings?"). The air of superiority he usually displayed was non-existent. Lily knew she should have been glad, grateful even, that James was finally deciding to embrace some humility, but this time, she wasn't exactly wishing that all the normality of her days would disappear.

James noted her expression and said in the most reassuring tone he could muster, "Lily, I know you miss him."

"I don't miss him," she said defiantly. "It's a relief I'll have to endure half the teases." It sounded terribly fake and Lily winced.

James smiled faintly. "We'll find him," he said confidently. "We have to."

Okay, that was lame, but it gets better.