Chapter II: In the Past

Harry blinked against the bright light. Struggling to open his eyes. White walls, potion bottles, medical charts. He was in St. Mungo's.

A Healer noticed his movement and hurried over. "Take it slow!"

"How..." Harry's voice was a rasp. "How long?"

"Three days," the Healer replied, casting diagnostic spells. "You were found unconscious in the Forbidden forest by Hogwarts gamekeeper. The Headmaster brought you into St. Mungo’s. Your magic was nearly completely exhausted. It's a miracle you survived."

Harry's mind raced. Three days. The memorial ceremony had been a massacre. Ron, Hermione, Ginny... gone. And the portal—had it been contained? Had Nott and Bulstrode succeeded in changing the past?

"Neville," Harry managed. "Need to see Neville Longbottom."

The Healer hesitated. "I don’t know a Neville Longbottom, but I know of Auror Frank Longbottom. He was here yesterday to check on your progress. He might want to speak with you."

Harry stared at her, he remembered Neville’s fathers name was Frank.

“No one was able to recognise you.” She continued. “We alerted the Aurors, they want to know who you are and how you came to be in the Forbidden forest”

Harry’s mind raced. He just realised something. The Healer had mentioned earlier that it was Albus Dumbledore who brought him to St. Mungo's. The former headmaster died 6 years back. His stomach twisted in dread at the implication.

“Can I have today’s copy of the Daily Prophet” Harry croaked.

The Healer looked at him inquisitively for a moment, then she walked out. She reminded him of someone, but whom he could not place. Few moments later the healer walked inside the room with a copy of Daily Prophet in her hand.

“Here, the paper you asked for,” She said, handing him the day's copy of Daily Prophet. “You might evade giving your name to me, but the Aurors might insist.”

“Senior Healer will visit you in a few minutes” She continued, “Take this potion one bottle at a time every 30 minutes.”

She left 4 small bottles filled with a nasty looking liquid on the table and walked outside the room.

Harry looked at the date in the paper, It was June 21, 1976. Harry's head was in pain. The temporal portal. Had he been thrown into the past?

1976, Five years before his parents were murdered. They are alive. They should still be in Hogwarts. No one knows him here. No Prophecy. The first Wizarding war is yet to start. His friends are not yet born. An opportunity. And a terrible responsibility.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Master of Death had been given another chance. His resolve strengthened. This time, he would not fail those he loved. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Weasleys, Hermione and everyone who died. He will save them all. His friends will be born in a world where Voldemort is dead and the Death Eaters will be only present in the History books.

Harry slowly got up from the bed. His wand was still in his invisible holster. They have not removed it. He found his battered dress with his bag and the cloak in his robe pockets. He put on the bag and transfigured his hospital robes into a pir of T-shirt and jeans pants.

Harry walked out of the room, towards the nearly empty corridor. He took the lift at the end of the corridor, reached the ground floor. The ground floor was packed with people, but no one paid any mind to him. He walked outside through the front door and apparated out.

Harry apparated with a soft crack to the alley beside the Hog's Head Inn. The familiar smell of goats and stale fire whiskey brought a wave of nostalgia. He leaned against the rough stone wall, taking a moment to collect himself. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him—1976, with his parents still teenagers at Hogwarts, Voldemort gathering power, and a chance to prevent it all.

Harry reached into his robe pocket and retrieved a tiny bag, no larger than a snitch. With a tap of his wand and a whispered Engorgio the bag expanded to its proper size. He rummaged through it, counting the galleons he had managed to bring back with him. It wasn't a fortune, but it would be enough to get started.

Diagon Alley was bustling with witches and wizards going about their day, unaware of the darkness that would consume their world in just a few years. Harry went to Madam Malkin's first. The shop hadn't changed much compared to his time, though Madam Malkin herself looked much younger than he remembered.

"Good afternoon," Madam Malkin greeted him as he entered the shop

"I need dresses for a complete wardrobe. Quality everyday robes, a dress robe, and some casual wear."

Madam Malkin started taking his measurements, meanwhile Harry thought about the conversion he had with the portrait of Dumbledore a few years back before he found his way into the past.

-----

"By uniting the three Hallows, you have become the Master of Death. The first one in history." Dumbledore's portrait had said, eyes twinkling

Harry had frowned at the portrait. "But what does that even mean, Professor? I don't feel any different."

Dumbledore smiled. "Old magic works in mysterious ways. The Peverells were definitely one of the oldest of them all. The Deathly Hallows recognize you as their true master. Magic itself will recognize you as a Peverell. The blood of that ancient family runs in your veins through your father's line."

"So I'm a Peverell?" Harry had asked.

"Indeed. As was I and even Tom Riddle. But, mine and Riddle’s link to the Peverell bloodline is not as close as yours. Harry, you have proven yourself worthy of the name in a way neither I nor Riddle ever could."

-----

"All done!," Madam Malkin's voice pulled Harry from his memories. "That'll be fifteen galleons for the lot."

Harry paid and changed into one of his new sets of robes he had just purchased - simple, elegant, and of much better quality than anything he'd owned during his school years. He shrunk his old clothes and the remaining purchases, tucking them into his expanded bag. He looked like a proper wizard now.

-----

Harry looked at the imposing white marble building, took a deep breath and ascended the steps, passing between the uniformed goblins standing guard. Inside, he approached an available teller. He remembered exiting this god damn building in the back of a Dragon.

"I wish to access my family vault," Harry stated to the nearby teller.

The goblin peered down at him and asked, "Key?"

"I don't have a key," Harry replied calmly. "I will take an inheritance test to confirm my identity."

"Name?" the goblin asked sharply.

Harry hesitated for just a moment. "Peverell. Harry Peverell."

"Peverell? That line is extinct." the Goblin muttered with irritation.

"I’m not sure I’m extinct yet!" Harry replied with all the confidence he could fake.

"Follow me." The goblin said and started walking.

Harry was led through ornate doors to a private room. Another goblin, older and more elaborately dressed, waited inside with a silver dagger and a piece of parchment.

"Three drops of blood on the parchment will end this facade" the goblin said coldly. Harry pricked his finger with the dagger and allowed three drops of blood to fall onto the parchment. The blood spread, forming intricate patterns before settling into clear, elegant script:

Harry James Potter

Son of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Evans Potter

Heir to the Noble House of Potter

Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black

Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell

Master of Death

The goblin's took the parchment and started reading. His eyes widened, "Unusual" he muttered. "Your blood confirms both Potter and Peverell lineage, yet our records show James Potter is still a minor with no children."

Harry channelled his inner Dumbledore. "Time is a funny thing, Indeed." he said simply. "I cannot explain further, but I assure you my claim is legitimate."

The goblin studied him for a long moment. "Messing with time exceedingly dangerous, Mr. Potter or should I say, Master of Death."

"I prefer Peverell," Harry replied.

"Very well, Mr. Peverell. The blood test confirms your claim. The Peverell vault has been dormant for centuries, but as the proven heir, you have access to it."

Three hours later, Harry stepped out of Gringotts with a new identity, access to the substantial Peverell fortune, and ownership deeds to several properties. He had also arranged for a modest but comfortable apartment in Muggle London, far from wizarding eyes. The goblins, while certainly curious about his situation, valued discretion and gold above all else. For a suitable fee, they had agreed to maintain his secrets.

With his immediate financial needs secured, Harry apparated to the Ministry of Magic. The atrium was less grand than he remembered. The security desk was manned by a bored looking wizard reading the Daily Prophet.

"Wand, please," the wizard drawled without looking up.

Harry handed over his holly and phoenix feather wand. Ollivander wouldn't sell it for another fourteen years in this timeline.

The security wizard placed the wand on a brass scale. The wizard tore off the small strip of parchment that emerged from the base of the brass scale and read it aloud.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches”. He continued, "Name and purpose of visit?"

"Harry Peverell. I'm here to schedule my OWL and NEWT examinations."

The wizard looked up, "Home-schooled, were you?"

"Something like that," Harry replied.

Harry received a badge that says Visitor. He made his way to the Department of Magical Education , which was on level three. A middle-aged witch with horn-rimmed glasses, asked as he approached. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking to take my OWL and NEWT examinations," Harry said. "I've been privately educated."

The witch pulled out a thick ledger. "Name?"

"Harry Peverell."

She looked at him for a moment, but she made no comment and flipped through the pages. "We can arrange for special examination sessions, though there will be a fee. Which subjects?"

"I would like to take Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and History of Magic for my OWL’s" Harry said. "I would like to take all of them for my NEWT’s too, except for History of Magic."

The witch looked impressed. "That's quite comprehensive. Are you sure you're prepared for all these subjects at both levels?"

Harry smiled. "Quite sure."

"Very well, Mr. Peverell. The earliest we can arrange is two weeks from now."

"That's perfect," Harry replied. "Thank you."

-----

Two weeks later, Harry found himself facing a series of gruelling examinations. The years of practical experience from the war, the two years spent studying in Grimmauld Place combined with the experience he gained in his travels for the past three years helped him immensely. The written part of the exams were as easy as practical ones.

When the results arrived by owl at his rented flat a week later, Harry was pleased but not surprised to see a string of Outstanding grades in almost every subject. Only Herbology and History of Magic, which had never been his strongest subjects, earned Acceptable marks. It was more than enough to pursue any career he might need as cover while he worked on defeating Voldemort.

Harry nailed the certificates to his wall and sat back on his sofa, staring at them thoughtfully. He had established his identity, secured finances, and obtained the necessary credentials. The foundations were in place. Now it was time to begin the real work. Finding and destroying Voldemort's horcruxes before the prophecy could ever be made.