He felt as though he had been squeezed through a particularly long Apparition, or so was Harry's first thought when he woke. It was dark and he tasted dirt under his lips, which were against the ground. With a groan he rolled over, immediately sensing the hard surface under his back, with grooves that dug into his sensitive spine and ribs. Opening his eyes, he noted a dark alley of sorts, with dingy back doors of shops on both sides.

Twenty years old and trained by Alastor Moody himself in Auror basics, he quickly scanned with his senses, noting a large amount of latent magic from witches, wizards, and magical beings. His ears caught the low murmurs of conversations and the sharp snick of heels on something rough, perhaps stone. He inhaled deeply and detected the stale air that stank of alcohol, wizarding drugs, and other unsavory things.

He sat up, looking at the ground. It was cobblestone, he noted, not pavement. Either a very old section of Muggle London or the magical world. He would guess the latter from what he had observed so far. He stood carefully, wiping his face on his sleeve and digging into his pocket. He pulled out his wand and his face fell into dismay. The wand that had gotten him through school and the war was snapped cleanly into three pieces. There would be no repairing it.

He realized a few things in quick succession. The mirror he had broken had transported him here, somehow. He wasn't sure where he was, though getting out of this dingy back alley would clear things up somewhat. He had no money on him at the moment, which meant that he needed to get to Gringotts, which was an easy enough goal.

He left the alley, thanking Merlin for the removal of his scar through Muggle surgery and the potion that had fixed his eyes. He was unrecognizable to the populace of the magical world if he was careful enough, and fighting a fierce and bloody war for the last 4 years had taught him that much.

He left the alley and was startled to realize that he was in Knockturn, just past Borgin and Burkes. He moved swiftly, not wanting to remain in this Alley for much longer. A few quick minutes of walking brought him out into Diagon, right next to the Daily Prophet office. There was a magical newsstand next to him, selling current issues of the Prophet. He stared in shock at the headline which screamed Massive Attack by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in Dover! 19 Fatalities, 12 Injured!

What?! He's dead! Harry practically screamed. Then he noted the date of the paper and just about fell over in shock. Sunday 12, October 1975. He was in the past by almost 25 years. His pa-

Harry frowned. J- Why couldn't he remember? He had just known their names a moment ago.

He hesitated for a moment longer and then spotted the glossy white building of Gringotts. Right, that was his goal at the moment, his lapse in memory could be addressed later.

Strange things can happen to those who mess with time, Harry. A voice warned, but for all his struggles, he couldn't for the life of him remember who the voice belonged to.

He moved swiftly now, needing to deal with his lack of funds and a form of defense, though he was capable of higher than average wandless magic, it was draining to use for long amounts of time. He entered Gringotts slowly, a voice in his head admonishing, Yea, that's a goblin, Harry. Not a creature you want to mess with, goblins.

Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the voices he couldn't place, he moved to one of the goblins and said quietly, "I need an inheritance test to see if I have vaults to claim."

The goblin nodded curtly and motioned another forward. "He will take you to one of our open managers, sir."

As they walked, Harry frowned to himself. He hadn't meant to say those words; all he needed to do was access either the B- or Po-. Really? What was going on?

"Bloodclaw, this wizard needs an inheritance test and to claim any vaults in his name," his guide said after a moment and he realized that they had entered a fairly small but private office with basic furnishings and another goblin sitting behind a desk.

Bloodclaw motioned for him to sit down and said, "Inheritance tests cost two galleons, sir. Will you be able to afford it if you don't have anything here at Gringotts for you?"

Thanking Merlin for his habit of carrying around spare change, he nodded. "I will be able to pay, though I am fairly sure I have a vault waiting for me."

"Prick your finger on this blade and press the blood into this parchment," Bloodclaw handed him a wicked-looking little dagger and a piece of pale gold parchment.

Harry pricked his finger carefully with the sharp blade and pressed it against the paper. There was a small zapping sensation at the point where he had cut his finger, and then the parchment glowed. It began to write out information from the very top of the page, but the information shocked him.

Name: Harrigan Aldric Peverell

Age: 20

Date of Birth: July 31, 1955

Father: Lord Aldric Peverell

Mother: Lady Elpis Peverell

Title: Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell

Vaults: 520, 542, 564

Blood Status: Pureblood

What in the hell? Harry thought. He opened his mouth to say that the information wasn't right and what came out was, "I believe this needs some explanation, my parents died when I was very young and I was privately educated by distant relatives."

Bloodclaw looked at the parchment and his eyes went wide. "What this means, Harrigan is that you are heir and Lord to one of our oldest families. You are not the wealthiest, but you are going to be able to be comfortable for at least your own lifetime. There are a number of families that are descendants of the Peverells and they have claimed a few vaults over the years, ones set specifically aside for them. However, your name is very old; it carries a great deal of weight. There will be those interested in marrying you just for your name. I suggest you be very careful in the future."

"I will do so. For now, may I take control of my vaults, get a statement and a bank card and be on my way?"

"Certainly, Lord Peverell. Sign these documents while I retrieve a Gringotts bank card for you."

He signed them with a blood quill, wincing a little at the object for a reason that was quickly slipping away. A frown crossed his face for just a moment before he smoothed it away. Things had changed, obviously. He had come into control of a name that had been extinguished in the male line in his time, one that had been his ancestors. Apparently, he had a purpose here; so far, he wasn't sure what.

Bloodclaw came back to his desk with two objects, the first of which he placed on the table. "The Peverell Lordship ring," he explained.

Harrigan picked up the ring and examined it. It was heavy, made of yellow gold and white gold intertwined together to form an elaborate Celtic knot. The meaning of the knot was 'Loyalty', something Harrigan could respect. The stone onto which the main knot was embossed was an oval-cut red diamond, so deep a red it could have been blood.

Bloodclaw gave him a small golden card, not much larger than a galleon and certainly smaller than a Muggle debit card. "You will need to simply tap this on a receipt and the amount will be paid, and a receipt sent to your vaults. We publish statements every month on the 2nd of the month; your first statement will be received in about 2 weeks by owl. No one can access your statements aside from yourself until you bring them in here and give them access to your accounts."

"Thank you Bloodclaw. I have one more question. Is there such a thing as a Permanent Aging Potion? I am a little young for such a title as this one, and I wish to make an impact on the wizarding world. My voice will have more weight if I am even a few years older."

Bloodclaw looked at him with something akin to budding respect. "Certainly there is a permanent form, Lord Peverell. It can only age you a maximum of 10 years and can only be used once. Done here at Gringotts it cannot be traced in your blood by any scan, spell, or historical potion. It costs 30 galleons, purely the cost of the ingredients and the labor of the Potions Master needed to brew it."

"I would like to use one then, Bloodclaw. Debit my account for the appropriate amount. I think a maximum of 10 years would be appropriate. People tend to respect 30 more than 20," he finished wryly.

The potion was brought to him and he drank it in a single go, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant taste. It didn't change his height or physical features much, but he could tell it worked when Bloodclaw bowed and said, "Much more appropriate for your conduct and behavior, my Lord. Have a good day."

"May your bank overflow with gold," Harry replied, startled by his slightly deeper voice.

He exited the bank, headed for Ollivander's. He needed a new wand since his own was broken. Somehow the broken wand made sense now, if he was coming back in time to replace someone who died too soon or wasn't born at all in his timeline then it wouldn't be good for the H- P-, not again! It wouldn't be good for him to come to Ollivander's and not have the wand waiting there.

He left Ollivander's not an hour later in possession of a brand new wand, 12 inches, made of rowan and phoenix feather, fairly rigid. Armed, he felt far more comfortable and set out to acquire a new wardrobe. According to the document at Gringotts, he had a seat on the Wizengamot, and sessions began again in two weeks. He wanted to make an impact.