Temporal Paradox: The Second Chance of Harry Potter

December 26, 1975

"Merlin's saggy balls, What the fuck is this?!"

Harry stared at the teenage form of his own father for a second. James Potter looked exactly like he had seen him in Snape's memory. Messier black hair than he could have ever imagined, hazel orbs staring at him in confusion behind round spectacles, a bit on the skinnier side and perhaps an inch shorter than Harry. Then, he could not repress it any longer. He snorted audibly.

A feminine but firm voice chimed over from what Harry assumed to be the kitchen: "JAMES CHARLUS POTTER! You will behave yourself! We have a gue-"

The woman entered the room and caught Harry standing next to her husband. Her mouth remained open, gaping, in an expression similar to her son's. Harry used the moment and took in his grandmother for the first time in his life.

Dorea Potter might have married and changed her name, but she was a Black through and through. One only had to take a quick glance at her to confirm so. The long dark hair rolled in soft curls over her shoulders, reminding him faintly of Bellatrix. Her eyes were almost the same gray as Sirius'. Similar to her husband, the woman's entire posture radiated pride and confidence, but not arrogance, as he had seen on other members of the Black family.

Harry thought he recognized his own high cheekbones and the aristocratic defined face he must have inherited from her. He gulped heavily, waiting for her reaction. The woman's mouth opened and closed a few times in shock at seeing Harry. Next to her, her husband seemed to find the situation a bit too amusing.

"Charlus William Potter, you better explain right now!" Her gray eyes turned to steel and narrowed at her husband. Oh shit... Now, that was already a lot more like the Black's he had gotten to know in his time. Dorea was certainly someone to be careful around and not get on the wrong side of.

"I am sure all our questions will be answered in due time. How about we all sit down and drink something to calm everybody?" Her husband held up his hands in a soothing manner and gestured to the dining table: "Tilly!"

A small elf, dressed in a red and gold tunic appeared with a soft snap: "Master has called Tilly?"

"Could you bring us some butterbeer and perhaps a light calming draught, Tilly?" Charlus requested kindly. Harry smiled, it was good to see that the Potters treated their elves with respect. There was no need to go overboard with it like Hermione, but at least they did not seem to treat Tilly similar to how the Malfoys did Dobby. The small elf nodded, making its big ears bob up and down, she turned to leave, but then her gaze fell on Harry.

"You is having Potter magic." The elf whispered in astonishment: "Tilly can feel it inside you but Tilly has not seen you before. Tilly does not know how it is possible..."

Harry cringed. That was indeed not good. First, the wards allow him to enter, because he is still a Potter by blood, then the bloody elf even recognizes him with its magic. He frowned when he thought about how the situation might look to the two other Potter's in the room.

"Charlus? Is this..." Dorea's expression fell as she trailed off. Her face displayed a mixture of emotions, including confusion, hurt, anger, and utter disappointment. Next to her, James seems to go through a similar process.

"No!" Harry spoke up firmly and took a step forward: "Lady Potter, I promise it's not what it might seem like. Please just allow me to explain."

The woman's gaze flickered from him to her husband and then to her son. Harry almost felt his own heart break, at seeing the pain in her eyes from the conclusion she must have drawn. Could this have turned out any worse for him?

"Morgana's saggy tits, could someone finally explain what is going on here?" James spoke up after finally having pulled himself together: "Why does this bloke look like my fucking twin?"

Silence followed James' statement. Then, Charlus gestured for Harry: "Perhaps it's best if you explain? You seem to have more answers than me and I am very intrigued to know as well."

Harry took a deep breath and prepared himself. He should probably start all the way from the beginning: "I met Lord Potter this morning in the Ministry of Magic, as you have probably been told already. I recently moved to Britain and took care of some regulatory issues." Harry explained. So far so good. He received short nods of confirmation from the Potters around him.

"Lady Potter..." Harry addressed Dorea: "... Mr. Potter..." he nodded at James: "... I can promise you that I am not Lord Potter's son. In fact," Harry flicked the Elder Wand into his palm. Any pureblood family like the Potters should understand the value of his following action:

"I hereby swear on my magic that I am not the son of Charlus William Potter, so mote it be!"

A silent Lumos illuminated the room, blinding its occupants. Shortly after, Tilly reappeared with a few bottles of Butterbeer and some vials. Dorea visibly exhaled and relief flooded her face. She allowed her husband to squeeze her hand affectionately and they exchanged a silent glance. James had a similar reaction, however, his expression turned into something slightly suspicious soon:

"That's cool, I guess, but then who the hell are you mate?!"

"James!" Dorea scolded her son, but Harry held up his hand to indicate that it was fine.

"I could not swear that I am not related to you since I can't make such a vow. My name is Harry Ignotus Peverell. We are distantly related by blood I believe."

Harry saw the wheels turning behind the hazel eyes of the Potter Patriarch with the revelation of his middle name. The same held true for Dorea who gaped at him after having heard the name Peverell.

"Who are the Peverells?" James frowned: "Sounds purebloodish I guess, but I have never heard of them."

"The Peverells were a very old Roman family that moved to Britain during the expansion of the Roman Empire almost two millennia ago," Dorea explained patiently, her gray eyes not leaving the young man in front of her. Harry just smiled after remembering that Minerva told him she had always loved wizarding history and allowed her to continue. "For centuries they were amongst the most powerful families roaming this land until the main bloodline died out and the family merged into the Potters."

"Merged?" James asked with a frown.

"Iolanthe Peverell, the granddaughter of the man I was named after, married Hardwin Potter, a great-grandfather of yours." Harry explained. He had spent some time researching his family's ancestry during his last months at Hogwarts: "However, even before that my family intermarried with other prominent British bloodlines, including the Blacks. Perhaps that explains the faint resemblance we have, Lady Potter." He finished and inclined his head to Dorea.

"You know the history of your family very well." Charlus Potter nodded appreciatively, he was visibly impressed: "However, as my wife stated, the main Peverell bloodline was thought to have gone extinct many centuries ago."

"Well, I am the living proof it was not." Harry grinned as he pulled out his birth certificate from within his robes and handed it over: "I, of course, knew that my identity might be difficult to prove, and people might call me a fraud. Therefore, I went to Gringotts after our brief encounter this morning."

Charlus' eyes roamed over the piece of parchment, and he handed it over to Dorea with a nod. The woman looked up: "But where have you been all this time? You sound British?"

"On the continent." Harry explained: "My family went into hiding for numerous reasons. I only recently moved back to Britain."

"Where are your parents?" James asked curiously after his mother handed the birth certificate over to him: "It says you are only 15 on here."

"Both my parents died when I was one year old," Harry explained, finally taking a seat himself.

James visibly cringed: "I'm so sorry."

"That's horrible!" Dorea gasped and looked like she wanted to take him in her arms: "But, how did they die if you don't mind me asking? And who took care of you?"

"Dory, don't you think..." Charlus spoke up, but Harry held up his hand indicating it was okay.

He gulped heavily: "I understand that you have many questions. And since the resemblance between us is so significant, I think it's only fair that I answer a few of them. Both my parents were killed by a dark wizard. Afterwhich, I was raised by muggles for the first ten years of my life before I discovered I was a wizard. From there on, I enjoyed a magical education and extensive private tutoring."

"Did those muggles move with you to Britain? Why did you come here in the first place?" Charlus asked and almost pierced him with his strong gaze.

"No, the muggles were not the nicest people." Harry began honestly: "And I moved here to Britain to finish my education and because I think that the man who murdered my parent might be here." That was technically not a lie. So, Harry did not feel bad about it.

"But where do you live?" Dorea asked shocked: "Mr. Peverell, a young man like you cannot possibly live by himself all the time." She scolded him in a way that almost reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. However, somehow it seemed more genuine

"Just Harry is fine, Lady Potter." Harry smiled: "And I have been taking care of myself for some time now. It won't be an issue. I have a few Galleons to my name and I even managed to rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron for a week."

"I will have none of that!" Dorea shot up from her chair: "I insist on you staying with us for the remainder of the holiday season! You are family, Harry! No matter how distantly related."

Harry was moved deeply by how emotionally invested his grandmother was. He did not know what to say, but he appreciated her generous gesture. "Thank you, Lady Potter."

"I agree with my wife, Harry." Charlus spoke up: "And for the time being, I suggest you call us Charlus and Dorea. You are family, after all."

"I would very much like." Harry nodded and could not help his eyes getting slightly wet. The Potter's were everything and more he had hoped for. Even accepting him into their home so quickly after meeting them. He would have given everything to have a family like them growing up... But perhaps this was his chance?

"Let us have some dinner, then." Charlus spoke after a few seconds of silence: "Tilly, if you would serve the first course?"

Dinner was a very pleasant affair. All three Potters were fun to converse with and despite being a pureblood family the atmosphere was rather informal. Even James soon lost the slight frown and the suspicious look and instead joined in on the laughter. However, the topic of the conversation soon turned back to Harry's past.

"Do you mind me asking if you are a pureblood, Harry? Do not take this the wrong way, none of us are bigots. Just out of curiosity, since your family is even older than mine…" Dorea inquired.

"I am a half-blood, Dorea." Harry admitted honestly: "My father was a pureblood and my mother a muggle-born witch."

"Were there no grandparents or other relatives that could have taken you in?" James asked curiously.

"I actually went to my relatives." Harry explained: "After my parents were murdered, I was brought to my mom's sister. She is a muggle herself and raised me with her muggle husband."

None of the Potters missed the way he pronounced raised and how his eyes flashed a more vibrant green for a split second. Charlus' knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists around his fork: "Did they abuse you, Harry?"

"Not physically, no..." Harry shook his head: "However, they never forbid their own son from hurting me. I'd say the abuse was more emotional."

"Oh, my poor boy!" Dorea pushed her chair back and actually stood up to walk around the table and engulf Harry in a hug: "You will never see those foul people again! I can promise you that"

Harry no longer flinched when getting into physical contact with someone, so he reciprocated his grandmother's hug, enjoying some comfort after the mind-blowing 24 hours he had experienced. This was where his grandmother proved to be rather different from Molly Weasley. The latter had never believed him when he shared how abusive the Dursleys were. The woman had seen him after he was starved for almost two weeks in his second year and still never voices the issue. Dorea Potter was willing to believe even without seeing the physical evidence of it.

"So, what exactly do you plan on doing now, Harry? You are rather young and have your entire life ahead of you. With a name like yours the wizarding world will soon know about your return to our shores." Charlus picked up the conversion after Dorea withdrew back to her chair and continued eating.

"Well, I plan on writing to Professor Dumbledore, and I hope that he accepts my application to go to Hogwarts. I just want to finish my education and enjoy at least the last couple of years as a teenager. Everything else can wait a bit."

"Dumbledore will definitely accept you." James nodded while ravishing through his dessert: "He is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen."

Harry smiled faintly at his father's idealism, before his fifth year he would have probably announced the same. However, he had gotten to know the man better over his last few years at the Castle. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that his grandparents shot each other a small glance. "You don't agree with your son, sir?" Harry asked Charlus.

"I don't think the man is evil." Charlus began slowly: "But his secretiveness is going to be the death of him. His secrets have secrets, his plans have plans. The man is the ultimate puppet master and does not like things spinning out of his control."

"And still, certainly better than You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters," James growled and shot his father a disapproving look.

Harry snorted audibly and shook his head. Sirius never had an issue saying the man's name after Harry met him in his timeline, but perhaps that change had occurred after Hogwarts. If he remembered correctly, he had been the only one to call Voldemort by his real name until Hermione finally jumped over her shadow and did it too during fifth year.

"What's so funny?" James frowned.

"Voldemort," Harry replied in barely above a whisper and watched as James shivered ever so slightly and Dorea's eyes flinched. He was happy to see that at least Charlus kept his composure. After facing off against Grindelwald the man would certainly not cower from a mere name.

"We don't usually say his name at school, or anywhere really…" James trailed off and scratched his neck awkwardly.

"Why? It's just a name. A made-up name, or do you seriously think his mother called him Lord as his first name? Have you ever heard of the ancient family of Voldemort?" Harry asked with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

A grin tugged on Charlus' lips: "What do you know about the man, Harry?"

Harry took in the three Potter around him: "A pureblood supremacist that does not reveal his true identity. A man that claims to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, yet he uses a fake name? If I did not know any better, I'd say he is half-blood himself."

"Better not let his followers hear that, but very astute, Harry." Charlus nodded approvingly: "What else do you know?"

"Just what I have heard so far, ever since I arrived here." Harry shrugged, not wanting to reveal too much yet.: "He wants to rule over the muggles and anyone who is deemed not worthy to wield magic. His followers call themself the Death Eaters."

"You certainly have an interest in him." Dorea glanced at him with worry. It was not a question; it was the statement: "Is he the man that killed your parents? Is that why you came back to Britain?"

Harry gave her a short nod: "I think he is." He decided to ignore her question. Luckily, he was saved by his grandfather.

"Let's talk about something else." Charlus quickly chimed in as he noticed his son's questioning look: "What House do you think you will be sorted into?"

"He better be in Gryffindor." James snorted and raised an imaginary sword: "Where bravery and courage rule."

Harry chuckled: "All houses have their unique traits, but they are not a guarantee for how a person might act. Over the decades there have been Gryffindors, who cowered while the innocent were butchered. There have been Hufflepuffs, who sold out their own friends. I have read about Ravenclaws whose thirst for knowledge consumed themselves and everyone around them. And finally, there were Slytherins, who sacrificed themselves in an incredible act of bravery to save strangers. I believe that your house does not define you. Your actions do."

"You show wisdom beyond your years, Harry." Charlus nodded approvingly.

"Yeah, you already sound like Dumbledore. But fair enough…" James rolled his eyes: "Just don't be a slimy snake. Our family has always been in Gryffindor..."

"James!" Dorea huffed: "You know very well that I was a Slytherin, and I turned out just fine!"

"Did you, now?" James hid the words under a cough. Dorea scolded him while Harry and Charlus laughed.

"What do you do for fun, Harry?" James asked after he finally finished his ice cream: "Do you play Quidditch?"

"I do…" Harry grinned: "...and I'm certain I would run rings around..." He finished with a challenging smirk.

The noise on the table stopped as Dorea and Charlus looked between James and Harry in amusement. The two teenagers were holding a small staring contest seeing who would blink first.

"Now, that's low, mate." James shook his head in mock disappointment: "I don't know where you come from, but here you don't just accept an invitation, break the bread, drink the wine, and then insult the host's Quidditch skills..."

The Potters and Harry chuckled with laughter.

"Scared to get your ass kicked, Potter?" Harry smirked and cocked his head sideways.

"On that note..." James pushed his chair back: "Bring it on, Peverell. Put your money where your mouth is!"

"Seriously boys?" Dorea complained: "Is that really necessary? It is December and freezing outside"

"I am afraid there is no other option. It's a matter of honor now..." Charlus declared equally as excited as the boys, as he stood up as well: "To the garden then, boys! James, bring the brooms, please."

James darted around the corner as Harry followed his grandparents through Potter Manor into the large garden.

"I feel obliged to warn you, Harry." Charlus chuckled: "James has been playing for his House team ever since his second year. He has even earned the position of Captain this year."

"He has a lot to lose then." Harry grinned just as his father darted back around the corner with two brooms under his arm.

"No Snitch tonight, boys." Charlus stated as he looked up into the cold December sky: "But I will create a small obstacle parkour for you to race through. Whoever completes it faster will win."

"Sounds agreeable." Harry nodded and took the broom James offered.

"This might be embarrassing, mate." James gave him a cocky smirk: "But I won't hold it against you, I learned how to fly before I could walk.

A memory of a small raven-haired boy on a toy broom swirled through Harry's mind. If he remembered correctly, it had been a gift from Sirius, and he accidentally crashed into a vase from Petunia: "Funny you should say so... the very same holds true for me, Potter. Now I suggest you stop talking already and get your ass in the air."

James' head roared back in laughter: "I like you, Peverell. However, you are still punching above your weight. Dad, would you?" He addressed Charlus.

Charlus flicked his wand and conjured a set of wooden rings that he set up at different intervals and heights above the garden and mansion. With another flick, the rings lightened up in a fire, illuminating the entire parkour and enhancing the visibility.

"Really, Charlus?" Dorea scolded while applying warming charms to all of them repeatedly: "Is the fire necessary now? As if this sport was not dangerous enough already!"

"It adds to the challenge, dear," Charlus smirked at his wife. He set up a small Tempus charm, while James mounted his broom.

"Wait until you hear my signal," Charlus instructed.

James merely gave them a nod. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the handle of his broom more firmly. Charlus shot a loud BANG from his wand and James was off. The stories he had heard about his father's skills on a broom were certainly true. James was an exceptional flier, showing control over his broom that was very impressive. He completed the challenge quickly and even Harry had to admit that his father had flown better than he expected... but still not good enough.

"Thirty-five seconds," Charlus announced as James finished. Harry nodded appreciatively as he took up his position. James was amazing, there was no denying it, but Harry had more experience. He had played for six years at school (If one ignored Umbridge's ban) and for another six years in university.

"On my signal, Harry," Charlus stated once more.

Harry surged from the ground as soon as the BANG rang out a second time. The broom did not compare to his latest Firebolt model, but it would certainly do for the challenge. He zipped through the blazing rings so quickly that to him it looked like one short, fiery tunnel.

"Thirty-three seconds." Charlus said, evidently taken aback by what he had seen. Both James and Dorea could only stare at Harry in disbelief, neither able to comprehend what they had seen. He had run the course flawlessly with what appeared to be little effort.

His thoughts were interrupted by James who had sighed disappointedly but offered his hand in a gesture that surprised Harry. From what Sirius had told him about his father, he was quite arrogant, egotistical, and hated losing at anything. "You were better," he conceded.

"No worries, mate." Harry laughed as he shook the boy's hand, "Think about the look on the Slytherins' faces when the two of us play for Gryffindor. Do you guys still need a Seeker?"

James' entire face lit up in excitement. His hazel eyes spoke volumes on how much he would love that: "Just make sure you get sorted into my House then. I have never said this before, but I'd rather not have to play against you."

December 28th, 1975

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, high on the seventh floor at Hogwarts school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The headmaster hummed a little muggle tune while popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth. The school year had been going rather well so far. However, the political climate outside of Hogwarts slowly descended upon the castle itself. That was a bit worrisome, indeed. Horace had shared that especially among the upper-year Slytherins, conversation about the Dark Lord and his ambitions was a popular occurrence.

Even in other houses, blood purity was discussed more and more often. Never before has the use of the word Mudblood been reported by his colleagues as often as during the last term. Naturally, Albus would continue doing his best to shield the students from the developments outside the castle. This was a place to learn, not hurl curses at each other and make lifelong enemies.

However, he knew that things would only get worse from here on. Albus had declined Tom's application for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position a few years ago. Ever since then, the man had expanded his influence over Magical Britain. So far, he had not publicly revealed himself yet, but his name continued to be passed around as a whisper by those that both followed and feared him.

The stack of letters from angry or disappointed parents was almost gone. There was only one last letter left. A sharp gasp escaped Dumbledore's lips when he saw the black wax seal on the yellowed parchment. Impossible! That crest that had corrupted his youth, and all but destroyed his family, stared back at him, carved ominously into the cold, hard wax concealing the letter within.

Who would send him such a letter? Barely anyone knows about the Deathly Hallows in Britain around this age. Sure, the story of the Three Brothers was as popular as ever, but no one took the children's tale seriously... This sign has never been seen on British soil, apart from the small carving on the tombstone of Ignotus Peverell in Godric's Hollow... How did this person know about it?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Curiously, but with trembling long fingers, Dumbledore broke the seal and opened the ordinary envelope. Expensive parchment showed handwriting he had never seen before. Glancing over his half-moon glasses, he began reading:

Dearest Headmaster Dumbledore,

With this missive, I humbly request to further my schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry starting the next term, on January the 2nd. I have recently moved to Magical Britain from the continent and wish to continue my education at one of the finest academic establishments for magic in all of Europe.

Since I have been privately tutored for the majority of my life, I suggest allowing me to visit classes with the regular fifth year students for two weeks in order to verify if my performance in each class is acceptable. Otherwise, I am, of course, open to your suggestions on how to deal with the matter at hand.

The yearly tuition can be transferred from my recently opened vault at Gringotts. I merely request for a few more weeks until my funds from the continent are repositioned. As for the curriculum, I am already in possession of the necessary books for the compulsory subjects. However, I would like to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as my electives.

I am looking forward to hearing from you and thank you in advance for nourishing my thirst for knowledge.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Ignotus Peverell

Heir to the House of Peverell

Dumbledore was at a loss for words. He read the letter in its entirety twice more. A Peverell returned to England? How was that possible? He had been so certain that the main bloodline had died out centuries ago. Before he could even ponder over the question any longer, there was a sharp hiss on his table and the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, blazed, before turning into hot white ash.

"NO!" Dumbledore gasped, but it was too late.

He stared in shock at what was left of the thin piece of wood that he won from his childhood friend, during their famous duel in 1945. It was gone... The Deathstick was gone shortly after a Peverell arrived on British soil. That could hardly be a coincidence, could it?

He needed to find out what exactly happened and whether or not this Peverell was who he claimed to be. He did not state his age but judging by the fact that requested to be placed with the other fifth-years, Dumbledore would expect him to be 15 or 16 years old.

What house would the boy get sorted into? Would he join his last living relatives? The Potters were the descendants of the one man he was presumably named after. Perhaps, he had even met them already... The reappearance of a name like his would throw the political spectrum into utter chaos. Everyone, especially the purebloods would try to gain his favor. But what kind of person was he? The best way to find out more about the boy was to invite him to Hogwarts and grant him his request to finish his education.

However, at the same time, Albus would have to look into the matter and see what else he found. Perhaps a trip to old Bathilda would turn out fruitful. In any case, he will contact Emmeline Vance from the Bureau of Family Records at the Ministry of Magic. If this Harry Peverell was truly who he claims to be and opened an account at Gringotts, then a birth certificate should be found there. That would be the first step in verifying this incredible story...

Why did this mysterious young man come to Britain now? What was he looking for? Albus knew not, but the only way to find out was to see him at the beginning of term.

"What do you think, Fawkes?" Albus asked his beautiful familiar, who had cocked its head when the legendary wand burst into flames. The phoenix thrilled a happy melody and Albus could swear that he heard some excitement in there. "I am very excited to meet him too, Fawkes. How curious. How very curious..." Dumbledore whispered and blew the remaining ash off the table.