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Plot: Rita spouting lies, branded as a Dark wizard and goblins in a rage; Harry's had enough. So, he seeks to jump back in time to save himself from a life of misery and fickle loyalty, maybe a little revenge and mysteries along the way.Time Travel! A Harry raises himself fic. Non-epilogue compliant, non-slash.

Pairing: HarryxOFC

NOTE: Harry as an immortal, going to an alternate reality and helping a version of himself. Basically a fix it up + time travel. (There is a sequel but is unfinished and looks to be abandoned, though you can take this to be a standalone)

Chapter 1 The Tide Turned Again

HARRY POTTER: SAVIOUR OR DEVIL IN DISGUISE

By Rita Skeeter

I met a young Harry Potter several years ago, full of ambition and talent much like the Dark Lord. Though reports say You-Know-Who was destroyed by the Expelliarmus charm, many doubt that. How could a simple charm taught to first year students bring down someone so evil? Maybe, to kill someone as powerful as the Dark Lord, you have to become a Dark Lord—

Harry crushed the newspaper in frustration and tossed it aside. He really hated that woman. Now everyone was going to think he had fallen from the Light. Well, he bloody well wasn't going to put up with this shite again. It was only a month after the final battle, and he had been hiding out in his godfather's old house from the fans, now this. He had planned on going back to Hogwarts and finish out his schooling, but thanks to this article, that option was gone. It would be a repeat of his first, second, fourth and fifth years, and there was no way he was going to go through that again. It also put to rest his plans on being an Auror.

He couldn't even blackmail the bitch anymore; during Voldemort's control of the Ministry she had registered her Animagus form and set herself up as a spy for them. How she reclaimed her place as top reporter, the dark-haired wizard didn't know. She had probably bribed them or blackmailed them or whatever.

He grabbed his hair and banged his head on the table in front of him. What was he going to do now? The only people who had stood by him before had their own problems to deal with.

The curly-haired witch still had to get her parents from Australia. Ron was still mourning Fred's death and trying to woo her. George was a shadow of his old self, not that he blamed him. Luna was trying to get her schooling done, as was Ginny (and he still didn't know what he was going to do about the youngest redhead). Neville was hiding from the public too, after the Prophet ran the story of all his heroics during Hogwarts last year. The youngest Potter hoped that the sandy-haired teen didn't fall to Rita's vicious quill.

Andromeda was doing what she could to take care of Teddy. He wasn't even allowed to visit his godson. His grandmother blamed Him for dragging the now dead parents back into battle, causing her to lose the rest of her family, bar Teddy, so she wasn't taking any chances. She made it very clear that he was not welcome at her house.

Harry sat up and grabbed a piece of parchment and writing instruments. He needed to figure out what to do now. The first thing on his list was to clear his debt to the goblins, so he could get his money. For that he needed the Sword of Gryffindor. Just as he thought about it, Fawkes flamed in with the very scorched and war-torn Sorting Hat.

"You look like shite," the dark-haired boy blurted out as he took in the hat's appearance. The Sorting Hat had always looked battered and old, but now the rim was burnt and the tip of the cone was being held there by a few threads. "Why hasn't Professor McGonagall fixed you?"

"Oh, and I'm sure you look better, Mr. Potter," the sarcastic hat replied. "Minerva said that I am now an icon of the war. I tried to change her mind, but she is stubborn," the poor hat grumbled. He had argued for days with the headmistress, to no avail. She said as long as he can perform his duty then he was to stay as he was to remind students of his part in winning the battle.

"That sucks," commiserated Harry. He would have to see if he could talk to the cat Animagus into changing her mind. The school didn't need any more reminders of what they lost. "How did Fawkes know I needed you here?" He looked at the firebird that had all but disappeared after Dumbledore's death. The phoenix gave a mournful trill and tucked his head under his wing.

"The sword always comes to true Gryffindors in need. Fawkes has always been tuned in to the students of Hogwarts, you and Longbottom especially. While you are not in a near death situation, you are still in need of the sword." And if a hat could shrug, this one would, as it was the frayed rim lifted off the table in parody. "I always knew some hero type person would try and return it one day. It's back where it was the first time you found it."

"Alright, I guess," the teenager said. He lifted the hat and felt inside, the sword came into his hand and he pulled it out.

"It will be quite the joke on the goblins," the hat chuckled as the dark-haired wizard put it back on the table.

"What do you mean?" The youngest Potter asked as he placed the sword next to the hat.

"That sword is enchanted; they can reclaim it all they want. However, like I stated before, it'll always come to a true Gryffindor." The hat busted into full blown laughter at the thought. He soon joined him, remembering Griphook taking off with it after betraying them, and it showing up in Neville's hand when he needed it.

"Serves those greedy turncoats right," Harry snorted when he calmed down. There was no love lost between him and the goblins, and if he didn't need his money, he would be shot of them.

"Well, I'm off," the hat said suddenly. And the phoenix took a hold of it again and flamed out.

After sending a glare to the crumpled up newspaper, the young man decided that he needed to be disguised. Taking out his wand, he changed his hair to light brown and his eyes dark brown, his famous scar had faded after his aborted death. Picking up the Sword of Gryffindor, careful not to touch the venom imbued blade, he sheathed it in a conjured scabbard and strapped it to his back. He swiped one of Sirius' hooded robes and made his way out of Grimmuald Place. He then Disapparated to an alley next to the Leaky Cauldron, he lifted the hood to cover his face and made his way to Diagon Alley.

The dark-haired wizard could already hear the gossip among the witches in the marketplace. Once again the tide had turned and not in his favor. Scowling under the hood, he quickly walked down the mostly deserted street, not even looking over the damages that were still being repaired. He made his way to the bank and up the stairs, not seeing the guards signal inside. He hadn't even stepped one foot inside the lobby when he was surrounded by ten spear points.

"What do you want here, thief?" one of the larger goblins snarled. "Do you think a mere glamor spell could fool us? Why would you come here under disguise if you aren't trying to steal from the Goblin Nation once again?"

"I came to keep my promise to Griphook," he said in a neutral tone. Great, this isn't going to help my reputation. He flitted his eyes around the lobby to see who was watching, which was everyone. However, most didn't recognize him, so maybe it would be okay.

"And what of the damages and losses to Gringotts?" the goblin asked, bringing the teen's focus back to him.

"I want to make amends if possible," came the short reply.

"Take him to Sharpclaw," the same goblin ordered. "Don't lower your weapons and keep an eye on the thief." Whispers started among the customers and Harry was thankful the surly goblin never mentioned his name.

So completely circled by vicious warrior goblins, the youngest Potter was hustled to an office in one of the many tunnels. He was pushed through an open door and shoved into a chair. The spears never dropped.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Potter," the oldest goblin Harry has ever seen drawled. His thin and gnarly hands clasped on the desk, his beady eyes narrowed in contempt.

"Right," the teen said abruptly as he nodded decisively. Wanting to get this over with he started to reach over his shoulder when one of the sharp spearheads dug into his neck. "I have the Gryffindor Sword," he explained, his jaw tightened as he felt the line of blood move down his neck.

Sharpclaw nodded to the guard and it backed off. The dark-haired wizard once again reached over his shoulder and pulled the sword to the front. He held it out in both hands, flat and harmless, inwardly smirking as he remembered what the hat had told him. The goblin manager reached over with his spindly hands and snatched it from the human.

"This still does not make amends for all the damages and one dragon," Sharpclaw said in a condescending voice as his greedy eyes took in the most valued weapon. He placed it next to his chair and turned his attention back to the crook. "Not to mention Gringotts' ruined reputation."

"And what, pray tell, would cover those costs?" Harry's voice dripped in anger. He wasn't even going to warn them about the venom. It would serve them right for treating him this way. After all, he was here doing what he promised, even after Griphook almost got them killed.

"Fine," Harry snapped, "but I want a blood test done so I can claim every vault I own." He threw the demands back on the desk. He knew that he still hadn't claimed Sirius' vault and with that he should be able to cover these cost, plus, leave him some money.

The smile disappeared from the old goblin's face and he snarled. "Longtooth, get the bowl," he told one of the guards.

A younger goblin lowered his weapon and went to get the tools needed for the test. They all sat quietly and waited for his return, though not without hateful looks being passed. Longtooth returned with a black bowl and a rune covered dagger.

Sharpclaw reached over the desk, roughly grabbed Harry's hand and sliced the palm without care. The youngest Potter hissed as he watched the blood flow into the bowl. He quickly tore his shirt and wrapped the wound when his hand was thrust away. The old goblin dipped a yellow quill into the bowl and then placed it on a parchment. The quill vibrated and then started to write. A list of five vaults showed, with more than enough money to cover what the goblins were demanding and then some.

Sharpclaw growled and sneered, "We will take what is due us, and then we want you to clear out every single bit of your money and valuables. You can tell your two friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Ms. Hermione Granger, they are no longer welcome in Gringotts and they have one week to clear their accounts. We are done with you." He pointedly turned his back on the dark-haired teen.

"Fine," he said, not the least bit surprised, but still angry at these nasty beings. "I'll be back the day after tomorrow to clear my vaults. If you haven't settled the debt by then it's not my fault." He got up abruptly, snatched up both lists and stormed out of the room, holding his wounded hand tightly against his ċhėst.

The angry teen made his way back to Grimmauld Place unmolested. Harry had Kreacher bring some healing potions for his hand and hoped he was in time to keep it from scarring. He took the potion, applied the Dittany and was relieved when the wound healed unblemished.

He used the Floo to call the Burrow; Mrs. Weasley was the one to answer. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley," The dark-haired wizard said politely. "Are Ron and Hermione around?"

"Oh, Harry dear, why haven't you been coming to dinner? We haven't seen you in over a week," the Weasley mother asked sadly. She had lost a lot of weight, and her eyes were swollen and red, like she never stopped crying. Her usual motherly demeanor was accented with grief, making her more of a mother hen then she had been.

"I've been rather busy, Mrs. Weasley. As a matter of fact, I have much to do now. Sorry for being rude, but I really need to talk to Ron and Hermione." He didn't want to have to explain himself to the kindly woman, not when he was in such a foul mood.

"I'll just go and get them, dear. You come to dinner sometime soon. Do you understand, young man?" Molly demanded gently yet firm. She missed the boy she thought of as her seventh son.

"I'll try, Mrs. Weasley," He hedged. The few times he had been to the Burrow were awkward and unpleasant. Harry wasn't sure if it was just their grieving or if they subconsciously blamed him for the losses. After the way Andromeda treated him, he wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter. Merlin knew, he blamed himself.

She left the room and a few minutes later his friends appeared.

"Hello, Harry, how are you doing?" the curly-haired witch asked. She looked frazzled, her hair was wild and her eyes were bloodshot. He knew she was studying hard to find a way to get her parents' memories back. He wasn't sure if she would find a way before Hogwarts started, or if she was going to have to put it off. He knew that that was eating at her.

"Alright, Harry?" was Ron's greeting. He actually looked rather well. He gained back all the weight he lost when they were on the run.

"I'm fine, thanks," came Harry's standard reply. "I wanted to warn you that Gringotts is threatening to close your accounts. You need to go and clear anything you own out of there, soon."

"Well, that's fine," Ron shrugged. "I don't have a vault."

"No, but, they might fine your parents," the green-eyed teen warned. He didn't know if it was true or not, but he wasn't going to take that chance.

"Alright, I'll warn them, it's not like there's a lot there," the redhead mumbled. Money was always a sore spot for Ron.

"I only just opened the account, right before we started hunting the you-know-what's," Hermione said thoughtfully. "There is very little there, so it will be easy to get it out. It is a shame that human/goblin relations are so bitter. Maybe there is something I… "

"Hermione," The youngest Potter interrupted her spiel, knowing any attempt for better relations would be futile. Especially if they came from any of the Golden Trio, the goblins made their views very clear. "Do you think you can show me the spell you used on your bag? I don't see myself lugging a bunch of trunks full of gold down Diagon Alley."

"Honestly, Harry, don't you read? I showed you the book it was in when we were camping, just so you would know," she answered back, a bit harsh.

"I know, Hermione, but you have that book in your bag," he defended himself. "Plus, I had a bit more to worry about at that time."

"Oh, right, sorry," she stuttered. "I'll go get it." And with that she left the room, leaving Ron and Harry with little to talk about. The two teen boys had a simple conversation on Quidditch until their female friend returned. A few minutes later she returned and handed the book through the Floo.

"Oh, before I forget, don't let those greedy bastards—"Language, Harry," snapped Hermione— try and make you pay for the damages. I've already paid them. I wouldn't put it passed those… goblins to try and get more," he spat in disgust.

"Harry, I can't believe you did that," the curly-haired witch chastised. "I would have been more than happy to pay my part. As a matter of fact, as soon as I can I'm paying you back." You could see the calculations running through her brain as her eyes moved back and forth, like they were reading something in front of them only she could see.

"You don't have to do that, Hermione, I've got plenty of money left," the youngest teen shrugged. Ron scoffed in the background and was ignored. "What with Rita's latest article it's a good thing too. I mean, I can't go back to Hogwarts and the Ministry is out of the picture as well. I might as well live in the Muggle world, for all the rumors that have already started," he said bitterly.

"Oh, Harry, why is it always you?" his best friend asked. With the way she always stuck by him, that is exactly what Hermione was, his best friend.

"Don't know, don't care." To him it was par for the course, and he was tired of it. "I can tell you right now; I'm not going to put myself through all that again."

"What are you going to do about your NEWT's?" she asked giving him a sharp glare. Education was very important to her, and she didn't want to see Him lose the edge he'd get if he completed his seventh year.

Ron just stood to the side not offering his views, he'd let her try and talk Him back to Hogwarts.

"I'll figure out something. Look, I have to go," The youngest Potter said cutting off that argument before it started and pulled his head from the fire and closed the Floo.

The dark-haired wizard spent some of his time that night trying to recreate Hermione's bag. After dozens of failed attempts, in a fit of frustration, he yelled the spell at the bag he was using. He mispronounced a word and it backfired on him and hit a spot directly above his left shoulder. He tried to see what it could have possible hit, but there was nothing there. However, he felt the air move in displacement when he turned his head in that direction. As an experiment he took a piece of crumpled up paper and tossed it over his shoulder. It disappeared. He tried again and the same thing happened.

This could work, he thought. He held his right hand in front of the area and said, "Crumpled piece of parchment." Both pieces of paper came flying out to his hand. He spent the rest of the night experimenting and found it just like her bag. Bigger items just shrank into the invisible space and expanded when they were called out. He found out he had to be careful not to say certain words out loud, like 'empty', or everything would dump on to his foot, which was painful. He was delighted that he now had a way to store his gold and whatever else was in those vaults.

It was a tired young man that sat at the table and ate dinner. He finally looked at the blood test and noted there were three vaults with names he'd never heard of that now belonged to him. He did wonder how they came to be his, but he'd be damned if he asked the goblins. All five vaults added up to over a few million galleons, so Harry wouldn't have to worry about working anytime soon, which was good. He did notice that the demands of Gringotts would have wiped out his Potter account, which he was sure was the point. But the other four vaults more than made up for that.

The next day, Harry took everything he held valuable and placed them in, what he dubbed, his pocketspace. Making sure the Deathly Hallows were in there. No one was more surprised than he was when the three items appeared on his bed the day after the final battle. He tried to rid himself of them, but they kept coming back. He had no idea what that meant, but at least now he had a way to hide them.

On the day he said he'd be at Gringotts, The dark-haired wizard walked down Diagon Alley to complete his task. This time he looked around and saw all of the buildings that were in disrepair. There were still Muggle-borns lining the street begging for money. He felt sorry for them and was glad that toad of a woman was now in Azkaban for all her crimes.

If he had his way he'd just kill the sadistic bigoted bitch, she was a bigger blemish on the wizarding world than Voldemort. Her death count was higher than any Death Eaters. Those camps were responsible for hundreds of deaths. Now that they were disbanded, what was going to happen to those that lost everything? Families torn apart, children orphaned and wands snapped. Was the Ministry going to help? Could they? He didn't know the answer to those questions.

With Diagon Alley in such a state, no one seemed to be able to help anyone. It'll take a lot of money and time to get the marketplace back to the bustling wonder it use to be. He remembered well the awe his ten year old self had when he first entered the Alley all those years ago. It saddened him to see it in the shambles it was.

Ollivander's shop was ruined, the windows gone, the display that adorned the shop since its opening was broken and all of the wands snapped. The poor wand maker was going to be hard-pressed to get enough wands for the new first years and all the Muggle-borns. That was if he wasn't too mentally scarred from his time in Voldemort's hands.

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour seemed to be up and running, even though the tables that used to litter the front were fewer. Harry recalled that Mr. Florean had a daughter, maybe she was running it. He felt sad that the man had died; he was always kind to the youngest Potter.

Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes was open and appeared to be doing well. The dark-haired wizard made a mental note to visit George when he was done with the bank. He'd need to tell him about all that anyway, if Ron hadn't already passed that message on. Well, he would just make sure.

About every third shop was open, the rest were boarded up or abandoned. Patrons were hustling quickly through their shopping, like Death Eaters were going to come and snatch them any minute. He had enough with the depressing sights and hurried his way to the bank.

This time as he made his way up the marble stairs two guards flanked him. Their weapons were poised to strike should He do anything funny. The trio was met in the lobby by that traitor Griphook. Spiteful looks passed between human and goblin, but neither spoke. The cart goblin took them to the tunnels in an uncomfortable silence. When they arrived at the first vault, Harry waited for the goblin to open it, not taking the chance that they'd trap him and leave him there. He remembered well the warning this goblin told him the first time he visited Gringotts. Griphook sneered at the young man and a flash of disappointment flew across his face, confirming the youngest Potter's paranoia.

The vault had the name Frostwell posted over the doorway, He never heard of that family, so they probably didn't have children in Hogwarts. He still didn't understand how this vault came into his possession. When the door opened the teen only stepped far enough in that he could get out if the door started to close. He lifted his wand and levitated all the money then directed it to just over his left shoulder. After all the coins were suċkėd into the pocketspace, he then turned to the jewels, the trunks, the books and the armor. There were also gizmos the dark-haired wizard couldn't identify, but he placed them in the pocketspace as well. Soon enough the vault was empty. He took great pŀėȧsurė in making sure the goblins didn't get any of the goblin made items in the vault.

It took about an hour for Him to clear out the other three non-family vaults; the Black vault took a half an hour alone. He didn't even take time to look at what he was putting in the expanded space, he'd go through it all at Grimmauld Place, maybe even invite his friends over to help. The dark-haired young man then turned to Griphook and broke the silence. "Take me to the Potter vault," he demanded.

"There is no money left in the Potter vault," snarled the greedy goblin, a healthy dose of pŀėȧsurė coated his words.

"But there are artifacts and books, now take me to the Potter vault." He stood firm; he wasn't going to let these bastards take anything more from him.

"Fine," the cart goblin spat.

Soon Harry was in front of his family vault and once again waited until Griphook opened the door. The vault was mostly empty, there were some books and trunks, but there was little else. So He levitated what was left into his pocketspace and turned away with moist eyes. He took a deep breath and firmed his face; he wasn't going to show any remorse in front of these beings who took great pŀėȧsurė in his pain.

The silence descended again, not that Harry cared, he was done with this place. He was escorted to the doors and was told in no uncertain terms that he would never be welcome back, and neither would anyone with the name Potter. He gave them the two finger salute and swept down the Alley with his head high. Unfortunately, now the whole place knew that Harry Potter had been banned from Gringotts. Rita was going to have a field day with that bit of news.

The dark-haired teen made his way to WWW, with people pointing at him and calling him the next Dark Lord. Thanks to the goblins, his glamor was shot so he dispelled it. He went into the back room and waited for George, knowing the single twin would come back there eventually. About forty-five minutes later he was proven correct.

"Hey George," The dark-haired wizard said softly, taking in the lonely man's appearance. George was in bad shape, he had lost a lot of weight he couldn't afford. There were dark circles under his misty brown eyes. His clothes were in good repair though. He figured George was still trying to live out his and Fred's dream.

George turned, startled, and then plastered a fake smile on his lips. "Harry!" he cried, you could tell he was happy to see his younger friend; it was just hard for him to express it. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but with the rumors going around I didn't think you'd come to the Alley."

"How could I not come and visit my favorite Weasley?" He asked cheerfully, trying to make the grieving young man less sad.

"Right," George scoffed. "I thought that was Ron or Ginny."

"They don't make me laugh like you do," explained the green-eyed teen. "Enough of me stroking your ego, I only came to warn you to get your money out of Gringotts. They're up in arms over anyone named Potter, Granger or Weasley. So it might be better if you cleared out your vault and put a Muggle safe in your office, or something. Oh and you better warn Bill. He might want to look for a new job."

"That's all we need," the redhead sighed. "Thanks for the warning though. What are you doing with yourself these days? We hardly ever see you at the Burrow anymore."

"Sorry, I just feel uncomfortable there now. Your mum is still grieving, as are you, and it's hard not to blame myself for your loss." The youngest Potter shrugged his shoulders as if to say, what else could I think.

"Don't be stupid," snapped George. "We knew what we were getting into from the start. Don't you remember us fighting Mum to be in the Order? None of this is your fault."

"I know, but it's still hard to look at you and your mum. It doesn't help that Andromeda is blaming me for Remus' and Tonks' death," He said sadly. "Anyway, that's all I came to say. I'd better get out of your store before you're labeled Dark for being seen with me."

"You come and visit me soon, Harry. Do you hear me? I don't give a rat's ȧss what people think," George said as he pulled the younger boy into a tight hug. He returned the show of affection and then pulled away.

"Yeah, but, I care," he stated, and then he whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and pulled it on. He once again made his way down the Alley and listened to the gossip. It was worse than he thought. These people were going to condemn him and there were only a few that protested. Thank Merlin they didn't know where he lived.

Harry got angry. He came to the decision that he was tired of the whole wizarding world. He did his job and got nothing for it. It only took one article in the Prophet, —from a reporter that was a spy for the Dark Lord— and one incident at the bank, — run by greedy goblins that wizards didn't even trust— and everyone turned on him. All the good he had done before was now pushed to the side. All the pain and suffering he endured throughout the years for them meant nothing now. Every single person he called family died for these people and the public wouldn't even remember them.

He was going to find a way to get back at them if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter End