"You didn’t tell us you weren’t allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it… slipped your mind, I daresay…"

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I’ve got news for you, boy… I’m locking you up… you’re never going back to that school… never… and if you try and magic yourself out—they’ll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry’s window. He himself fitted the cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise he was locked in his room around the clock.

Two weeks later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting and Harry couldn’t see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to him.

What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now the Dursleys knew they weren’t going to wake up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he’d probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunia’s hand appeared, pushing a bowl of tinned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching with hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone cold, but he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig’s cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.

"It’s no good turning your nose up at it, that’s all we’ve got," said Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup.

Supposing he was still alive in another two weeks, what would happen if he didn’t turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn’t come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let him go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading "Underage Wizard" attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby’s face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!” and vanished.

He sat up from his bed in startlement at the popping sound, and realized that it had not been Dobby disappearing, but rather appearing. “No, Dobby!” he exclaimed, his breathing ragged. He was afraid that the house elf was about to disappear once again, as he had in his dream.

“What is they doing to Harry Potter sir?” the house elf asked, his tennis ball eyes wide in disbelief.

“Starving me!” he replied wearily. “I told you! I have to go back to Hogwarts, I can’t stay here!”

The house elf looked strangely thoughtful at this. “Harry Potter sir cannot be going back to Hogwarts now… but Harry Potter sir cannot be staying here.” Suddenly his face lit up. “Dobby knows!” With a grin, he said, “Good luck, Harry Potter sir!” and then snapped his fingers.

Harry felt like he was being compressed into a tunnel and struggled to breathe. Lights flashed by his eyes as he traveled through time and space.

THUMP.

Harry landed quite hard on his rear. After a moment to catch his breath, Harry stood up and looked around curiously. The room reminded him of an airport lounge he'd seen on TV, but he was fairly certain it hadn't been decorated in purple and orange. A number of wizarding folk were seated on fluffy armchairs drinking tea, while others were queuing at a desk. What really grabbed Harry's attention was a large sign hanging from the ceiling.

'The Ministry of International and Cross-Dimensional Travel and Immigration would like to sincerely welcome you to Britain!'

In smaller letters it continued.

'Today is 15 August, 1972.

The time is 9:24 am.

You are at the Arrivals Lounge of the London Magical Travel and Immigration Department (Latitude: 51° 31' 0 N, Longitude: 0° -6' 0 E ).

Please report to the reception desk for official checks and paperwork.'

Harry stared in shock. 1972!? How could it be 1972? That was twenty years ago!

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry asked a grubby man who was filling out paperwork in one of the armchairs, “what year is it?”

“Can't you read, sonny? 'Tis 1972. Lemme guess, playing 'round with yor papa's Time-Turner? Hmpfh. Kids these days...”

Harry sat down heavily. Why on earth would Dobby send him to 1972? It was a welcome change from the Dursley's though, Harry thought as a plate of food magically appeared in front of him. After two weeks of slowly starving to death at the Dursleys', the plate of roast beef sandwiches looked like heaven. He felt a lot more alive after the food. The weak, shaky feeling in his muscles was receding, his stomach felt pleasantly full, and even the dizziness and exhaustion that had been bothering him lately was improved. Now it was time to get this mess sorted out.

The witch at the reception desk looked at him curiously.

“Aren't you a little young to be traveling alone, child?”

“I didn't come here intentionally,” Harry said grumpily, “this insane house-elf sent me.”

“Oh.”

“So how do I get back to 1992?”

“... Are you trying to tell me that a house-elf has sent you back twenty years? Good Merlin!” She calmed down a little. “So how old were you in 1992?”

“Twelve.”

She looked at him oddly. “Well, child. The current Time-Turner technology is limited to six months into the future or past. Your house elf can't have used a timeturner, or any technology that I'm familiar with because your age would have decreased by twenty years in that case. I suppose if you were to purchase forty time turners you could theoretically return, but your body would be that of a thirty-two-year-old. Not to mention, Time-Turners are extraordinarily expensive.” She looked pointedly at the dirty rags he was wearing.

“So what can I do?”

“You'll just need to continue with life here. We will find you somewhere to stay, and a way to continue your education.”

After one large stack of paperwork and an interview with a social worker, Harry was ready to begin his new identity. The name 'Harry Potter' would still raise too many questions, as his paternal grandfather, Harry Potter Sr., was still alive and was unlikely to recognise Harry as a relative. He chose to now be 'Harry Miller'. It was comfortingly inconspicuous. Harry knew from his history text that Voldemort's reign of terror had begun six years ago, so he was not surprised to find that Child Services Division of the Ministry was overworked relocating offspring of arrested Death Eaters and war orphans. His new guardian was a short, snobby pureblood introduced only as 'Mr Wentworth'. Harry gathered that he worked for the Ministry and had a spare room. His boss had pressured him into taking in homeless children and he had reluctantly agreed to let Harry stay for the Hogwarts summer holidays.

/////////

It was curiously liberating to walk through Diagon Alley without attracting stares and whispers. Harry decided he could get used to this after all. He felt some of his anxiety fall away. Mr Wentworth continued to ignore him – he would be meeting Harry after the shopping to escort him back to the house. Harry pulled out his Hogwarts letter. It felt strange that he would be returning to Hogwarts for second year without knowing any of his classmates. The equipment list was quite similar though – only a few changes to the textbook list. The Ministry had supplied him with a small allowance for school supplies, and Harry could tell that it would be a challenge to be able to afford everything he needed. At least he was used to having secondhand belongings, though he did miss having access to the Potter vault at Gringotts (but not the fame associated with it). It occurred to him that he was free. Free of the Dursleys and free of Harry-Hunting now that Dudley's gang hadn't been born. He was confident that his meals would be provided thanks to the Ministry Orphan Fund, and most importantly, he was free of 'the-Boy-Who-Lived' and no longer Voldemort's favourite target. He was 'just Harry'; a twelve-year-old Hogwarts student that was free to live his life however he felt like.

“Thanks, Dobby,” he whispered with a smile.

Additional warnings: This chapter, and future ones I expect, contains a few swear words. Nothing too excessive - just the type you would expect 12yr olds at a boarding school to use (when teachers aren't listening).

Also don't read this story if you want Harry to be best buddies with the Marauders and go spend his school years pranking Slytherins. James and Sirius are going to be annoying little bullies in this story (which there is plenty of cannon evidence to support). Sorry.

//////////

A train whistle screeched as Harry dragged his trunk through the barrier to the station. He felt a pang of loneliness at the thought of being at school without Ron and Hermione, along with the familiar ache at the sight of all the parents tearfully saying goodbye to their children. He carefully kept his expression blank. It wouldn't help to dwell on things he couldn't change, and besides, he really needed to focus on making new friends. In his own time, being 'the-boy-who-lived' was a blessing and a curse. It had been easy enough to find admirers, but very few people in the Wizarding World actually wanted to be his friend because they liked him. Most were too busy trying to get an autograph or to extract unpublished details of his 'heroic defeat of Voldemort'. They didn't care that he had only been a baby at the time and definetly hadn't done anything heroic. They didn't care that his parents had died that day. It occured to Harry that his parents must have been about twenty years older than him, though he wasn't quite sure. They would be alive though, so he might be able to meet them! That would be a dream come true. Of course, he couldn't actually let them know that he was their son - that would be a bit scary for the poor kids.

Harry pushed his way onto the train, determined to find an empty carriage to change into his Hogwarts robes. It hadn't occurred to Harry to buy muggle clothes while he was shopping for school supplies (not that he had any money left over, anyway), so he was forced to wear Dudley's hand-me-down shirt through the Muggle station. The black school shoes and trousers (secondhand and slightly threadbare) didn't quite match the huge, frayed orange t-shirt and Harry felt very self conscious.

“Look, James, it's a scarecrow!” came a voice to his left. Harry turned to see two smirking, dark-haired boys, one instantly recognisable as James Potter.

“Oi, Scarecrow-Boy!” called James. “What's your name?”

“I'm Harry Miller.” He replied nervously. This was not how he expected James Potter to be! His heat sank.

“Miller? Never heard of it. Bet you're a mudblood.” This came from the other boy.

That was inexcusable. Harry narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me, but I do believe my heritage is none of your concern.”

Next thing Harry knew he was pressed against the wall of the carriage with a wand between his eyes. They were faster than Dudley's gang, or maybe Harry was just out of practice.

“How dare you speak to us like that, you little shit!”

His rescuer came in the form of Severus Snape. Snape's hair was as limp as Harry remembered, and his nose was still crooked, but this Snape was nowhere near as imposing as the older version. He was short and painfully thin, with a black eye swollen shut.

“Black and Potter. How unsurprising. You losers can't even wait until school starts to begin bullying the firsties.”

“Shut the fuck up, Snivellus!”

“Oi! What right do you have to lecture us on ethics? You're a Slytherin for Christ's sake!”

“Levicorpus.”

James Potter, now cursing loudly, was hanging upside down by one foot. Harry used the distraction to pull his wand out and cast a bat-bogey hex on Black. The resulting screeches were oddly satisfying. Snape and Harry left the scene (rather quickly) and found an empty carriage near the rear of the train.

“Thanks for bailing me out.”

Snape gave him a suspicious look. “I would have done it for anyone. I just hate those bullies. You should probably avoid them in future. The two you met were James Potter and Sirius Black. They also have two spineless sidekicks – Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. They are less likely to attack without provocation, but it'd be best to stay out of their way too.”

The train began to pull away, and neither boy made any move to wave from the window.

“I'm Harry Miller, by the way.”

“Severus Snape. If you call me Snivellus I'll hex you.”

“Thats a bugger of a nickname.”

Snape only shrugged. The silence stretched awkwardly for a moment.

“That was an interesting spell for a first year.”

“Actually, Dumbledore's letting me skip straight to second year. I'm old enough, and apparently I know enough of the coursework.”

“Oh... How did you practice spells without going to Hogwarts? Did your parents find a way around the underage magic laws?”

"I'm a ward of the Ministry of Magic." Harry sighed. “It's not a very interesting story.”

“I'm sure it is.”

Harry sighed. “Well, maybe. But it is confidential information protected by the Secrecy and Indemnity Clause in Subsection 34 of the Child Protection Act of 1969."

“Bugger.”

Just then, the carriage doors sprung open, admitting a group of seven hyperactive twelve-year-olds.

“Sev! What on earth happened to your eye?!” said a red-haired girl with a Gryffindor tie.

Her Slytherin friend continued before he could answer. “Don't they sell bruise balm at that bloody apothecary you work at? You look bloody awful!”

Snape ignored their question, but seemed pleased to see them. He seemed to even be smiling.

“This is Harry Miller. Apparently he'll be joining our year. I thought he might as well join the 'Black and Potter are Gits Club'; they've already started targeting him.”

Harry watched the red-haired Gryffindor curiously. Could that be his mother? She smiled kindly at him.

“Welcome to the Club then! A lot of our year think they're Potter and Black are cool, or are just not brave enough to stand up to them. If you don't like them, then you'll fit in well with our group. I'm Lily Evans, by the way, and this is Aiko Nakagawa,” (a pretty Slytherin girl waved at him),

“Frank Longbottom,” (Harry shook hands with a muscular and confident version of Neville),

“Pradnesh Patil,” (he wondered whether this Ravenclaw boy was a relation of the future Patil twins),

“Xeno Lovegood,” (a pudgy blond Ravenclaw, who regarded Harry curiously),

“Elspeth Greenleaf,” (another Ravenclaw, this one with ash-blond pigtails and glasses),

“Marco Mancini,” (a very tall Hufflepuff),

“and you've already met Sev.”

They all crowded into the carriage. There weren't quite enough seats, but Marco seemed quite comfortable lounging on his trunk. Harry felt more than a bit nervous meeting all these new people, especially his mother, but Lily seemed to go out of her way to make sure the conversation flowed easily. He soon felt like part of the group, and fell into conversation with Pradnesh about his holiday to India for a muggle cousin's wedding. Making friends was actually easier than he expected, though he supposed it would have to be different when he wasn't 'the-boy-who-lived' and Dudley couldn't scare everyone away. It was disappointing that his father was so awful; in his mind, Harry had always painted a picture of James as a heroic, kind figure, and now that dream was well and truly shattered. At least Lily lived up to his expectations; she seemed to even be mothering him a little. That was probably because he was the shortest in the group, and Dudley's massive shirt made him look even smaller (he hadn't managed to change yet). He wasn't quite sure how Lily could possibly end up marrying James though. Perhaps this alternate dimension was different from his. Harry shrugged. All this deep thinking wasn't really his forte. He thanked Frank for the chocolate frog. He was too grateful to be embarrassed that someone had taken him on as a charity case. Everyone else but Severus insisted on paying for their own.

“What house do you reckon you'll be in, Harry?” asked Marco.

“I dunno.”

“My bet is Ravenclaw.” said Severus.

“Nah, I don't think I'm studious enough. We'll just have to see.”

Severus glared grumpily at the pile of newts. There must have been hundreds of them, and it would take hours to dissect them all properly. He pulled out a scalpel.

Brains in one jar, eyeballs in another.

Skin and heartstrings on a rack to dry.

This type of chore wasn’t unusual at the apothecary. Severus almost smiled at the thought of his classmates willingly doing this type of job; it was too similar to Professor Slughorn’s dreaded detentions. He carefully collected each bone and made a mental note to dry them before finishing tonight, lest he be caught ‘wasting ingredients’ again. He had no wish for a repeat of that beating.

Severus had been working at Boris Jenkins’s apothecary since he was six. Severus supposed this was unusual, but he had no real wish to quit. He couldn’t imagine it being easy for a twelve-year-old to find a new job, let alone one better than this. Boris may be strict and obnoxious, but things could be a lot worse; Severus knew that very well.

The job began with an inauspicious start. Eileen, Severus’ mother, had sent him to fetch her some ‘medicine’. Even at six, Severus knew very well that the grey potion was not medicinal, but an addictive and illegal hallucinogen called ‘Thestral’s Breath’. He did know that she ‘needed’ it though, because otherwise he would come home to find her dry retching on the mattress. She would be completely incapable of working, and their meager supply of sickles would dry up. He figured that he might be able to survive on however much food he could scavenge for or steal, but he had no idea how to find enough money to pay the landlord.

So the six-year-old Severus had crept into the apothecary while the owner, Boris Jenkins, was serving a customer. The potion was in the back room, away from the eyes of aurors. The moment his hand clasped around the vial, a deafening alarm sounded and Severus froze in terror.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy! You think you can steal from me? Ha!”

The large man grabbed Severus’s wrist hard enough to bruise and slapped him. Severus cried out and struggled to escape.

"No! M'sorry! Lemme go! Please!"

"You've earned yourself a whipping, thief-boy!"

He unbuckled his belt with one hand, holding Severus's wrist firmly with the other. Severus's breath was coming in short, panicky gasps and tears were dripping down his cheeks. Boris pinned him against the worktable.

Crack!

Severus yelled in pain and frantically tried to escape. The beating continued until Boris's arm began to tire. Severus was sobbing too hard to run home now, especially since his mother was unlikely to be sympathetic if he returned without the potion. His backside felt like it was on fire, and moving seemed make it worse. He carefully eyed Boris to check whether any more violence would be forthcoming, but the man seemed to have calmed down (and had rebuckled his belt), and was now moving a dirty cauldron to the sink. Severus stood up gingerly and tried to control his breathing.

"Aren't you a little young for Thestral's Breath anyway?"

"My m-mother needs it, sir." said Severus warily. He inched towards the door.

Boris snorted, "Does she now? Well... If you really want a vial... I'd be willing to give you one if you could do some chores around here to pay it off."

Severus looked up warily. "I could have one? What would you need me to do?"

"It'll take you a week to pay it off. I have plenty of things I've been too busy to clean, the shelves need tidying and, if you aren't a total incompetent, you might be able to help me while I'm brewing."

Severus agreed. The chores didn't seem too hard, and it would be worth it if Mother could have her potion. But there was one very important question.

"You're not going to whip me again, are you?" he asked nervously.

Boris smirked, "Only if you deserve it. And trust me, any more stealing and you'll wish you'd never been born."

On the first two days, Severus worked on the cleaning. Boris must have approved of his work, because he could not come up with anything to criticize. Severus was terribly bored, and the detergent made his hands sting, but he made sure to get every last smudge out of all the equipment. The chore for the third day was to stick parchment labels onto the newly cleaned vials, jars and bottles. First Severus cut parchment into small rectangles with a scalpel, then he helped Boris make glue. The glue recipe was quite simple - Boris simply threw a number of ingredients into the cauldron, and instructed Severus to stir it until all the lumps were gone. It was a relief to finally stop stirring, even if the next task was the painstaking and repetitive one of sticking on the labels. They had to be perfectly horizontal and smooth, or Boris would rip them off. Severus looked longingly out the window. He really wanted to go play gobstones with his friends and to pinch an apple from the market. It was worth it though, if it made Mother happy. On the fourth day, Severus dusted the shelves while Boris brewed new potions.

"Boy! Fetch me some aconite!", Boris called while busily creating a potion.

"Umm... What does it look like?"

"The shelves are organised alphabetically - just read the label, for Merlin's sake!"

"Errr... Well... I don't know all the letters yet.."

"Well what use are you then, Idiot-Boy?" He sighed, and pulled out a quill. While still stirring with one hand, he neatly wrote out the name. "A-C-O-N-I-T-E. Just look for those letters on the label."

Despite not being able to read, Boris must have found Severus to be a useful assistant, because once the week was finished he offered Severus some more work, this time for pay. The offer was too good to refuse. If he had money, he could buy food, and potions for Mother when she needed them, and pay the rent too. To begin with, the job was two days per week, but as Severus grew older and more experienced, there were more tasks he could take over so he ended up working more and more. His old friends didn't approve; they felt that he had rejected them because he felt superior for having a job. Mother most definitely approved though. She was proud of her 'little boy' helping out with the finances. Severus soon found that he needed to hide the rent and grocery money where Mother couldn't find it, because it had a habit of going missing.

Severus frowned at the newt he was disemboweling. Mother was still terrible at looking after money. Severus wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to look after herself while he was at school last year, and he was anxious at the thought of leaving her alone for a whole term. She had lost weight since the previous holidays, and there were two warning letters from the landlord. It was her state of mind that worried Severus the most though. While Severus was at home, he had been careful not to let her near too much of his money, so she had only been able to purchase a limited supply of drugs. After she had taken a dose, Severus was accustomed to the hallucinations and illogical behaviour, and he did his best to keep her out of the way of any dangers. Left on her own, Eileen's addiction had multiplied and Severus wasn't sure when one dose ended and another one began. There was little of her personality left and Severus wasn't even sure she realized that he was there; she had been too caught up in her imaginary world. He had no idea how she was going to cope without him next term, but tried to convince himself that she would be fine. She was a adult, after all.