"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong who deem,
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep - while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
-
Edgar Allen PoeDream
Albus Potter opened his eyes. Everything was black. Well, it wasn't really black. It was more like a dark brown. As a matter of fact, it was like the color of mud. It even smelled a bit like mud. Albus tried to clear his head, concentrating on why he was smelling mud, but his thoughts were disorganized and fuzzy.
He lifted his nose a fraction from where he was lying. He turned his head slightly to the left and spat. If it smelled like mud, looked like mud, and tasted like mud, then the obvious answer, according to the slow processes of his brain, was that he was lying face down in mud.
With great effort, Albus rolled onto his back. He opened his eyes again, blinking rapidly at the light that assaulted his retinas. He felt sore and heavy and very very tired. What the hell had happened? Last thing he remembered was dodging a bludger, and then everything went black.
It was still raining, but the raindrops were gentle and soothing against his strangely feverish head. It was nothing compared to the stinging needles that attack your face while flying at such great velocities on a broomstick.
His broomstick! All of the sudden, Albus was much more aware of his strange situation with this new realization. He had fallen from his broom, that much obvious. Sweet Merlin he hoped his broomstick was okay! His dad had already bought him a new one this year after his had been broken during a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. He still didn't know why his father had found it so funny that Albus had chased the snitch right into the Whomping Willow without really noticing where he was going. He thought his father would have been angry, not amused!
Every single muscle in his body rebelled against the movement, but Albus sat himself up, desperately looking for his broomstick. To his extreme relief, his broomstick lay just a few feet from himself. He snatched it up, running his fingers over the wood softly. No cracks. That was good. He frowned though as he noticed that the end of his broom was. . .smoking?
His face twisted in confusion. That was weird, but his broom was otherwise not harmed. That was the important thing. The sudden spurt of adrenaline was gone, leaving Albus tired once again. He plopped onto his back.
Albus turned his eyes to the sky, looking for the swooping crimson figures of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He could see none.
There had been a lightning storm brewing earlier, but James had insisted on the practice. The first game of the season against Slytherin was just in a few short weeks, and James wanted his last year as Gryffindor's Quidditch captain to be a roaring success. Albus fancied himself captain material for the next year, so he had had no qualms about flying in a lightning storm. After all, beating Slytherin came first, then your own personal safety.
However, this view was becoming a lot less appealing. Lightning storms were not the ideal practice weather, as evident by Albus' fall. He was okay on the ground. He probably would have noticed any broken bones by now, but what spurred Albus into finally finding the gumption to sit up and move wasn't the falling rain. It wasn't the loud crashes of thunder. It wasn't even the flash of lightning. No, it was the fact that Albus had fallen from his broom somehow, and nobody had come to see if he was alright.
Righteous anger coursed through him. He threw his head back and searched for the swooping figure of his brother or any of his teammates once again, but they were not to be seen. Maybe they had gone back inside? Those bastards.
Albus huffed.
He'd show them. There wasn't a better way to take revenge against a Gryffindor Quidditch team than a little green and silver hair for the big game against Slytherin. Albus was very unhappy with his supposed brother and friends. He was to make sure his teammates would get the message.
He finally made it to his feet, only stumbling just a bit. His head ached something wicked with the higher elevation. If he wasn't so miserable, he'd be half tempted to just lie back on the ground. It seemed as if his head would explode while he was picking up his broomstick.
He slowly made his way off the Quidditch pitch, heading to the front entrance. He would have stopped by the locker rooms any other day, but all he wanted was a bed. Hell, he was even looking forward to Madam Pomfrey's mother hen act. And that was a testament to exactly how shitty Albus felt. A smell suddenly wafted to his nose. He sniffed, his brow knitting together. What was that awful smell?
He checked the bottoms of both feet. Nope, nothing suspicious there. But his crimson robes caught his attention. They were . . . .burnt? Albus shook his head. He didn't feel like trying to find out why. He didn't think his head couldn't handle that kind of strain at the moment.
He hoped Filch wouldn't be anywhere near the Entrance Hall or the Infirmary. Albus didn't think he could clean up the mud and water tracks he'd surely make. He wasn't even sure if he could make it to the Infirmary.
He was thankful to have even reached the front doors, but Albus could feel some of his strength returning. Maybe that adrenaline would kick in long enough to get him up to the second floor. Sweet Merlin, but was he glad the Hospital Wing was on the second floor! He didn't think he could handle too many flights of stairs at the present.
Albus reached out to open the large wooden door to Hogwarts. He pushed. The door didn't budge. Huh. That was weird. Maybe the fall had addled his brains more than he'd originally thought. He was sure you pushed. He pulled. The door still didn't move.
His already foul mood deteriorating rapidly, Albus pulled his wand from the folds of his robes, thankful it hadn't been broken as he'd just now thought of that possibility, and tried to open the door. It shouldn't even be locked in the first place! Not this early!
"Alohamora!"
It wouldn't open. Damn. Albus tried as many unlocking spells as he could remember. However, no matter how many spells he'd tried, the door refused to open. Albus gave the door a vicious kick, much to his later dismay. That certainly wasn't very smart.
"Open up damn you!" he shouted.
He pounded his fist on the door. Dinner wouldn't start until six thirty. Why the hell was the door locked? It was never bloody locked!
He pounded on the door.
"Hey! Somebody let me in! This isn't funny! I'm soaked to the bone out here!"
The door opened, startling Albus. It was Headmistress McGonnagal. Uh oh. He didn't think she'd let him walk in all muddy and wet as he was. Maybe she'd help him out with a cleaning charm. No matter how much his mum had pushed him to learn, Albus still didn't know any.
"Oh Professor! Thank Merlin! Someone locked the door on me. I think it might have been James pulling a prank, but -"
Albus stopped when the professor blocked him from coming into the school. She had drawn her wand and motioned him to take a step back. He did, confused.
"Who are you? What are you doing on Hogwarts grounds?" asked McGonnagal. She had never talked to him in such a threatening manner before.
Albus grew even more confused.
"What?" he asked.
The professor glared. Albus was quietly shocked. The professor hadn't ever glared at him like that before. And the way she spoke to him, it was as if she didn't even know him. Did something happen that would require the Headmistress to ban any students from going outside? Was he so in trouble that McGonnagal would act like this?
He tried to brush it off and addressed her in his woo authority voice, so named by his sister after he had successfully wooed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor out of giving him detention for the dung bomb that accidentally went off in his book bag.
"Professor, it's me! You know, your resident Gryffindor Quidditch star, straight O student, lover of all things pink and furry. . ." he trailed off. It didn't seem to be working. McGonnagal seemed even more angry for some reason.
"You are not a student here," asserted McGonnagal.
"But I am a student! I've been a student here for six years! I would have hoped you've noticed by now!" came the sarcastic reply.
Seeing her face darken, Albus added in a gentler tone, "I'm sorry for getting rude Professor. I've just had a bad day. Is everything okay? Did something bad happen?"
McGonnagal continued to glare, although her eyes were wary and held confusion. She shined the candle she was holding unto his face. Albus hadn't really noticed at first, but it was pretty dark outside. McGonnagal's eyes momentarily widened at the sight of him, but the glare and suspicion returned promptly.
"I will take you to the Headmaster. He will know what to do with you," she finally said at length.
Albus nodded, not sure what else he could say. McGonnagal was acting really weird, and he might as well play along. The Headmaster, though? What had happened between now and when he had fallen off his broom? He sure as hell didn't think McGonnagal had resigned!
McGonnagal kept her wand trained on him the entire way to her office, or whoever's office it was. Thankfully she had managed the appropriate cleaning charms. It didn't beat a real shower, but he wasn't wet and muddy any more. She had made him hand over his wand and leave his broom in the Entrance though. Albus didn't fancy his new broom being stolen, but before he could even protest she had silenced him with another piercing glare.
Albus kept looking around. The predicament he found himself in was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. Where were all the other students? The halls should be crowded by now with students on the way to dinner. What the hell was going on?
Fifteen minutes of stretched silence later saw them standing in front of a familiar stone gargoyle. Albus was quite thankful that her office was on the fourth floor. It was by no means easy on him, but it could have been worse. Hogwarts had a lot of stairs.
"Cockroach Clusters," said McGonnagal sharply.
Albus grimaced. Lily had tricked him into trying one a couple of years ago. Nasty things. Why would McGonnagal use that as a password? She usually stuck to words like "chivalry" or "compassion." The gargoyle gave way to a familiar spiraling stone staircase. Great. More stairs. At the top, McGonnagal rapt her knuckles against the heavy wooden door. Almost immediately a voice answered.
"Come in."
McGonnagal opened the door to reveal her office. Well, it wasn't the office Albus was used to. This office was jam packed with clutter. Papers littered the desk. Strange silver instruments whizzed from a corner. A magnificent gold and red bird nestled on a stand. This wasn't the neat and orderly office he was accustomed to. And the old man with a long beard wasn't who he usually saw behind the desk either.
"Now Minerva, who do we have here," asked the old man politely.
Albus felt chilled. The man's eyes were as sharp as ice. He found that he couldn't hold his gaze, instead looking at his beard. He'd never seen a beard that long before.
"I found him outside on the steps. He was banging on the door demanding to be let in. He claims to be a student," said McGonnagal. She threw Albus an accusing look.
Albus felt his foul mood worsen. He wasn't in the mood for games. He just wanted to go to the Hospital Wing for Merlin sakes! It usually wasn't this hard to get there!
"What do you mean 'claims to be a student'? I am a student here! Been for the past six years or so! And you know me! Don't try and act like you don't! Hell, you've known me my entire life! You used to baby sit me and my brother and sister when we came to Hogwarts with Dad! What is going on here? Why are you playing around? And who is that weird guy behind you desk?"
Albus finished his rant pointing to the man behind the desk.
The old man gazed over his half moon spectacles, as if studying Albus.
McGonnagal was looking scandalized.
"I think I would have remembered keeping you! I have never before met you before in my life young man, and it would benefit you to show the proper respect towards the headmaster and myself!" she exclaimed.
"But you are the headmaster, er, headmistress! You have been for the past twenty something years!" asserted Albus.
"And just what might your name be my dear boy?" asked the old man.
Albus brought his attention back to the man. He seemed extraordinarily calm compared to Albus and McGonnagal. It was weird, but Albus felt as if he had seen this man before. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Something funny was definitely going on. It was apparent that McGonnagal hadn't a clue to his identity.
"My name is Albus. Albus Potter. And I think something very strange is happening."
The old man's eyebrows rose straight to his hairline. Professor McGonnagal gave a small gasp. She sat down hard in one of the chairs before the desk, leaving Albus to stand alone.
"Why, what a coincidence. My name is Albus too. However, my last name is Dumbledore, not Potter," said the old man conversationally.
Albus' eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly. What the hell?
"Albus Dumbledore was killed back during the war! Hell, my father even named me after him! He's dead you sick bastard! Didn't your mother ever teach you that it wasn't polite to masquerade as the dead?!" yelled Albus.
The Dumbledore impersonator sat back into his chair, observing the young man in front of him with steepled fingers.
"Albus?" ventured McGonnagal hesitantly.
"Yes, Minerva?"
"What?"
Albus and the old man looked at each other. They had both answered.
McGonnagal shook her head. She looked at the old man.
"Do you think this is some sort of Death Eater ruse? This boy looks awfully similar to the Potters. I would not put it past You Know You to try something like this, although, I am not sure as to why he would send this boy who claims to be a Potter," she said.
The old man regarded them both keenly. "I think it is entirely possible. Either that or there is another explanation."
The old man turned to Albus.
"Are you in any relation to the Potters of Godric's Hollow?"
"Of course I am! I'm their son!" exclaimed Albus.
Albus didn't know what kind of response he would get, but he wasn't expecting McGonnagal to shout out in anger.
"You lie! You must have been sent by You Know Who!" spat McGonnagal.
"I'm not lying! And for your information, I don't know who!" replied Albus just as heatedly.
The old man leaned forward in interest.
"Are you aware of the situation with the Dark Lord Voldemort?" asked the impersonator.
Albus raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you mean the fact that Voldemort's been dead for the past few decades?"
The old man's eyebrows once again rose into his hairline. McGonnagal gave a strangled sort of yelp. Albus just gave them a look. What? Were these people afraid to say Voldemort's name? It wasn't like he was going to pop around the corner and yell "boo!" He'd been dead for years.
The old man once again spoke to Albus.
"I believe that we have only one option left to us. Would you be willing to answer questions pertaining to your identity and loyalties under Veritiserum? I give you my word that I will not ask anything further," he asked.
Albus didn't like where this was going. His dad was the head of the DMLE. What could they find out about him that Albus would have no qualms in spilling once that potion was in his system.
Seeing his hesitation, the old man's benevolent air turned serious. Power seemed to exude from him. Albus was more than a little intimidated. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.
"If you refuse to submit yourself to questioning here, then I'm afraid that I will have to put you in a holding cell. You will later meet certain individuals who will have no qualms in forcing Veritiserum into your system by which ever means possible. We are at war and we take no risks," said the man.
Albus really didn't like where this was going. But what could he do? He didn't have a choice. He himself didn't have anything to hide, but if they asked questions about his dad . . .
Albus shrugged, his decision made, or more correctly made for him.
"I don't have anything to hide," Albus said quietly. He continued. "And frankly, you don't leave me with much of a choice. I'm half way convinced that this is a very real dream anyway, so, let's get on with it."
The old man nodded, coming around the desk. From within his robes, he produced a small crystal bottle.
"Have a seat. Just three drops should do it. Stick out your tongue, if you would please."
Albus sat down. He wished the queasy feelings in his stomach would go away. He stuck out his tongue and three drops fell onto it. He swallowed. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, at first, until his mind was all the sudden rather cloudy. The old man was asking a question. He was compelled to answer. He couldn't lie if he tried.
"What is your full name?" asked the man.
"Albus Severus Potter," replied Albus. He distantly noted a surprised gasp from McGonnagal.
"Who are your parents?"
"Harry James Potter and Ginerva Molly Potter nee Weasley."
Albus once again heard a gasp from McGonnagal. This time it was much louder.
The old man mumbled to himself. "That was unexpected."
He continued. "What school do you currently attend?"
"I go to Hogwarts. I am a sixth year Gryffindor."
The old man nodded. It was obvious from the Gryffindor Quidditch robes.
"Do you, in any way, support Lord Voldemort or any of his ideals?"
"No," answered Albus.
The old man nodded and pulled another bottle from his robes.
"This is the antidote. Please stick out your tongue," said the man.
Albus complied. Moments later he was firmly back in his own mind. It was definitely an experience not worth repeating. He was surprised that the old man had actually kept his word, but he was more than a little confused about the questions themselves. What the Dumbledore imposter had asked was common knowledge. But the question about Voldemort . . .a sudden, horrible thought wormed its way into his mind.
The old man sat back down. He seemed older than just a few moments before. McGonnagal kept staring at him. It was kind of creepy. Albus fidgeted.
"Erm. This might sound a bit . . .improbable, but maybe, by some freak accident or something, I think I might have traveled back in time?" Albus proposed hesitantly.
The old man, who might in truth be the real Albus Dumbledore, opened his mouth to reply, but Albus cut him off before he could say a word. Albus spoke so fast he wondered if the man could understand him.
"I know you probably think I'm a, erm, Death Eater or something, but the truth is, sir, I'm not. I mean, you could be from some sort of terrorist group yourself. But you didn't ask me any questions about my dad, or anything that could be used against my family, and you honestly don't seem like a dream. I kind of wish this was a dream, so I know that I would wake up, but then, why am I so awake right now? Time travel isn't impossible, but I don't see how I did it and -"
The old man held up his hand, staunching the garbled stream of consciousness spewing from Albus' mouth.
The continued. "What year is it for you Mr. Potter?"
Albus blinked. The man, Dumbledore, referred to him as "Mr. Potter." Did that mean that he believed him?
"Er, 2022."
Dumbledore seemed taken aback. "My, that is a long time from now."
"What year is it here, sir?" asked Albus. He really wasn't sure if he wanted to know.
"1996."
Albus' eyes widened. He quickly did the math.
"Whoa! Twenty six years? I've gone back in time twenty six years? So the war really is still going on? My dad would be in his, what, fifth year now? My mum would be in her fourth?"
Dumbledore seemed suddenly uncomfortable. Albus, although disconcerted with Dumbledore's expression, asked the question that had been bothering him.
"So you really do believe me? You believe that I'm Albus Potter?" ask Albus.
Dumbledore nodded. "The veritiserum that you ingested was from my own private stores. It is remarkably potent. I very much doubt that any wizard could overcome it's effects. Also, the magnificent creature you see in the corner is a phoenix. If Fawkes had sensed even a trace of dark magic or ill intentions from you, the he wouldn't be enjoying his nap. Rather, he would most likely attack."
Albus gave the bird a wary glance. It had its head tucked under its wing, seemingly unworried about the stranger's presence.
Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Potter, I do not believe that you have just traveled back in time. I believe there are greater forces at work here."
"What? Why couldn't I have just traveled back in time? What other explanation could there be?" asked Albus, confused. Of course he'd traveled back in time! If it was 1996 now and the last time he looked at a calendar it had been 2022, then the logical answer, if it could be referred to as such, was that he had gone back in time!
"I cannot be sure, but I have a theory."
Dumbledore stood up and walked to the rows of bookcases behind his desk. He ran his gnarled fingers over their spines, finally stopping at an old red covered book. He pulled out the rather small tome.
"There are many thing in the magical world that have never been explained. That is what makes our world so mysterious and often times dangerous. There have been phenomenal happenings throughout history that have never been explained. Sometimes a wizard must trust what cannot be proven. For this is the very nature of magic. It cannot be proven."
Dumbledore opened the book. McGonnagal was still staring at Albus. It was as if she was seeing a ghost. This just proved to make Albus feel that much more uncomfortable.
"I did some research with an old friend of mine, Nicholas Flamel. However, the nature of our research proved to be improvable. After many fruitless years, we both decided to abandon our collaborated efforts. But if my theory is correct, Mr. Potter. Then I don't believe you have just traveled back in time. I believe that you may have crossed the dimensional thread linking our world to yours. I believe that you are from a very similar yet vastly different world than the one you are in now."
Albus jumped out of his chair.
"Are you trying to tell me I'm in some sort of alternate dimension? I could have just traveled back in time! I'm not in some other world! I can just use a time turner to get back! What in Merlin's name makes you say that anyway?" yelled Albus angrily.
Dumbledore answered calmly.
"I say this because on Halloween 1981, Harry Potter was murdered by Lord Voldemort, and Ginny Weasley was murdered right before her second year during a Death Eater raid in Diagon Alley."
oO0Oo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable except for the unrecognizable.