Time is a fickle thing. Philosophers have long debated the true nature of it: whether time is something measured or experienced; whether it is historical or experiential. Scientists have assumed its existence for its ad hoc utility. But, only those who've experienced time's truly ambivalent and chaotic nature can attest to the fact that time reigns supreme and testing nature or testing time is a one-way ticket to a hellish recourse. You just don't want to tinker with time. And more, you don't want to tinker with nature as it relates to time and morality.
Tom Riddle tested nature in such a way with his horcruxes, dragging the entire world's course and especially the fate of one Harry Potter into a punishment neither asked for. So, when Tom saw fit to spit in the face of his own betrayal of nature by killing one of his own horcruxes – the scar on Harry Potter's head – nature, fate, and time combined to reset the clock – so to speak. Betrayal of nature is one thing; unabashed hubris in doing so – even unknowingly – was a step too far. The resulting cataclysmic explosion when that killing curse left Riddle's wand in the middle of that battle field transported the battered and beaten form of Harry Potter to a time before Tom Riddle so saw fit to toy with powers beyond all any single person should hope to grapple.
"Avada Kedavra," hissed a delighted Lord Voldemort with his wand pointedly focused on the prone form Harry, his face bleeding from the debris and shrapnel littering the grounds on Privet Drive. The battleground proving to be much more of an epicenter to the events of the war than anyone could have imagined: Harry childhood hideaway and Snape's childhood home's close proximity merely a coincidence. Snape managed to secure the final horcrux on Harry's list before his own demise at Voldemort's hand.
The broken diadem was clenched in Voldemort's left fist as the wand in his right unleashed a blinding green light. Harry looked up defiantly as the second syllable passed Voldemort's lips. Making eye contact, Harry saw the quizzical look in the dark lord's eyes the moment before the green light rebounded, the ground rumbled, and the world went black.
…
The sky littered rain upon a hooded figure making his way towards a London phonebooth. Entering the booth, the figure pulled his hood down revealing a man in his early twenties with a handsome bespectacled face. He took a deep breath as he picked up the phone and spun the dial around five times.
6-2-4-4-2
"Please state your name and reason for your visit."
"Harry Potter, job interview."
"Thank you."
The floor descended into the earth, Harry idling wondering what charms prevented bystanders from witnessing such a miraculous feat near the bustling city street, as he plummeted into the ground below.
Traversing the main lobby of the ministry was a sight to behold. Harry never would have envisioned himself interviewing for an auror job even a year ago. But, the revelation that was the wizarding world in the 1950s granted far more opportunity than Harry had ever known in the wizard's domain.
"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the Ministry of Magic."
…
Harry felt a fleeting feeling of flying through time. Similar to those moments in third year when he and Hermione had managed to save his godfather and others over the course of that adventurous evening. This was an animal of a slightly different magnitude so to speak. Whereas with Hermione he felt a rushing spinning and off-the-ground sensation, now he felt as if his body was on the verge of a centripetal accident with his inner organs being ripped out from inside of his chest and his body navigating more than the world as the effects of Voldemort's magical experimentation saw its justice enacted upon the nineteen-year-old wizard. The feeling lasted far longer and seemed to bridge realities far distinct.
The sights and sounds of an ethereal goo began to take shape, Harry saw sunlight, a much more rural looking Privet Drive, and the insides of his stomach being spilled onto the sidewalk as the motion came to a sudden stop.
"Are you quite alright?" sounded the alarmed voice of a nearby young woman. Her appearance seemed to come right out of a movie. A three-layer floral petticoat dress peered down on Harry's disheveled formed. His robes - a mixture of dragon hide and acromantula silk - the same that he wore during that final battle with Voldemort. Despite understanding some strong magic had occurred, Harry wasn't sure exactly what happened.
"Yes, my friends just pulled a prank on me, is there a public loo nearby?" Harry lied quickly.
"Oh, how terrible. Yes, down Wisteria Lane there is a public lavatory in the park."
"Thanks, I really appreciate it."
Harry escaped the awkward encounter, quickly making his way down Wisteria Lane, taking the familiar route to the public park that Dudley had painstakingly destroyed with his gang over the past half-decade. Taking in the unfamiliar environment, seemingly drawn out of a public service announcement with painstaking detail. He felt the scolding stares of the neighbors, with their silent judging looks as if he were still defined by the Dursley's rumors as a public outcast.
As he strolled nearer the park, he approached a newspaper stand with the local Surrey Sun and The Times. As the Sun was free, he snagged a copy and finally reached the public loo in the middle of the park, ignoring any quizzical glances at his relatively strange garb.
Peeling his robes and pants off, he wiped the muck and blood that remained stuck on his form. Smelling his underarms and deciding that an honest shower was still in order, Harry waved his wand over his clothes removing all the debris and grime, donned them, and headed out the door. Reaching the seemingly newly-minted walkway bridging Wisteria Way Park and Privet Drive, he apparated out. As he strolled out of the London alleyway near the Leaky Cauldron, feigning nonchalance, he glanced at the frontpage of the Surrey Sun and gasped at the date: November 4, 1949.
…
Auror Goren Grey strode lumberingly into his office at the MoM London Offices. With the recent work done by Albus Dumbledore along the German front in the war on Grindlewald (his supposed assassination of the dark wizard), the auror corps turned its attention back to the more quotidian detective work: your run of the mill dark wizards, murderers, and potion dealers.
Reaching the murder auror corner of the office, he slumped into his desk and whipped his wand toward the tea and coffee filling station, and had a pot up to boil and pouring into a teapot which floated its way to his desk station. Taking a heavy spoonful of sugar and a large pour of cream, he poured himself a large cup of tea. Inhaling the humid fumes from the cup, he pulled out a potion bottle from inside his trenchcoat and added a large dollop of the headache relieving potion into the tea.
Taking an enormous slug from his tea cup, Auror Grey let out an unrelenting sigh.
"Long night?" came the mockingly bright voice of Trainer Vittoria Rosier, one of the few female officers to join the ranks following the liberal reforms enacted with the incoming regime of Minister Wilhelmina Tuft. Rosier was a fresh recruit, as they say, straight out of Hogwarts, straight Os, and fierce with a wand. She fit a nice figure as well, with long black hair and lustrous brown eyes. She still hadn't been given much opportunity though. While the biggest of big wigs changed, the lesser of the big wigs stayed the same. And Head Auror Bilius Wood was as backwards as they come, as far as Rosier was concerned. She foresaw a tumultuous ascendency through the ranks within her future. Afterall, two years out of Hogwarts and she still hadn't made Auror.
"Yeah, yeah. Mind your own business, rookie." Auror Grey snapped back.
"I'll mind if I have you with me on Diagon Alley patrols, smelling like a bottle of firewhiskey, old man."
"Good luck with your Auror exam, next week, kid. I hear they may even pass you this time."
"I expect you heard that after you took Little Bilius out of your mouth, eh? You old poof."
A knock sounded on the door, bringing a cool sobriety to the light hearted banter, and reminding Auror Grey just how much he wished for an office away from the front door to the Auror den.
The door cracked open, showing the bespectacled face of one Harry Potter, "Hello? Is this where the Head Auror Office is?"
Rosier released an annoyed sigh, "Next door on your right, it has a sign that says 'Head Auror' on it."
"Er- Thank you." Harry said, blushing with embarrassment and closing the door.
Auror Grey let out a bark of a laugh. "Never change, kid. I'm pretty sure that's your new patrol partner who you just humiliated."
…
Not prone to become so flustered, Harry couldn't help but think of how pretty the rude witch was as he knocked on the Head Auror's office door.
"Come in."
Making his way in, Harry couldn't help but feel a little queasy in anticipation. The office he entered was for the secretary to the Head Auror. The man seated at the desk was a pencil thin man with large black plastic square framed glasses. He presented a completely unimposing figure, seemingly bookish and out of place as an organizer for anything.
"Hello, you must be Harry Potter. The name's Thelanious Croaker. Auror Wood is expecting you. If I could have you sign in here, I'll let him know you're in."
Piercing blue eyes met glowing green as Harry took the proffered clipboard and quill and signed his name.
"Thank you, Mr. Croaker."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Go right in." Mr. Croaker said, accepting back the clipboard and quill, and motioning to the large oak door at the back of the room.
…
Head Auror Wood was a man of a different age. The war had ended and he was a man without a cause. Reforms were starting with the new female minister, and he felt the pressure coming from above and below for him to resign. However, he didn't get to be Head Auror without having some fight in him. And he sure as shit wasn't going to bow down to some hippy minister and her band of merry travelers. Not to mention, he still had some allies of his own especially within his own office, especially his prized neophyte Moody. And as far as neophytes go, there was the newest of the new, Dumbledore's boy, Potter. A muggleborn by all accounts, but Dumbledore vouched for him, and God might as well have vouched for him as far as the ministry was concerned.
Thus, Harry Potter strolled into the Head Auror office.
"Harry Potter" greeted the powerful man.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir" Harry extended his hand to shake. Head Auror Wood just smirked a crooked grin.
"I've heard a lot about you, boy." Harry withdrew his hand. "Here on the word of Dumbledore himself."
"Professor Dumbledore is a great man."
"Surely, surely." He paused. "I was told you're interested in becoming an Auror is that true?"
Brightening somewhat, Harry replied, "Yes, sir."
"It says here you aced both the entrance exam and the Auror exam already…"
Harry merely nodded.
"Well, no one starts as an Auror. As long as I've been here, there's a way things are done. And Dumbledore can get stuffed as far as I'm concerned when it comes to Auror business. You'll have to earn this, boy. Understood?"
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Now, your first assignment is to be partnered with Trainee Rosier. You are also officially a Trainee until you get your feet wet. Those test scores may play well upstairs, but dark wizards don't care about your Herbology NEWT, do they?"
Restraining a sigh, Harry solemnly shook his head in agreement. As far as supercilious lectures go, there was Snape and then there was everybody else, as far as Harry was concerned. An overimportant boss? This, he could handle.
"You're right, sir. Thank you for this opportunity."
"You're welcome, kid. And hey," finally, the older man held out his hand and Harry shook it, "welcome to the Auror corps."