Harry glared resolutely into the crimson eyes of Voldemort, similar to that of freshly spilled blood. The Death Eaters surrounding them watched in anticipation from the cover of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, the sound of fierce battling could be heard, the futile efforts in preventing Tom Riddle's rule evident.

It was ironic, Harry was thinking. Almost like he was gazing into the eyes of death itself- a poetic end, in some ways.

He stood, alone and unarmed, as he prepared for his end. Defiance burned in his blazing emerald eyes, but he was helpless against Death's agenda. A single voice cut through the tense silence of the clearing:

"Avada Kedavra!" A bright light. Screams. Falling.

And then Harry Potter was no more.

XxXxXxXxXx

The ground was hard beneath his face. The peaceful rustling of trees disturbed his slumber, and he sat up, wiping his eyes groggily in the piercing-cold wind. And the his memories of the previous day returned- the battle of Hogwarts, the forest, Voldemort, a sudden green light-

Harry James Potter jumped up suddenly, painfully alert to his surroundings. He had not moved an inch from where he had fallen, but now the clearing was eerily silent, with no evidence of the previous struggle. He surveyed his surroundings, realising with a start that there was an unfamiliar trunk sitting next to him. It most definitely hadn't been there the night before. Hogwarts could be seen in the distance, although it seemed to have been cleared from all evidence of the battle.

Harry cautiously opened the trunk beside him, wary of the possibility of a trap. It contained what seemed to be his usual school supplies- his clothes, books, Firebolt, invisibility cloak, Marauders map, and various other items. But why? He hadn't returned to his seventh year at Hogwarts because of the horcrux hunt, and had not used these things since his sixth year. Why was he alive? He could vividly recall his final duel with Voldemort, which ended in Voldemort's killing curse. So surely he should be dead?

With these these thoughts in his head, he began the short trek to the castle. Hopefully he could find answers there.

As he crossed the grounds, he noted many other suspiciously different things about the grounds. Hadn't most of the castle been destroyed during the battle? Magic could do many things, but it didn't seem possible that so much could be fixed in such a short amount of time.

Eventually, Harry found himself standing outside what had been Dumbledore's office. He regarded the stone gargoyles suspiciously as they remained immobile, and he tried to think of what the password might be. However, before he could start guessing, the doors span open and he had to stifle a gasp at what they revealed.

"Dumbledore?" He tried not to show his shock at seeing the man he had believed to be dead for the past year. Of course, he always seemed to do what was least expected.

The old man's eyes twinkled merrily. "Ah! Professor Potter! I've been expecting you," he said, and Harry yet again had to conceal his surprise.

Professor? Expecting him? What on earth was happening here? Harry had already concluded that something was amiss, but this seemed just over-the-top. What had happened during that battle.

"Follow me up to my office, and we can discuss our matters more privately," he said, before leading the clueless boy up the spiralling staircase.

Harry observed the headmaster as he followed behind him. Something was amiss about him. His face seemed to contain less lines, his beard slightly shorter. The only excuse for his appearance could be a de-aging potion. Had he gotten on the wrong side of Snape?

The duo entered Dumbledore's office, Harry's thoughts whirling, when he took notice of the calendar on the wall. Harry had always thought it an odd edition to the Headmaster's office, but right now he could only be grateful. The calendar did not read the date he expected. Instead, it read 1st September 1978. Harry looked on in shock. He had travelled into the past then? At least that explained Dumbledore's reasoning for being here.

Presently, Dumbledore began to speak.

"Here's your timetable then, Professor Potter, and a list of your students. Some of them are a bit of a handful, but I get the feeling that they won't be too much of a bother to you. Term begins tomorrow. Do you have any questions?" At Harry's mute nod, he continued, "Well then, I'll show you to your quarters then."

Dumbledore then strode out of the office, with Harry following dazedly behind, his mind whirling to absorb all the new information that it was being fed. He started wondering how he got there. It seemed unlikely that Voldemort had armed him with a time-turner, what with him trying to kill Harry and all. Eventually, Harry just blamed the terrific luck that had surrounded him lately.

The pair walked through the unusually silent hallways, hundreds of portraits' eyes following their every move. Harry watched uneasily as he tried (and failed) to stop himself from recollecting the last memories he had of this place.

Eventually, he was led to the all-too-familiar room that had housed Quirrel, Lockheart, Lupin, Umbritch, Moody/Crouch and Snape. The room was mercifully blank from whoever its past occupant was, although Harry almost expected to see a boggart in the corner, or a pink pillow on the chair which, he told himself, was completely unreasonable, since they would not set foot into this room for years to come.

Harry collapsed onto the desk chair. This had been a long few days. He had returned to Hogwarts after a year of horcrux hunting, only to find himself a battle he was not only unprepared to fight for, but also almost guaranteed to die. However, defying all odds, he had lived, travelled through time, and now was teaching defence in a time he knew nothing about! Only the best luck for Harry Potter the boy-who-lived.

Being on the run hadn't done any favours for his appearance. His face was unshaven, his clothes rumpled and dirty and his hair was clearly due for a haircut. Not only this, but fatigue had also effected him. After months of watching his every move and constantly looking over his shoulder, he had grown jumpy and suspicious to every shadow.

He examined the documents in front of him. It contained an abundance of personal information- according to which he had been homeschooled since birth - along with a load of unnecessary information on the castle, his schedule and class list. His first class was at nine thirty, the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh year. While he was examining this, another sheet of paper fell to the floor. He picked it up, paying little mind. It was only his class list. However, one name made him do a double-take. Harry re-checked the list and sure enough, there lay the names: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Of course he was going to be teaching his parents. Potter luck, you see.

It was going to be a long year.