A/N: Kay, I never liked Author's Notes, so mine will be short and sweet. A big thanks to all of you who reviewed, I love you all so much, and if you have any ideas on what you would like Harry to do, I am open to suggestions. And I forgot the disclaimer last time so: I in no way, shape, or form own Harry Potter. That honor is reserved for J.K. Rowling.…lucky!!!

Harry saw the world as if through a television. Nothing that was happening directly affected him, or even remotely involved him at the moment. It was as though he was watching a movie and someone had pressed the rewind button. But it was rewinding too fast for him to see. He knew this sensation, it was a time turner reaction! That stupid jar was filled with the dust of time turners! McGongall must have been trying to make more time turners for the ministry, or they might have given the dust to her for safe keeping. He tore his mind from these facts to try and see what was going on. It wasn't easy, trying to see out of the void in which he had accidentaly placed himself, was like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. Sometimes he saw glimpses of students or teachers, Dumbledore was a frequent 'almost glimpse', at one point Harry even thought he glimpsed himself talking to the sorting hat. That had been an unpleasant memory.

Days and night spun back so quickly it all appeared to Harry as if he were blinking quite rapidly.

Day, night, day, night.

Light dark, light dark.

It was terribly disconcerting. The world spun so much and so fast soon Harry didn't just feel like vomiting, he felt like throwing up his stomach, lungs, other various intestines. But as the world seemed to settle so did his stomach, though his brains still felt a bit scrambled. Harry closed his eyes for a moment trying to get his bearings. But in that brief moment his eyes were closed Harry heard an eye piercing shriek and was body slammed into the floor.

His eyes jarred open to review an irate Dumbledore with a wand pointing at Harry's throat, and a a stunned somewhat younger looking McGongall with one hand over her heart and another over her mouth. It was no obvious where the potential glass breaking shriek had come from.

Dumbledore's eyes were as Harry had never seen them. Normally when Harry saw Dumbledore's eyes they were like a clear blue lake; calm, serene, ever welcoming. But now his old professor's eyes were a glacial storm; harsh, menacing, and quite, quite deadly.

"Who are you? And why have you entered in such a manner?" Dumbledore's voice seemed to echo and fill his brain. Harry knew that it was some form of Legilimency, but it was far more powerful than anything he had experienced at the hands of Snape, or even Voldemort. This was on a whole different level, 'how,' he asked himself, 'did anyone defeat Dumbledore?'

"I- I'm," he stuttered, "I'm Ha- Harry Potter, and I-I th-think that it was a very severe time turner accident." Needless to say, Harry was scared out of his wits; meeting your almost-all-powerful deceased headmaster will do that to a person.

Harry thought he had seen the last of the physical Dumbledore at the pure white Kings Cross Station. The painting in no way counted, at least in Harry's mind it didn't. Dumbledore continued to stared at him for a long time; while Harry thought he could physically feel Dumbledore's own brain probing his own. Though it wasn't a severe as Snape's 'lessons' had been.

No, Harry just felt a vague feeling of reminisce, nostalgia even. Harry continued to stare at Dumbledore with a sort of pending sense of doom, before he finally saw a small glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Soon enough with even more staring involved, in which Harry began to grow very uncomfortable, Dumbledore smiled.

"You are, aren't you?" Harry smiled. Dumbledore knew, thank goodness, he wasn't going to be blasted into infinitely smaller pieces until he was no more. Hallelujah! Dumbledore was starting to say something again, he had better pay attention.

"I may no know who Harry Potter is yet," Dumbledore smiled at him, "but I know, for sure, you are him." Dumbledore reached a hand down to let him off the floor. Harry took the hand and slowly let himself up. That much time travel was the magical equivallent of muggle jet lag; a dragging sensation in which the body's, if you'll pardon the pun, 'clock' had not been properly set to the surroundings. When Harry had 'left' this office the last time it had been late at night, now it was near the end of the afternoon, almost sunset. Harry could see the sun through one of the office windows. It was a brilliant ruby that seemed to light the surrounding landscape, not to mention office, on fire. Harry looked around a little more.

McGongall was somewhere to his right, still had one hand over her heart, though she had closed her mouth by now. She was younger, her face less severe and pinched than it had been when Harry had last seen it. There were a good deal less lines on her face, she was somewhere around 30 years younger. She was probably around 40 to 45 years old, maybe even a young looking 50 year old. Dumbledore, however, remained less changed. His beard reached somewhere around midchest, and was suprisingly shot through with strands of brown, but his outfits were still long and his boots were still pointed and buckled.

The office was not very different, there were, obviously, none of Professor McGongall's things around. There were a few machines, or maybe devices was the right term, that had previously puffed, whirled, dinged, or rotated, that had not been placed yet. All of the portraits, excluding Snape and Dumbledore, were still hanging. Quite a few were staring open mouthedly at Harry, a few had even whipped out old fashioned binoculars to get a closer look at Harry.

"Professor," aksed Harry. Dumbledore smiled and indicated that he was to go on with his question, "May I have a chair? I haven't quite gotten my bearings yet."

"Certainly dear boy," replied Dumbledore. A small twist of the wrist, and near Harry a comfy looking armchair had appeared. Harry eased himself into it, an sat for a moment. As he sat he had realised, he had neglected to ask a very important question.

"Professor," Harry asked hurridely, "what year is it?"

Dumbledore looked gravelly at him and said, "1972."