Disclaimor: Yeah, still no treacle tart. That's a metaphor. It means that I still don't own Harry Potter.
Yeah, still short... but I have to say, I love all of you that story alert/favorited/whatever. And to MaeSilverpaws1, thank you so much for your review and everything else, I hope you like this chapter, too. :)
Yep, definately not a good day, Harry thought, looking around the Headmaster's office sucking on a lemon drop (surprise, right?) and wishing it were his treacle tart. Mmm… treacle tart candies… now why hadn't Honeydukes' come up with that one yet? Maybe Harry would invest if they would. Merlin knew he had enough money. Or did he? He was, after all, apparently nigh 20 years in the past. Well, shit. He was more broke than a house elf asking for wages. No, today was not his day. Hell, this wasn't even his decade, not to mention his own had given him hell for years. Damn that muggle Murphy. Harry was a bit fuzzy on the specifics, but he felt certain that he could blame his sudden change in fortune on the man. Something about... laws… or something...
Voices sounded from the staircase leading to the office. Harry ignored them and focused on Fawkes, as beautiful a creature as ever. Finishing his lemon drop, Harry walked over and began petting Fawkes. Fawkes trilled a song of appreciation. Seeing as phoenixes did have a tendency to burst into flame, he could see how that would make some people wary of standing too close, much less petting one, but Fawkes seemed to quite enjoy the sensation.
The door opened and the voices stopped suddenly. Too suddenly, and Harry looked over, wary. There, in the doorway, was a much younger (20 years younger, his mind supplied) Albus Dumbledore, Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but both McGonagall and Flitwick seemed fairly shell-shocked.
Making a snap decision, Harry smiled and stepped away from Fawkes, earning the intruders a glare from the bird. Moving forward, Harry extended his hand, greeting them.
"Hello, Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall." He shook each of their hands earnestly. "Now, I realize you don't know me yet, but you will, I assure you. We have, in futures past, been very well acquainted. But I can hardly wait 20 years for any of you to remember me, so I'll introduce myself." He smiled benignly, knowing his next words would shock and possibly condemn him to the funny farm. But, he reasoned, nobody had asked him if he had wished to be torn from his treacle laden future to this war-torn past, and, as no life-threatening, world-ending warnings had been issued to the contrary, he figured: screw paradox and have fun, happy little babies with her.
"My name is Harry James Potter; I was born July 31st, 1980 to Lily and James Potter. My childhood was a depressing one; being an unwanted orphan will do that to you, but then I came to Hogwarts. Which was awesome if you disregard the several attempts on my life by Tom Riddle and his lackeys. I do. But, that's all over now. Or it was, anyways. You see, I managed to defeat Tommy boy just last May, so maybe you understand just how horrible this little trip to the past really is." His eyes grew bright with unshed tears. "And I was just about to bite into the most delicious, wonderful dessert ever created." He sniffed forlornly. "All I want is my treacle tart. Is that so much to ask for?" he wailed. "You take away my mother, my father, my last link to them, and now you take away my treacle tart." He flung himself onto the poufy chair Dumbledore had conjured for him earlier, sobbing dramatically. It was mostly for show, but the truth was, being separated from his dessert in such a manner had been truly cruel and sadistic. The least they could do was to offer him some of his favorite dessert.