- CHAPTER THREE -

The Odd Arrival

Harry awoke with a start and shot up. His head almost immediately hit a solid bar and he keeled back over, again sprawled out on his back. His body was frighteningly weak and he wondered how that retched bar got there, so he grappled for the wand holster on his left arm. His hand hit a bandage instead of the expected leather and he moaned when his arm painfully let him know just why the bind was there. He relaxed, if his wounds had been cared for, it was highly unlikely Voldemort had caught him.

'Ginny?' He called out, surprised to hear his voice come out as a high croak. No one came. Harry frowned, where was she? He carefully cracked one eye slightly open, and saw only white. White? His other eye flew open too, but, mindful of the bar, he stopped himself from flying up. There was nothing above his head aside from even more white. There was, however, an entire Hospital Wing in front of his bed. He blinked twice very quickly and then silently asked the ceiling, where all such answers reside, just how he ended up in Hogwart's Hospital Wing. The ceiling didn't answer; big surprise. But it did call for reinforcements, apparently, as a door on the other side of the room opened to let a witch enter, who was muttering under her breath about irresponsible people and the limits such people forgot. Harry's mouth gaped open.

'Madam Pomfrey?' He stammered, as he recognized the matron. His mind was on the verge of shut-down. Normally Ginny would be would be almost instantly by his side after he'd been injured, yet she wasn't even in sight and now he saw the dead school nurse!

Harry's exhausted brain was just working its way to the conclusion that he was dreaming when the mediwitch – who had noticed he was awake – walked towards him at almost sub-human speed, pushed a vial of steamy black liquid in his hands and sternly ordered him to drink it. He did. She immediately snapped the now empty vial out of his hand and gave him another, filled with a clear red potion this time, which he also downed – and nearly choked on. His eyes started to water and steam from his ears blew through his hair to make it even messier. He opened his mouth to protest, but didn't get a chance to as Madam Pomfrey stopped her still ongoing rant on overzealous people long enough to throw the content of the last vial down his throat and whip out her wand to summon even more potions.

Harry used the moments respite to try and gleam some facts, while he felt his mind clearing and the memories of Voldemort's death return.

'How did I get here?' He gulped, his voice still unnaturally high. Madam Pomfrey, instead of answering, merely plucked two more vials from midair with practiced ease and handed him one of them, reaching over to fluff up his already perfectly fluffed-up pillow. The pillow started singing lullabies in a low, vibrating tone that was slightly off key, at which she threw the last potion, a baby blue concoction with a menacing hiss, on it, causing tiny flames like the ones Hermione had conjured in their first year to erupt all over the pillow. The cushion stuck on a very high and ear-splitting note for a moment before it shut up. Light blue scorch marks showed it wasn't the first time the cushion had received that treatment.

At that moment the doors flew open and Dumbledore strode in, cutting short Harry's next question.

'Ah… I see our young friend is awake then.' He said with the familiar grandfatherly smile on his face that had been there all the years Harry had known him. The only difference between this Dumbledore and the one he had seen die two and a half years ago was his hand. It was not yet black and shrivelled up, but normal, though somewhat reddish at the moment.

'What happened?' Harry asked. His head was starting to throb from the fumes of the vial he was still holding, so he quickly drank the potion, wincing as the vile taste abused his taste buds. He repeated his earlier question. 'How did I get here?'

'Poppy, if you'd be so kind?' Dumbledore asked the matron. Madam Pomfrey nodded and then left without a word, a whole line of empty vials trailing behind her.

'Now, you asked how you got here. I think the important question isn't how you got here, but rather when you are, but I'll get back to that later.' Dumbledore looked quite amused and the eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were twinkling merrily. 'Four days ago, our groundskeeper, Hagrid, was out walking his dog when he came by the lake. Well, Fluffy has a rather… er… extended eyesight –' Harry smirked as he thought of just why the gigantic three-headed dog could see almost three hundred and sixty degrees 'and he spotted you lying on the lake shore. Hagrid immediately brought you to Madam Pomfrey here and she has been taking care of you since then. She says you have severe magical exhaustion and it will take a days, if not weeks, depending on your natural power level, before you'll be back to your full strength.' He paused for a moment and his normal twinkle increased.

'That, my boy, is how you came to be in the year 1976.' Harry's eyes grew wide and, forgetting it wasn't there for a moment, he flailed his hands around in an attempt to grab the bar above his head for balance, but instead fell back on the bed. His pillow flared up with a few forgotten bluebell flames and let out a small squeak. Harry lay in shock for a minute or two, his head surrounded by a blue halo, before he unexpectedly burst into humourless chuckles.

'I'm… I'm in nineteen… I'm in 1976?' he squeezed out between fits of laughter. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes and the slash on his cheek was starting to ache painfully but he couldn't stop the chilling guffaws. 'Why did I never see' hiccup 'that one coming?'

Dumbledore's full attention was on unsticking two lemon drops.

Just as suddenly as he'd started laughing, Harry stopped, and the expression on his face changed so fast it looked like a shutter had been slammed in place. The new pensive look was much less frightening than the unnatural-sounding chortles had been.

'What date is it today?' He asked, looking at the old wizard intently.

'Today is the forth of August.' The Headmaster answered, casting a quick look over his half-moon spectacles at Harry between un-gluing attempts. Harry's sharp intake as he realised just on which date he must have arrived was lost on him as the sweets finally let go. He propped one of the sauery sweets in his mouth and happily sucked on it. When Harry, still trying to digest that latest bit of information, refused his offer of the other lemon drop, that one followed the first.

'Who…' Harry's voice was wavering dangerously, 'who are the new Head Boy and Girl this year?'

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. 'Lily Evans and James Potter.' Harry made a strange noise that sounded halfway between a cough and something being trotted on. Dumbledore stared closely at him and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing right through him.

'Uh… thank you for letting me stay here.' Harry said in an attempt to break the silence.

'You're quite welcome, my boy. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me your name and where you came from?' Harry swallowed. He shifted a bit under Dumbledore's gaze, unsure of how much to tell the old wizard. After a few moments of uneasy silence, he decided it would be far easier if Dumbledore knew who he was, just in case he'd have to stay in this time for a while.

'I'm from the future, sir. My name is Harry James Potter.' Dumbledore nodded encouragingly.

Harry told him the basics of how he'd gotten here and a bit about his life, though leaving out most of what could influence the timeline, such as what had happened with Wormtail and Sirius and how Voldemort had been defeated. 'And then I stumbled into a room and passed out.' He finished.

Dumbledore was staring out the window thoughtfully, sucking on another lemon drop. Harry almost thought he wouldn't answer at all when he suddenly turned back to him and responded in a light tone.

'Well, it seems we've just found ourselves this year's Defence against the Dark Arts professor!' He said. He winked at Harry and, without another word, turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving a once more stunned Boy-Who-Lived behind.

-xxx-

It was a few days before Harry had the chance to see Dumbledore again. The Headmaster didn't come by the Hospital Wing again and madam Pomfrey was quite determined to keep Harry there. Finally, almost a week after Harry had first woken up and about eight days after his patience had worn out, the nineteen-year-old was finally told he could leave the sterile room. One final check-up later, and he was home free.

Harry slowly walked to the headmaster's office, trying to collect his thoughts on the way. Finally he reached the stone gargoyle, only to realize that once again, he didn't know the password. He took a deep breath, ready to list off half a dozen sweets.

'Lemon drops, ice mice–' his voice trailed off in surprise when the gargoyle moved at his first guess. 'It's almost too easy.' He mumbled. The Boy-Who-Lived – and Time-Travelled – made his way up the staircase. The door to the Headmaster's office swung open even before he'd gotten a chance to knock on it. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his hands folded in front of his face with the tips of his fingers touching, looking serene.

'Ah, Poppy told me you'd be released today. I'd hoped you'd come to see me soon.' Harry looked around the office a bit nervously. It looked the same it always had while Dumbledore was Headmaster; delicate silver instruments emitting hazes of smoke, the Sorting Hat, portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses, the cupboard that would one day house the Pensieve – and perhaps already did – and of course Fawkes' golden perch.

Dumbledore cut his inspection short by starting the conversation. 'Do sit down, Harry. Now, you're probably wondering what I meant when I said you would be the Defence professor. Allow me to explain.

At the present time, neither I nor any of my staff know how to allow you to get back to your own time. As I suspect you're highly important in the fight against Lord Voldemort and because you could seriously pollute the timeline, it is highly impervious you stay somewhere safe. I would also like to be able to keep an eye on you, both for the reasons I just mentioned and because you seem like a very interesting young man.' Dumbledore looked at Harry amused as he said the last sentence.

'As for the teaching position. As you may or may not know, there seems to be a sort of curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position ever since I refused it to Tom Riddle a number of years ago. Since then, I have not been able to keep a teacher for more than a year. The last candidate, a Miss Marlene McKinnon, has just resigned to become more active in the fight against the Dark Lord. The only other person willing to take on the position is Augustus Rookwood, a Ministry wizard. I do not wish to hire him, for I'm not sure of his loyalties, but if you refuse the job, I will most likely be forced to accept his offer.' Dumbledore looked quite grave, for which Harry could not blame him, knowing that Rookwood was, in fact, a Death Eater.

Harry was quite surprised at how franc his old Headmaster was being with him, considering they'd only had one conversation since he literally appeared out of thin air. Then again, Dumbledore was known for trusting people even when they didn't deserve it, as the circumstances of his death had made painfully obvious.

Not knowing how to respond to the Headmaster's offer, Harry let his eyes pass through the room again. Suddenly, they landed on today's Daily Prophet, which was lying on Dumbledore's desk. What caught Harry's interest was the bold word 'Potter' mentioned on the cover.

'What about my parents?' he inquired. 'I assume I'll have to teach them.'

Dumbledore nodded at him gently. 'I trust you to handle your dealings with them to the best of your abilities.' He held up one hand to cut off Harry's protest. 'Even though I know you have not seen them for a long time, I have every faith in you. From what I've seen so far you are a very bright young man and your account of the future has lead me to the conclusion that I trust you there too. But – and this is very important, Harry! – under no circumstance are you to tell them of their relation to you. I realize that you are a full-grown wizard well capable of making your own decisions and that I hold no authority over you other than possibly that of employer, but that is of vital importance. Whatever may be in their future is destined to be that way and changing one thing may very well lead to events you had not foreseen. Or you may get back to your time to find that despite your efforts, nothing has changed. Time is a fickle mistress and dealing with time travel is highly dangerous and should therefore be treated with great caution.' Over his half-moon spectacles, the Headmaster looked at Harry imploring.

Harry was reminded of their conversation in his first year when he'd come across the mirror of Erised. It was with the same insisting look that Dumbledore now fixed him, as he'd asked him not to go looking for the mirror again then. And just like that time, he knew he'd obey.

'Yes, sir. I understand. And I'd like to accept that teaching job.'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'It's Albus, Harry. After all, we are colleagues now.'

'Albus it is.' Harry smiled back, grateful for the feeling that his life was finally getting a bit settled again. Then the feeling disappeared and his face turned serious. 'What about Voldemort?' he asked in a cold voice. 'What has he been up to lately?' Dumbledore sighed gravely, and he seemed to age right in front of his eyes.

'I fear the Dark Lord is growing stronger every day, and his actions more loathsome.' The old wizard shook his head morosely, the sparkle in his eyes having gone. Then he stood up. 'But that is a conversation for another time. Now, how about I show you to your chambers?'

But Harry would not have it. His eyes flared and the air around him was already beginning to crackle with energy. He too stood up. 'With all due respect, Albus, I won't be kept in the dark again; people died because of that last time!' With every word that tumbled over his lips, the magic in the room seemed to intensify. 'I'm not a child anymore and neither do I need your protection. Just tell me, what is that bastard of a Voldemort doing?'

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, seemingly to size him up. In response, Harry only became angrier until the power was radiating off him in waves. A few tense seconds later, Dumbledore nodded curtly.

'I see you're not about to be deterred. Very well.

Tom has been gathering followers. In the last year, we estimate his forces have tripled. There has also been an increase of attacks on muggles and muggle-borns. Voldemort is slowly rising in power. I fear that there are dark and difficult times ahead of us.'

Silence reigned. His anger dissipated and Harry suddenly felt very weak.

'Thank you for telling me, Albus.' He finally said, using all his willpower to stay standing. 'Could you show me my rooms now?'

Dumbledore quietly told Harry to follow him and lead him out of his office and through Hogwarts. They walked in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say as they came through familiar halls and stairs. Finally Dumbledore stopped in front of a painting of a pale old witch.

'Here we are. Hello, Violet.' Harry suddenly recognized the witch as the friend of the Fat Lady's. He wondered why her painting was now hanging here, whereas in his time it had been hanging in a room close to the Great Hall. They were on the fifth floor, however, so they weren't even close by. He started out of his musings as he noticed that Dumbledore was speaking. 'The password is peace and quiet, but you can change it at any time. Now,' they went inside after Violet had swung open when the Headmaster had said the password, 'Just one more thing, Harry. As you are from the future, I think it wouldn't be wise for you to keep your name. It would be slightly difficult to explain why my new Defence teacher has the same surname as one of the oldest wizarding families in England, not to mention the Head Boy, while no one has ever heard of you.'

Harry nodded. 'I see your point. Did you have a name in mind, Albus?'

'No, I suggest you think of one. Though, of course, you can keep your first name; it's common enough. For your last name it is probably advisable if it's close to the truth, so you have no trouble remembering it and responding to it.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'How about Prongs?' He finally asked.

'Prongs? Well, I suppose it would do the trick. About your history; telling people that your father was a muggle and that you were home schooled should solve that question. Now, Mr Prongs, good luck teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. If you have any questions, come to me. Goodnight.' Dumbledore winked at him once before leaving Harry alone.

The new DADA professor dropped down into a comfortable chair with an exhausted sigh.

'This is going to be interesting.' He said to himself. 'Yes, this is going to be very interesting.'