There were flashes. Not quite vivid enough for memories. A bright burst of gold. Time Turners falling over, spells flying over his head. Dumbledore's voice shouting behind him. A quick picture of the ancient wizard engaging the Dark Lord in a duel, however brief, would forever be ingrained into Harry's mind.

Just like always, he found himself in over his head. Harry did not know what to expect this time around, but he found himself nearly whispering out Madam Pomfrey's name before his eyes had adjusted to the blinding white of the room he was in.

This was not the Hospital Wing.

"No," he croaked, sitting up and tapping his head on the headboard behind him. Harry felt around his own body, feeling nothing – no pain, no aches, no cramps, no blood. He moved normally. His clothes were even clean.

But no, that couldn't be. There were curses that struck his torso, spells that made him bleed, shelves that had fallen over on him… Harry could not just be fine.

He half-expected to trip and fall as soon as his feet hit the floor beside the bed he was in, but he stood normally, too. "My wand," he wondered quietly. It took a moment to see that it was stuffed in his right pocket, where he always kept it.

"Hello?" Harry shouted. "Is anyone there?"

No response.

Slowly, Harry made his way out of the doorway to – wherever he was – and he was greeted with an even more blinding white, though he could vaguely make out a corridor to his left.

The more and more Harry made his way to the giant entrance and two big doors at the end of the hall, however, it struck him strange that music was seeping through the walls of this place, something that sounded vaguely nostalgic. An older classical song, maybe.

He gave the giant door three loud knocks. "Hello?" Harry shouted again.

Nothing.

With both of his hands, Harry slowly pushed the giant doors open – the loud creaks were not made quieter by the music, and Harry felt the doors slam behind him as soon as he let go. He cringed.

His surroundings were no longer blinding white, and it took Harry a moment to realize he was now outside. He looked up at the night sky; tinged in purple with a full moon reflecting light directly onto the balcony he was standing. Waves crashed against beach shores, and a record player was set up just near the balcony's edge. It almost had him relaxed.

"I'm glad you're awake, Harry."

He snapped to his left. "Dumbledore," he said quietly, The old wizard was smiling, if a bit solemn, and he had his hand stuck out.

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," said Harry. "Where are we?"

"I'm afraid I do not know," said Dumbledore. "I imagine we are about to embark on the next great adventure." He gave a sickly cough, still a smile on his face. "Well, if not we, you are," he chuckled.

"I'm… dead?" Harry whispered. He felt around his body. He didn't feel dead. He thought the same, felt the same. "I can't be dead," he shook. Dumbledore was silent.

Goosebumps ran across Harry's skin. There was no way. No, he could not be dead.

"If it is of some comfort," said Dumbledore. "I believe it is not you who is dead, but me."

"I saw you," said Harry. "You were dueling Voldemort. The time turners fell on me."

"Ah," Dumbledore chuckled. "I do not believe I escaped that duel unscathed. As for the time turners, I fear that is far more grave a matter."

"When the shelf fell on me, I tried to summon one to… to…"

"Turn back time?" asked Dumbledore. "Try a second time? Save Sirius?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly.

"You succeeded, Harry," said the Headmaster. "You did turn back time. By quite a bit, in fact." Dumbledore stood straighter, meeting the pair of confused green eyes.

The young man paled. "I don't even remember-"

"I know you don't," interrupted Dumbledore, more firmly. "But as it is, you turned back time. By 53 years."

They stood in silence for a moment. Harry blinked, and it was a minute before he said anything.

"53," Harry whispered. "The year's 1995, that means..."

"1942," completed Dumbledore, grimly.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"You will live a new life," said the Headmaster, blunt. For the first time, Dumbledore moved, taking a few steps towards the edge of the balcony. A wave of his hand stopped the record player next to him.

The old wizard seemed to read Harry's mind. "Yes, Harry," he said. "The rest of your life will be lived from 1942, onward."

For a while, Harry said nothing. His face had lost its color, he had slipped onto his knees and backed up against the door he had entered. "What," he had said.

"You know more than you're letting on," Harry accused. He expected himself to sound harsh, with conviction, but he only sounded weak and frail.

"I do," said the old man. "You have turned back time so far, I do not know how different this world will be to ours. But you will experience quite the culture shock, my boy."

"I will need more time than this," said Harry.

"You are the most powerful, most promising and upcoming wizard of your generation, are you not?" asked Dumbledore. That he was. "Be ready. My younger self will be there. I suggest you give him the pleasure of your company that you have given me. I will see you soon, Harry."

"Why aren't you coming with?" asked the young man. "Did Voldemort kill you?" This was all so strange.

"Not quite, my boy," laughed Dumbledore. "But I believe," he said, his eyes scanning the night sky above, as though something – someone, was watching them, "That I have cheated death one too many times."

For a long time, Harry was staring out onto the beach below. Dumbledore had been long gone, vanishing after dodging many more of his questions. He would not see his friends again. A new life.

For hours, the nature of it all did not dawn on him. All he knew is that he had caused this, this was his fault, and his alone.

Ron and Hermione, he would not see again, or for a very long time. He would not joke around with Katie Bell, or prank Fred and George with Luna. Until he grew old, and they were born, and would never bother.

"I'm thinking too much," he mumbled.

But that did not invalidate his purpose. Tom Riddle would be at Hogwarts. He could stop him, then and there. Save the lives that had been lost to the backwards, traditionalist mode of thought that governed the Wizarding World.

Quite the culture shock.

Harry turned around the door he had entered; pushing it open with both of his hands once more, and he hated finding out what was on the other side.

He did not know what placed him here – why the time turner did what it did, how he was going to restart in a world he knew nearly nothing about. But he cursed it, whatever it was.

It was Diagon Alley.

Harry found himself staring at the entrance to Ollivander's wand shop – with the owner staring right at him through the window Unfortunate, but he would soon be thankful.

Because when he felt down his right pocket, his wand was gone.