A Thing of the Past

Author's Note: Well, I've seemed to have created mass confusion with the first two chapters! It really wasn't my intention, but I guess I keep forgetting that my whole audience doesn't know the story line. So, yes, this is an AU fic that started with the battle in the DoM in OotP. Where Harry is now, well this chapter will probably answer that for you.

Previous Chapter:

With a fumble he tried to maneuver his way around it with as little damage as possible. He didn't even pay attention to the second clear bell that rang out around him till a shocked voice came from the elevator door.

"Let go of my son!"

Chapter Two:

God.

What was in that sand?

Crazy conspiracy theories about the Department of Mysteries went running through Harry's head. Obviously, there had to be some insane drug or narcotic in the sand in those time-turners. Obviously the aged, black haired wizard standing in front of him wasn't there. Harry was an orphan; his aunt and uncle made sure he never forgot that. So he couldn't be anyone's son. Anyone who was alive anyway.

Obviously.

It took Harry a few furious blinks of his eyes to realize that the man wasn't going to go away. The people around him seemed to have frozen, a few spurts of words emitting from their mouths. A twisted sort of frown had appeared on the man who was holding his arm tightly, and the wizard with the limp was looking around as if he was bored.

For a moment, something hot went running through Harry's blood. What if this all wasn't some sand-induced dream? What if the fates, finally having a good idea in their non-existent heads, had decided to let him get some rest in a euphoric world where all his dreams came true? That was good idea, Harry decided.

Of course Harry knew that wasn't the case.

But it was a nice thought.

Harry had those few precious seconds of peace to study the familiar image standing in front of him. He wasn't really surprised at how familiar the man looked. He was the oldest version of himself he had ever seen; the man had to be in his forties. He was tall and lean, a thick woolen robe draped over his shoulders. A few drops of water were still dripping down his horned-rimmed glasses. Harry guessed it had been raining. So much for the sunshine coming in through the windows. The only thing that seemed to show his age was the silver flecks creeping up onto familiar, and slightly wet, jet black hair.

But this man wasn't James Potter. Harry didn't know how he knew, but he just did. He guessed it had to do with some kind of father-son connection. It surprised him; Harry didn't ever pretend to have knowledge on the relationships between a father and a son. It didn't really stir any emotion in him other than curiosity. If it wasn't his father, than who was it?

Fortunately, and oddly, enough, the others didn't seem to have a problem recognizing the man. One shouted out a name in protest as the man grabbed Harry and pulled him towards the elevator. That was when it all made sense.

"Leroy! Be sensible! That's not James."

Another harsh silence passed over them. Harry had to inwardly sigh. Wherever he was, the people didn't really seem to think that some form of communication and talking was the best idea. But as the man he would have called Grandpa turned him around, talking didn't really seem necessary. Harry felt all the breath rush out of him as a pair of deep hazel eyes stared at him in disbelief. The man's hands were resting heavily on his shoulders and Harry was surprised that he felt a twinge of heat rush across his face as the man pulled his arms away if he had been burned.

Leroy Potter stumbled back, his mouth slightly ajar. He spoke in a weak sort of a voice, and it brought a painful sort of remembrance into the pit of Harry's stomach. The words stumbled from his grandfather's mouth, and Harry found himself soaking in the sound.

"Of-of course not," Leroy said, walking even farther back till it seemed like he was trying to go through the wall. When he touched his hair, Harry tried not to let any sort of smile well up out of him. "We're dropping him off tomorrow for the train to school."

Leroy gave an odd and hollow chuckle. "Just thought the boy might have decided to be himself and sneak in here."

Though no one really smiled, Harry's captors seemed grateful that Leroy Potter seemed to have come to his senses. Of course this wasn't his trouble-making son. Of course not.

Before Leroy had the chance to ask the next, very obvious question, Harry was once again held captive in the putrid man's arms.

"It's an easy mistake Leroy," he said, a mix between a growl and a smirk on his face. "The Death Eaters are doing anything they can to infiltrate the Ministry."

Something sparked in Harry's brain and he gave an angry sort of gasp.

"Death Eater! Are you insa-" Harry started before the man kicked him in his knees, and once again he was on the ground. He didn't even try to get up this time. The ground seemed like a preferable place to be at the moment. He was down there often enough as it was. He really should have been expecting it. Arguing really hadn't gotten him anywhere.

What he wasn't expecting was for a firm, but almost protective grip to pull him up again. A harsh grip, a painful grip, a heartless, cruel, agonizing grip. But not protective. Not, slightly reassuring. But it was.

Even though that unfamiliar feeling had its own painful ringing in his soul.

"Now Dorian," Leroy said in a shaky voice, holding Harry away from the cloud of men. "We have to go about this right. He's just a minor." The strong sound in his voice showed a return of stability and confidence.

At least now Harry had a name to put to the putrid man's face. For the first time, he really felt he had a chance to explain.

"We were being attacked," he pleaded to his grandfather. Something stirred behind Leroy's eyes. "I need to talk to Dumbledore."

There. That was what he needed to say. All those six words could save him. How long had it taken him to utter those words? He didn't even need six words; just three syllables. Dumbledore. Leroy Potter was making a face like that made sense, but the mention of the Headmaster only seemed to infuriate Dorian more.

"You see!" he said, pulling Harry away from Leroy's hold. "He wants to get close to Dumbledore! It's a trap; don't be fooled by your soft heart Leroy!"

And before Leroy could stop him, Dorian grabbed Harry and pulled him into the elevator, beckoning the others to follow. After only a slight hesitation, they did. In a desperate final attempt, feeling that things were going to get quite nastier, Harry reached out as the elevator door was quickly shutting. But the hands around him pulled him back and soon he closed his eyes as the pain washed over his body again.

Leroy Potter clutched at his chest and looked at the hallway. Papers were on the floor, and dark marks were on the once clean floors from what he guessed had been the soles of the boy's rubber shoes. His mind was racing as he tried to hit the elevator button. He knew it was a futile action, but it gave him some sort of odd satisfaction to do so. With a furious sort of motion he kicked the door and stalked furiously down the hall.

He had no idea who that boy was. It was against his better judgment, but he believed the boy who looked like his son. If he hadn't seen the boy's eyes he would have asserted it was his James. But that vivid shade of green had done something to him. Damn his intuition, but in all his years as a father he had learned something about truth. The bloody boy was telling the truth, no matter how absurd it was.

He wiped his wet brow from that morning's rain and furiously paced back and forth. An old man in a portrait was leaning against his own gilded gold frame, one eyebrow cocked. Leroy turned as he spoke.

"Now, that was something wasn't it," he said as more of a bored statement than a question. Leroy just looked at him, an incredulous look on his face. The wizard just gave a wheezing cough and shrugged his shoulders. As Leroy turned away, he saw a wisp of the wizard's cloak disappearing behind the frame. He shook his head and tried to figure out what to do next. Cursing slightly under his breath, Leroy pushed the button to the elevator. When nothing happened, it took all his self-restraint not to curse the door open.

Harry didn't like the look of the room of the place he was now. Yes, that little spot on the floor was looking quite fantastic. Anything was better than the rickety chair they were holding him down in, which was indeed pointless because he wasn't trying to resist. But every time he'd squirm or try to wiggle his fingers they'd grip his wrists and push his shoulders back. Everything from his head to his toes to his soul felt bruised and beaten. He took in a few breaths through his lips, which were starting to become uncomfortably dry.

The stillness was so strained, all Harry could do was close his eyes and imagine he was in the Burrow, the scent of fresh strawberry ice cream and flowers plaguing his mind. The darkness of his closed eyelids gave him an odd sense of security and strength. That was until a bright light took over his view. Squinting furiously, he looked up to see Dorian standing over him, a bright circular bulb of light emitting from his wand. For the first time, Harry could feel it. He could feel the terror pulsing through his blood, and he was sure it was showing. Asides from the nervous shuffling in the background, all Harry could heard was that cold voice.

"You're going to tell me the truth," he hissed. Harry caught a glimpse of glass glimmering in his hands.

"What do you think I've been doing this whole time?" Harry said through gritted teeth. Judging from the sharp inhale of breath he heard, his delightfully sarcastic manner was still having some affect on the man. It was then that Dorian started spewing off questions. And he didn't seem to like the answer, for with each one he'd push Harry harder back into the chair, his hand wrapping tightly around his throat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

Squeeze.

"What's your affiliation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"What's your affiliation with the Easter Bunny?"

With that Harry had to splutter from lack of air. Well, if he was going to die he was going to go down laughing. If he could laugh at the moment. It was hard to do when you really couldn't breathe.

"What's your name?

"Harry."

"Is there a last name to go with that?"

Well that wasn't going to work. Harry didn't reply. He couldn't say the truth. If he did, he'd be killed. It would only prove he had some ulterior motive. A vein looked like it was going to pop on Dorian's forehead.

"Answer the question!"

"GooberMcPhelgm," Harry said without thinking, and automatically wished he hadn't. A cork popped and his head was pushed back. Did his neck break, because it sure felt like it? He was hearing their voice now. Ron's, Hermione's, Ginny's. Before he knew it there was a vial being rolled around in front of his eyes. The clear liquid that shone through made him feel like someone was stirring his insides around. Harry fought desperately now, but he couldn't stop as the glass hit his lips.

All he could do now was shut his eyes and wait for his eyes to glaze and his lips to tell all.

But as a single drop of rolled down his throat, a look of surprise washed over him. It was sweet. It was cold. It was familiar. It was pumpkin juice.

Harry realized the door was thrown wide open, two figures standing in the doorway. Dorian was frozen over him, his eyes closed, obvious anger displayed in the lines on his face. But a strong voice came to Harry's ears and he realized Dorian was nothing more than a blob of jelly now.

"Let the boy go," Albus Dumbledore said quietly, walking slowly into the room. A woman came flouncing in after him, a deeply set frown on her face. She looked positively livid.

"How could you!" the woman shouted, waving her wand in a fury. Harry expected some of the men to explode, but he just saw the vial of what was once veritaserum flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Dorian's hands quickly released him and Harry slumped down in the chair. He stared in awe as the woman cornered the men, waving her wand in a wild manner. He wasn't really paying attention to anything anymore, and that was why it was a complete surprise when he turned his head he saw Dumbledore standing next to him. Harry blinked dumbly a few times, watching those blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses study him. After several moments that seemed to last forever, Dumbledore turned to the woman who was still yelling quite loudly. Harry, through his muffled senses, could hear the words "proper procedure" and "underage."

She fell silent though when Dumbledore began to talk.

"I'll take Harry up to your office Millicent," he stated. Harry frowned slightly; why was name so familiar? He felt like he should know someone named Millicent. Millicent looked at him, her chest falling and rising in anger.

"Of course Albus, I'll let you deal with this."

Harry watched, a numb sort of look on his face, as Dumbledore moved towards the door and pushed it open. The headmaster pushed it open, light filtering in a very magical sort of way. In that moment, that one ray was more magical than anything he'd ever seen. Harry was sure once he had come to his senses that thought would leave. But still, he had a vague sense that he was learning some great truth about life.

It was odd.

Harry felt embarrassed when he realized Dumbledore was waiting for him to get up. All too glad to get out of the room, Harry leapt up with an energy he thought had depleted and darted into the hallway. It took a lot of control not to run down the narrow way, shouting from the joy of it all that was welling up inside of him. He did try to do a little hop, but the pain that shot through him quickly sobered any more feelings of exuberance.

"Professor, I--" Harry started, in a tone he realized later on that was too personal for the Dumbledore that was walking past him now. The long silver hair went by in a flash and Harry couldn't help but feel stung as the man who had once been his mentor turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Please follow me."

That was all he said. To Harry, that was the first real sign that something was wrong. Besides the obvious fact that he'd nearly been strangled and almost had veritaserum forced down his throat of course. Even now those events seemed to be fading away as Dumbledore led Harry through various hallways and up many elevators. Harry cleared his throat a few times, as if he was going to say something, but every time he tried nothing came out. Finally, just as he was about to ask what was going on, they appeared in a large lobby where a single door was waiting for them.

The meeting of his Headmaster hadn't been as joyous as Harry thought it would be. Rather, a familiar feeling of being ignored was welling up within him. Every time he'd throw Dumbledore a furtive glance, the man would simply keep his eyes focused on the door ahead of them.

A horrible little feeling was starting to gnaw at him. It was completely unlike the feeling he had when Dorian and the others had him pinned down to that chair. It was quiet and it made him feel, if possible, worse.

Harry wasn't really sure how he got into that chair across the desk from Dumbledore. The scene was out of place. For a moment his green eyes wandered around, looking for a slumbering portrait or a glimmer of a bright, red and gold tail.

But there was none. There was no comforting sign that made Harry feel like everything was going to be okay. And as childish as that made him, it was a feeling he was desperately longing for.

In fact, there was only a little gold nameplate that made him sick. Because as he slowly sank down into the chair, he realized why the name Millicent was so familiar. It was the last name that did it to him. Hermione's shrill voice when they were studying wasn't that hard to forget. It was odd the things people could remember.

Bagnold.

He had known it since he had met Leroy Potter. But it hadn't really clicked. He guessed at the time he was sure it all had to be a dream. But he knew now and Harry was trying to form some kind of plan.

A plan that would get him out of the year 1977.

He sat down and just let his mind deflate. What was he going to do? Dumbledore would never believe him. How was he going to explain any of it?

There was just silence after that, and Harry felt awkward each time he coughed. It felt like he was still getting used to the idea of breathing and every few seconds he'd have to shake his lungs. He was forced to look at everything but his Headmaster, as now those blue eyes were leering at him. Harry suddenly became preoccupied with a large potted plant in the corner. For a moment a snicker wanted to come to his lips as the conspiracy theory ran through his mind, but it didn't take long for that to be silenced. When he finally had the courage to look Dumbledore in the eye, the look exchanged between them sent shivers running up and down Harry's spine.

"I'm sorry about the way you've been treated," Dumbledore said, his fingers interlaced and resting on the desk.

Harry just pressed his lips together.

"It's fine," he said, lying through his teeth. Dumbledore obviously seemed to know this, but thankfully he didn't comment on it. There seemed to be a level between of formality between them that had never been their previously.

Harry had to shift in his seat.

"Even if this whole ordeal was far outside Ministry standards," Dumbledore continued, "The truth still needs to be revealed. I'd like to give you the opportunity to tell it."

With a little look on his face, Harry crossed his arms.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Sorry," Harry said, looking down at his hands.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and seemed to be pondering something for a second.

"That last comment I think has established you're underage," he said, though there really was no malice in it. "I daresay you're sixteen?"

"At the end of July," Harry replied, grateful he was seeing some sort of personality out of his mentor.

"And what is your name?"

"Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes lightly and rubbed his face when Dumbledore just looked at him.

"It's—it's Harry—Harry P-Porter," Harry said stammered. Damn, what was a name like Porter? He was sure the answer wouldn't be enough, and that had to be a sad glimmer in Dumbledore's eyes. But nothing happened, nothing but a weary sigh.

"And why are you here in the Ministry of Magic?

The questions seemed all too familiar. Harry took in a deep breath.

"My friends and I were being attacked by Death Eaters. There was a crash and I felt like I was drowning in a sandbox and the next thing I know, I'm here."

It was the truth. It was the bloody truth and Harry gripped the edges of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. Dumbledore looked at his hands for a moment and nodded his head. Score 1, Harry.

"What do you suppose I do? I think it's safe to say you can't stay here at the Ministry," he said after a long time.

Harry nodded vehemently.

"I was thinking I could come to Hogwarts," Harry said in an all too hopeful voice. The silence said it all. Dumbledore pressed his hands to his mouth for a moment.

"Do you have no family?" he said and Harry felt the blood rush to his face as he shook his head in a slow manner.

"I'm an orphan," he almost whispered, his fingernails scrapping against the wood.

"Mr. Porter, I'm afraid you can't come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, a horrible look of sympathy in his eyes. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck curl. In an angry rush, he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around. It wasn't the smartest thing he could have done, but still.

"Where am I supposed to go then?" Harry growled, gripping his hair in frustration. "I swear, I'm telling you the truth. I'm not some psycho killer."

Once again there was that silence that killed him.

"Don't you trust me?" Harry said in a desperate tone. He stared right past those glasses.

Read my mind! I'm Harry, I swear I'm Harry! You can read my mind like a book!

"I think I may have a solution to this," Dumbledore said finally. Harry just sank down into the chair, his face in his hands. "I have an open position at the school I think you'll fill quite nicely."

"And what would that be?" Harry asked, not even bothering to look up.

"Assistant Librarian."

Author's Note: I'm officially not happy with the way this chapter turned out, and it was originally going to be much longer. But there was so much to fit in, so many feelings and all I just couldn't fit it in. What do you have to look forward to: Why does Dumbledorelet Harry come to Hogwarts? Does he trust him? And whatever happened to Leroy Potter?

If you want to know what happens next, I suggest you click that review button down there. Really. Do.