It was bright, too bright, when he opened his eyes. A familiar, unwelcome brightness. Harry sat up with a groan, looking around and recognising the Hogwarts hospital wing. He rubbed at his forehead. It was throbbing, though thankfully it wasn't his scar. He blinked; the fuzzy image of the hospital wing was not doing anything for his headache. He saw a woman walk over to him as he searched the bedside table for his glasses. He found them and put them on as she reached him.

"Good afternoon young man. I see you're finally awake." She spoke pleasantly, sweetly. Harry's brow creased in confusion as he looked at her. She was tall and slender, with jet black hair that was pinned up in a braided bun. Her face was handsome, with prominent cheek bones and her eyes were piercing hazel. Her smile was warm though and her thin lips were stained an earthy brick colour. She wore the familiar matron outfit, but… she wasn't Madam Pomfrey.

"Er, hello." He said dully, still staring at her.

"I am Madam Metcalfe." She introduced, moving closer and gently touching his forehead with the back of her hand, testing his temperature. She hummed, "Well, you don't feel too hot or cold, but I'm going to have to run a few tests. You gave everyone quite the fright, appearing like that. Faulty portkey?" she asked as she waved her wand.

Harry simply stared blankly. "I don't-"

"Remember? Oh. Do you know where you are?" Madam Metcalfe paused her casting.

"Hogwarts. The hospital wing." The boy replied, sure of himself in at least that.

The mediwitch nodded, "That's right. Do you remember your name?"

"Harry." Harry said. "Harry Potter…" he shifted uncomfortably; he was never used to introducing himself.

"Do you know what the date is, Harry?" She asked patiently, though Harry had the slight feeling he was being patronised.

"Er, Halloween 1996?" he asked, not all that sure.

Madam Metcalfe gave him a curious look, "It's not yet 1943."

Harry's eyes widened and he gaped at her. "1943? You mean, I'm in 1943?"

"Well, no. It is still only October of 1942. October 2nd, specifically. You've been unconscious for two days."

He groaned, putting his head in his hands. This had to be some sort of joke. A sick joke. The lady furrowed her brow at him.

"Perhaps I should fetch the headmaster…" She said, walking away to her office.

Harry said nothing. He looked up and watched her leave. Damn his luck. He was somehow in the past. In 1942. He tried to remember what happened, but the last thing he knew he was leaving potions class before the Halloween Feast. He had planned on camping out in his dorm and skipping the meal.

He fell back onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "I hate Halloween." He muttered.

A few minutes later Madam Metcalfe returned from her office. She was joined by two men. One was short, with pale skin, deep set brown eyes and a thinning grey beard. His hair was neatly combed and whispy; and he relied on a crooked cane to stay upright. Harry was sure he recognised him from somewhere.

The other man was tall, with rich auburn hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard. His nose was crooked, and his eyes were a sparkling blue. Harry lit up in recognition. This was young Albus Dumbledore; slightly older than how he had looked in his Dumbledore's pensieve.

"Professor Dumbledore" he gasped, pushing himself up.

Dumbledore regarded him with a bemused expression. "Yes, hello young man."

"Thank goodness you're here, well, young you. Look, I don't belong here. I don't know how but I was sent back in time. I need to go back home." He rambled.

The other man furrowed his brow at Harry. "You can't expect us to believe that, boy." He said somewhat snappishly. "How do we know you aren't a Grindelwald spy? It was highly suspicious how you just appeared like that in the great hall."

"Come now Armando," Dumbledore spoke gently. "He is merely a boy. Can you prove this?" he directed at Harry.

Harry thought for a moment but shook his head. "I don't think so… you could give me truth potion?" he suggested weakly.

"You would be willing to take Veritaserum?" Albus asked.

Harry nodded. "I know it's crazy, but I'm telling the truth."

The other man, Armando, looked to Madam Metcalfe. "Go fetch Slughorn. Tell him to bring Veritaserum."

The lady nodded and hurried back to her office. Harry guessed she must have a floo in there.

"Well then young man, may we know your name?" Albus asked.

"…Harry." Harry said. "Harry Potter."

"Oh?" Dumbledore smiled, "May I ask, are you by any chance related to young Charlus Potter?"

Harry paused, "I think so? I don't exactly know much about my family." He frowned.

"I wouldn't doubt it; you look remarkably similar. Except those eyes. And your nose is straighter, I also see some Black family traits. Your cheek bones specifically. I recall the young Potter heir married miss Dorea Black a small handful of years ago." Dumbledore remarked. "What say you headmaster?"

The older man looked to Albus with a mildly annoyed expression, "I suppose. Could you prolong your questions until after he takes the potion, Albus?" he spoke sternly.

Harry blinked. He had never really been described that way. It was always 'You look like your father, with Lily's eyes.' He smiled a bit. "Well, Sirius did say that he and I were kind of related through my grandmother." He looked a little lost, remembering the conversation he and his godfather had about his family tree. He missed him.

"Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, disregarding the headmaster's wishes.

"Sirius Black," Harry elaborated, a longing smile upturning his lips, despite his sad eyes. "Oldest son of Walburga and Or-"

"Orion," Dumbledore's nose wrinkled. "Yes, I heard those two are betrothed."

"Nasty business, marrying cousins," Armando couldn't help but nod, a similar look of disgust playing his features. "Ah, Horace!" he declared, looking towards Madame Metcalfe's office.

The woman in question had appeared with a familiar man. Horace Slughorn approached them, a small vail of clear liquid in his hand and another of a darker liquid. The mediwitch decided to return to her office this time after directing Slughorn over to them.

"Headmaster," he addressed Armando, "I have what you asked. Would you mind telling me what this is all about?" he had that same curious, almost greedy glint in his eye as he looked at Harry.

"Thank you, Horace. Our John Doe needs to verify his story."

"My name's Harry." Harry said weakly.

"We shall see about that. Horace, would you?" Armando motioned for Slughorn to administer the potion.

Harry readily opened his mouth to allow a drop onto his tongue. After a moment he felt tired. His eyes drooped to a lazy, misty eyed look and he blinked slowly.

"What is your name?" The headmaster demanded.

"Harry James Potter." Harry said. It was a bland drawl, void of emotion, and Harry didn't even realise he was speaking.

Slughorn looked even more interested by that, "Potter, you say?" he piped up curiously, keen for more information.

"How did you come to be here?" Albus asked calmly, not paying much attention to the potion master.

"I don't know."

There was a brief silence, Albus and Armando glancing at one another, before Albus spoke again. "How old are you?"

"16 years old."

"What is your motive to be here?" Armando asked.

Harry stayed silent. He hadn't an answer.

"Are you really from the future, like you said?" he snapped.

"What?" Slughorn muttered and carefully watched Harry, that greedy glint in his eye growing.

"Yes."

"What year did you come from?" Albus asked quickly.

"1996."

"Does Grindelwald win the war?" Armando asked. Dumbledore looked at him with a pinched look.

"Professor Dippet, I don't think it is wise to ask such questions." He cautioned, but Harry replied anyway.

"No."

A sad smile formed on Dumbledore's face regardless of his previous thought. The satisfied smirk on Dippet's face was pointed at the taller man.

"I believe that is quite enough." Albus said. Dippet nodded reluctantly and Slughorn moved to give Harry the darker liquid.

Harry regained his emotions and wrinkled his nose at the taste of the antidote.

"So, you believe me now?" he asked.

Dippet nodded, "Yes. I apologise young man. These are dangerous times."

Harry accepted the apology. "I understand." He did, his own time being also one of war. "Can you send me back home?" he implored hopefully. "No offence, but I want to go back." He thought of his friends with a frown.

"Alas, Harry," Dumbledore said in such a way that Harry was instantly reminded of his older self. "The only way in which one can travel forward in time presently, is to merely live."

Harry frowned. All he could do was live out his life? He was fifty-four years in the past! He would be seventy by the time he got back to where he should be! And what of Voldemort? The Death Eaters? He was supposed to defeat them, but how could he when he was stuck in the past! But then, he thought once his brain calmed down a little, maybe this could work to his advantage… he would be an adult. He would have fifty more years of experience. Maybe this would be the 'power the dark lord knows not'.

"Rest assured, Harry," Albus broke the boy out of his musings, a strangely knowing look on his face as he stared into the boy's emerald eyes, "We will ensure our best to acquaint you with this time."

"Albus, where will he live?" Dippet asked, bringing up a topic Harry had yet to think of.

Dumbledore gave it thought, "I believe the ministry-"

"We cannot take this to the ministry, Dumbledore," Dippet snapped. "Who knows what those uptight fools will do with the boy. No, we keep this among ourselves. Do you hear that, Horace?" the aged wizard looked to Slughorn, who nodded eagerly.

"Of course, we can't let this get out." He spoke with that mostly harmless greedy tone he often used when around Harry back in Harry's own time. Guess some things don't change.

"I believe you have space for one more at your home, Albus, you never did have children, and the boy seems to know you already," Dippet trailed off, thinking.

Dumbledore had an unreadable look on his face but the sparkle in his eyes was far from gone. He mused aloud, "I suppose that might be suitable, it would be nice to have company over the summer…"

Harry, living with Dumbledore? The teen was too shocked by the suggestion to speak. He gaped at Dippet before he came back to his senses.

"He could pose as a relative of some sort. A distant cousin, something like that," Dippet continued, not looking at Harry. "Now living with you thanks to a Grindelwald attack."

"And as for school, he can enrol here," Slughorn added. "Can't he," he directed to Dippet as more of a request than a question. "He can't very well abandon his studies."

Dippet nodded. "Of course, Horace. That way we can keep an eye on him." He spoke as if Harry wasn't right there. It annoyed the teen just a little and he glared at the old man. "We will have to change his name, too. You said you are 16?" Dippet addressed Harry briefly.

Harry nodded.

"Good, good. What NEWTS have you chosen?"

"Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Potions" he noticed Slughorn grin at that but decided to just ignore him.

"You are looking to be an auror?" Dumbledore questioned and Harry nodded.

"Very well," Armando spoke flippantly, "We shall fix you a schedule for those classes. Onto the matter of your name. It would be unwise for you to remain Harry Potter."

"What about Evans? Jamie Evans?" Harry suggested after a moment. He wouldn't be traced easily with that name, and it was a nice tie to his parents.

Dippet nodded in acceptance. "Very well, Mr Evans. You were home schooled. Your parents died in an attack by Grindelwald and his followers. There was one in the paper last week. In Devon, I believe. Albus is a distant cousin so you were sent to live with him and enrolled here."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Erm, can I get up now? I'm not exactly ill or anything. I don't really like the hospital wing…" he admitted bashfully.

Dippet nodded. "Dinner is in three hours. We can use that time to get you supplies for the year. Professor Dumbledore can take you to Diagon Alley." He turned away and headed towards the great oakwood doors of the entrance.

"I look forward to seeing you in class, my boy," said Slughorn, following after the headmaster with a quick glance to Harry.

Dumbledore stayed put and smiled at Harry with those twinkling blue eyes. "Come along then, Jamie," he said kindly and Harry got out of bed. He retrieved his wand from the bedside table and smoothed out his clothing.

He was dressed in his school uniform, tie missing but stuffed into his pocket. He saw his shoes, robe, and school bag resting on the chair next to the bed and quickly rifled through his belongings, breathing a sigh of relief when he found his map and cloak safe. He also found he had small pouch full of galleons and sickles at the very bottom of the bag amongst some broken quills and lint. It wasn't much money, but he was thankful he had small amount at least.

"I don't have much money for supplies, professor," he informed Dumbledore nervously as he shoved his shoes on.

The professor shook his head, "Do not worry about that, Jamie. The there is a school fund for such cases in which a student finds themselves in financial difficulty," he explained as he began to walk towards the door. Harry followed quickly, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and folding his robe over his arm. It was chilly outside of the hospital wing, but he was wearing a jumper over his school shirt so wasn't cold. "And as for calling me professor," Dumbledore continued, "I think that while in private it would only be fair to allow you to call me Albus. After all, we are cousins, are we not?" He grinned down at the black-haired teen.

Harry blinked up at the man, "Um, sure. If that's okay with you… Albus." The name felt awkward to say but the man just nodded in approval.

They were heading towards the transfiguration corridor, Harry realised. It was a short walk there usually, but every so often a student would appear and ask Dumbledore a question about homework or something. They would usually look Harry over curiously before leaving. Harry noticed their uniforms were different to his. They were dark grey beneath their black robes. Blazers with coloured bands around the cuffs that matched their double striped ties gave away their house affiliations, and the Hogwarts crest was embroidered onto the left breast pocket. Harry was thankful that his bag at least matched what the other students were carrying. It was a satchel type bag, made from a dark brown fabric. It had lasted him a while, that bag. He was also thankful what he was wearing didn't make him stand out too much from the current time. The only thing that would have been a red flag of not belonging was the broken digital watch around his wrist, but that was covered by his sleeve.

"Professor Dumbledore," yet another student called out and Harry would have resigned himself to just look out the nearby window in boredom, but his scar started to ache. It was dull, not the usual sharpness it presented, and was more a sort of pressure. Looking up at the boy who had just walked up to them, Harry immediately knew why he was now in pain.