When Albus Dumbledore had been asked to go to the Headmaster's office after the Welcoming Feast, he had to admit he had been quite curious.

As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything warranting that. Not yet anyway.

It did occur to him on his way that, perhaps this had nothing to do with him and that, maybe, it had more to do with the badge he now had on his robe. So, quite naturally, he had spent the rest of his walk to the seventh floor pondering what it could possibly be.

It seemed that Option 3, a transfer student, was the correct answer.

Albus turned his head and looked at the wizard sitting in front of the Deputy Headmaster. Said man was blankly looking at him.

Albus extended his hand and genially smiled. "How do you do? My name is Albus Dumbledore. Welcome to Hogwarts."

The brunette stared at the hand in front of him.

After a few tense seconds, he took his hand and weakly shook it.

"D-Dumbledore. As-as in… that Dumbledore?"

"So you've heard of him." Professor Dippet seemed pleased. "What was it, his essay on the nature of magic or his more recent work concerning the vanishing charm? Excellent work on that by the way."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have to say, it's not everyday that somebody as young as you are gets his work published on Transfiguration Today. You can be proud of yourself."

Albus accepted the praise with a nod. Still, considering his new housemate's white face, he doubted that was how this wizard has heard of the Dumbledore name. In fact, it was quite clear to him how he had.

Albus inwardly sighed. Would he ever leave his father's shadow or was he condemned to always be nothing but the son of that Azkaban's prisoner?

"If you have heard of me, I'm afraid that I haven't quite caught your name."

"I'm afraid I haven't either." Professor Dippet checked the papers in front of him. "Let's see… Harry Potter, is that correct?" he asked as 'Harry Potter' startled. "I should have known, you do look like a Potter."

"D-Do I?" he weakly wondered.

The older man nodded. "Now, I will not keep you here longer than necessary. Mister Potter, if you have any question, I'm sure your housemate will be delighted to answer them. Mister Dumbledore, I leave Mister Potter in your capable hands. I'm sure the two of you will get along splendidly."

Albus wished he could share Professor Dippet's optimism. That in less than a month his new classmate would be a friend the same way his other housemates have become, and that he'd feel quite at home here.

Unfortunately, the boy's utterly empty eyes were telling a completely different story.


It took several minutes for Harry to recover. By the time Harry had come back to his sense, he was following the red-haired like some lost puppy in Gryffindor's tower.

The prefect was explaining that, contrary to popular beliefs, Hogwarts staircases did have a pattern but Harry wasn't listening to him at all. In fact, Albus Dumbledore could have told him 'nitwit, oddment, blubber and tweak' to his face, he wasn't sure he would have reacted.

Alright, maybe he would have burst to tears.

"What day is it?" Harry finally interrupted the boy.

Albus Dumbledore blinked at the non sequitur. "Monday."

Harry painfully closed his eyes and looked down. "I hate Mondays," he whispered under his breath.

"I rather enjoy Mondays myself," Albus lightly said. "New week, new beginning."

The time traveller burst to laugh.

He could agree on beginnings, but new?

Albus frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. I'm just-just tired."

Actually, he felt like he was drowning. Sirius, the Department of Mysteries, the trap, his friends getting hurt, the time travel, Dumbledore. After everything, he got the distinct impression he would shatter in a million pieces if he wasn't careful.

"In that case, let me show you Gryffindor's dormitories. I suppose you came a long way."

"You can say that." His left eyebrow violently twitched. "Frankly, I'd like to sleep and not wake up for… decades. A-a century even."

"I do not recommend," he lightly said. "The new century would be a completely different world, or so I hope, and the workload unbearable. Forgive my curiosity but where do you come from if I may?"

But Harry was done. "It's a long story." He couldn't stop himself from yawning. "A-Ask me tomorrow?"

"I will," Albus promised. "I suppose I should warn you though. Our housemates rather enjoy new things." As they finally saw the Fat Lady, he went back to his explanations. "This woman here is the portrait protecting our quarters. To enter we need to give her a password. She takes her duty seriously so it is important that you do not forget it. At the moment, it is Tempora mutantur."

The Fat Lady opened the door.

"Et nos mutamur in illis but the second part is optional," he finished with a smile.

Harry ignored him and entered Gryffindor's Common Room.

"The boys' dormitories are on the ones on the lef-"

"Good night."

Harry walked to the stairs. He turned left. He opened the door and entered the Fifth Year's dormitories.

He fell on his four-posters bed and with a weary flick of his wand closed the curtains.

Finally, he took the pillow, put it over his head and screamed.

He had time-travelled. And not a few measly years back. Oh no, that would have been far too easy. A single look at Albus Bloody Dumbledore was enough to know he was in deep shit.

He couldn't be older than fifteen. And Harry may have no idea how old the Headmaster actually was, he had the feeling Professor Dumbledore was a hundred years old.

Minimum.

On the bright side, he weakly tried to console himself, he didn't need to look after him anymore. That had to count for something.

Right?

And he supposed he had travelled far enough he didn't need to worry about his utter lack of fake identity.

If he was being honest, he had been so focused on bullshitting his way into Hogwarts he hadn't considered he had signed the documents with his real name. Still, Potter was a rather common muggle name and Harry even more so, he tried to console himself. Like John Smith really, he weakly added. All he had to do was to add a few lies there and there and nobody would know any better.

Right?

Harry shakily put his hand over his mouth. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Honestly, he didn't quite know what he had been expecting. In the best case scenario, he supposed he would have hoped for Professor Dumbledore to fix everything with a flick of his wand. And if he couldn't, he would have told him not to worry too much, that he'd find a way for him to go home and here's the fakest fake identity ever, my dear boy. Now, put the Hat on and try not to change history too much while you go to class with Tom Riddle/your parents. Come on now, off you pop.

Except there was no Professor Dumbledore here, was there? There wouldn't be a Professor Dumbledore until Harry was at minimum eighteen/twenty something. That red-haired wasn't Professor Dumbledore. He was Albus Dumbledore, the bright student. Albus Dumbledore, the Fifth Year prefect.

Albus Dumbledore who didn't remotely look like Professor Dumbledore.

Except the eyes, he supposed.

Question was, could he tell Baby Dumbledore he was a time traveller?

Harry mentally berated himself. Of course he could! The fact that Professor Dumbledore was young didn't mean this wasn't the same man. And if Harry would have trusted a sixteen years old Hermione Granger to find a way out of this mess, it should go without saying he could do the same with Albus Dumbledore.

Harry suddenly regretted not telling him he was a time traveller as soon as the two of them had been alone but he had been too busy not losing it to think about the long term. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. He'd tell him tomorrow.

How was he going to convince him he actually was a time traveller and not some raving lunatic though?


Albus looked at the wizard's haggard face the next morning. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I had a lot in my mind."

He had turned the problem in his head over and over. How to approach the subject, how to convince the boy this wasn't some joke and very, very serious. How much he was allowed to say about the future, Harry's past. If he could, somehow, find a way to change history for the better. If he should.

"And now I have a headache."

Albus Dumbledore winced in sympathy. "It sometimes happens to me as well."

"And how do you deal with it?" Harry sighed and tiredly pinched his nose.

"Usually," he replied as they entered the Great Hall, "I try to avoid over-thinking to avoid such problem. If I can't find the answer immediately, I let the cauldron simmer." He sat in Gryffindor's table.

Harry followed and grabbed the first thing he saw out of reflex. "And what do you do when you're terrible at potion?"

"I'm afraid I am rather good at potion so I cannot answer you."

"Of course," he said as he summoned the pitch of pumpkin juice. "Silly me."

"We have potion this morning, in fact." The red-haired searched his pockets and retrieved a timetable. He took his wand, pointed at the parchment and gave the copy he's just made to Harry. "Potion and Transfiguration."

Harry, still on autopilot, thanked the wizard and glanced at the timetable. "How are the professors?"

"Professor O'Connor, that is the Transfiguration Mistress, is an excellent professor but a rather firm woman. I recommend not trying to cause disturbance in the classroom. Potion Master Prince is just as strict, but I suppose this is normal considering the subject he's teaching us." Harry sharply nodded. "As for the electives, I'm afraid I do not know which ones you picked."

"Oh." He closed his eyes. "Care of magical creatures and… and Divination."

"Divination?" His lips curled and Harry turned to him. "My apologies." The prefect tapped the timetable with his wand and new classes appeared. "This is just a very peculiar class."

Harry shrugged. Truth be told, he was terrible at divination and had only seen it as a joke.

But the lines of prophecies in the Department of Mysteries had made him realize that prophecies were actually a very big deal. And with him being mentioned in one...

"The… Knowing the future..." The prefect's eyes shined in amusement and Harry sighed. "I don't have the sight, I know that." Or maybe he did, in a roundabout way. "But seers are real. I've seen it, and I want to understand."

"Of course," the prefect indulged.

"I suppose you didn't pick Divination."

"You suppose well. I chose Care of magical creatures, Runes and Arithmancy. I hope to pick Alchemy next year but, alas, there is only this option when demand is sufficient."

Harry took a sausage and blinked. "And how many students does that make?"

"Five. From what I gather, we're only four so far interested in this noble art."

He shrugged and started eating. "The year's just begun. Maybe one more student will suddenly realize they need to learn it."

He didn't notice the wizard pensively looking at him when he said, "I suppose you're right. And, of course, I haven't given up on convincing another student. "


The out-of-body experience he's been under ever since he had come here only got worse when, over two glasses of pumpkin juice, he managed to finally learn the date via the newspaper.

1896.

The second of September but what the hell. Harry was literally a century in the past.

He obediently followed the Prefect to the dungeons for their first potion class, unable to even listen to the red-haired who was trying to show him the castle.

"You seem be to rather ill," Albus finally said as they reached the dungeons.

Harry shook his head and tried to bring himself back to reality. "Like I said, I'm tired. Don't worry though, I'm listening."

"It just wouldn't do you any good to get lost on your way to class."

"I won't."

"You did say you were not at ease with Potions earlier. What are the problems you have with the subject?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "The teacher."

"Well then," he brightly said, "Professor Prince will probably do wonder to you! I did say he is strict, but he is also excellent at the subject he is teaching."

"A good Potion Master is not necessarily a good teacher."

The prefect nodded and opened the door to the Potion classroom. "True, very true. It is just our luck we are blessed to be taught by a man who is both."

And, apparently, when the teacher wasn't breathing down his neck, Harry could be good at it. Oh, he hardly was a genius, but he did sit his OWLs so he was a year ahead compared to the rest of the class.

Dumbledore, who had decided be his potion partner and yet had done nothing but observe him, seemed rather happy with their forgetfulness potion.

"Not how I would have done it, but it will work like a charm all the same."

Harry cleaned his hands with the towel and shrugged. "And how would you have done it?"

"You see, if you had turned the potion threes time clockwise instead of five times counter-clockwise, I suspect that-"

"Mister Dumbledore." Professor Prince, a man Harry couldn't help but feel like he should recognize him, painfully closed his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to play Potion Master with your classmates?"

"This year? I do believe this is the first time, sir."

"Five points from Gryffindor. You're the student here, not the teacher."

When the man left, Harry numbly looked at the innocent-looking wizard next to him.


When, two hours later, Harry and Albus Dumbledore both left Transfiguration, Harry couldn't stop himself from shaking his head.

"What's wrong?"

"My Transfiguration Professor would have kicked you out of class," he just said as they went for lunch.

Not even Hermione would have dared to correct Professor McGonagall. She was the teacher and she was just the student. And yet, by the end of this class, Harry had the distinct impression the role had been switched.

Oh, he had been unbelievably polite, but still.

The prefect frowned as they entered the Great Hall. "I fail to see what I did wrong. I just believe that the method of learning every aspect of what to transfigure is outdated and not very effective. In fact, I do think you vanished your mouse the way I think is best. It was remarkable if I say so myself."

Harry shook his head and couldn't stop a smile as he sat for lunch. "Good God, you're such a teacher."

"You think so?" Albus asked as he did the same.

"I know so," he laughed. "Have you always been like that?"

After learning during two bites of beef that, yes, Albus Dumbledore's always tried to help his little brother with homework and his housemates with transfiguration, Harry checked his time table and noticed they were supposed to have Care of Magical Creatures and Charms.

He supposed it could have been worse. Yes, Albus Dumbledore was a kid and he was a century in the past. Still, he hadn't been sent to the founders' era nor did he have to endure Tom Riddle.

After class, Harry would tell him he was a time traveller, he decided as they finally left the castle for class. He didn't know how he was going to convince him he wasn't barmy but he had to try anyway. He may be out of his depth, but it could hardly hurt to tell him the truth. It wasn't as if Albus Dumbledore was some wizard bent on world domination or somebody who wanted to enslave muggles after all.

Harry could do it. He could tell Dumbledore and survive there until he could go back home and save his friends. It certainly wasn't going to be easy, but he could do it. Everything was going to be fine.

Harry was so busy convincing himself he didn't notice what he was doing until it was too late.


Harry Potter was a queer wizard, Albus thought.

When he had left Professor Dippet the day before with the new student, he admitted he had been terribly curious. So, as the wizard had been rather unresponsive to his questions, he confessed he had tried to use legimency on him.

First he had gotten nothing. His head had been completely empty. Truly, this was an amazing occlumens he was facing. Still, as he hadn't been caught, he had pushed a bit further and had finally heard 'Not in Kansas anymore'. That and 'rebooting', whatever that meant.

Albus may have never been to America, he's heard enough tales from his mother who had spent her entire childhood there to get a good idea of who Harry Potter was.

As Professor Dippet had remarked, he did look like a Potter, one of the Sacred Twenty-Nine. Still, considering where he was from, he was most certainly a half-blood like him. The wizard might try to deny his origins like many Americans of mixed breeding though. So it was better for Albus to play dumb and pretend he was going to believe whatever story he was going to give.

Now, his appearance, Albus continued his deduction as reading his muggle hero had taught him. Rather recent clothes. Very modern cut in fact. He'd have to wear Hogwarts' uniform but money definitely wasn't a problem for him.

Finally, the most peculiar physical attribute after his emerald eyes was the scar adorning his forehead.

Albus would need to take a closer look to confirm his suspicions, but he could swear he's felt magic radiating from it. Cursed scar, most certainly. He was terribly curious and wanted to how he got it but considering how the boy seemed to make a point in hiding it behind his hair, he seriously doubted he'd tell him if he asked.

Meaning he would have to find out by other means.

Albus turned his head and blinked when he saw the new student had stopped following him.

He was utterly still, he remarked. Shoulders tense, fist tightened, head looking down, if Albus didn't know better he'd say the man was carrying the weight of an entire world on his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Harry raised his head and Albus faced once more these unnerving empty eyes.

"I've just stepped on a butterfly."