Harry awoke to a pounding headache and the feeling that he had done something very stupid and that he couldn't take it back. His mouth tasted like cotton sock, and somehow, an angry goblin with a sledgehammer had made himself welcome in his head.

He blinked blearily and sat up. Everything was blurry without his glasses, but he squinted and managed to make out, a curtain? Weird. He turned around and began groping for his glasses on the bedside table. It wasn't here, it wasn't there, and Harry could feel the threads of panic starting to wrap around his tight throat.

What happened last night? he asked himself miserably. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry whipped around, hand reaching for a wand that wasn't there.

"Looking for these?" the person asked, with his glasses in hand.

That voice sounded awfully familiar. Low, pleasant, and patient. Harry shakily slipped his glasses on and blinked at what he saw. Albus Dumbledore, younger than Harry had ever seen him, smiling serenely. Albus Dumbledore, who had died six years ago, standing here alive and well.

Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, and he returned to the blissful black.

Albus stared at the boy who had suddenly fainted and frowned. Was he really that frightening? Perhaps Albus looked intimidating. He would go change into the purple, polka-dotted robe that he had received as a joke present instead. No one could be scared of a man wearing purple polka-dots.

Harry awoke for the second time that day. He blinked again. Albus was still standing there. He was wearing a familiar polka-dotted robe, but yes, he was still there. Not a dream then. Maybe a hallucination? Harry poked Albus cautiously. Solid. Warm.

"I'm real," he said to Harry's unvoiced concern.

"Oh," said Harry, "I fainted then?"

"Yes," replied Albus sympathetically. "You won't do that again, will you?"

Harry blushed, "No! I'm sorry. I haven't fainted for years, since I was thirteen even."

He didn't count the time last year Hermione was giving birth, and Ron and he had unwisely decided to stay and support Hermione during the painful process. Ron had fainted as soon as the baby's head became visible. Harry soon followed him on the floor. But if you asked either of them, the whole incident had never occurred. Anyone who said otherwise was just begging to be Lockhart-ed.

"May I ask," Albus said delicately, "what happened last night?"

Harry furrowed his brows. Yesterday. What had...oh.

Last Night, with Harry:

Harry landed with a thump on his backside. He stared upwards at the pinkish swirling vortex that had just deposited him rather ungracefully. Harry noticed with a vague sense of interest (shock was a wonderful buffer; it made everything seem so distant and unimportant and not now so don't worry, Harry) that the vortex was gradually shrinking. With a small pop!, it vanished.

"Oh," said Harry, finally snapping out of it, "bugger."

20 minutes and a daring escape from the Ministry later found Harry on a bench with his head between his knees. He'd be fine. In a minute or so. Right. First step, when in doubt, assess the situation, like Moody taught him.

I am stranded in the past with no visible way of getting home, nothing but my wand and the clothes on my back, and no idea what to do.

He checked his pocket and smiled wanly. Alright, fine, and a small sack of galleons. Better than nothing, Harry supposed.

My emotional state is, oh hell, I'm not answering that. I am currently located outside the Three Broomsticks Inn. In 1942.

Goddamnit. They sure as HELL do not have situations like this in the manual.

Harry slapped himself and took a deep yoga breath. Okay, calm down, Potter. You can do this. He just needed...a plan! Harry glanced toward the pub, practically empty because of the current war-time situation. He glanced back at a puddle at his feet that reflected a haggard and panicked face. His haggard and panicked face. Harry stood up. The plan would wait. He was way too sober to be dealing with this right now.

"I remember getting drunk. Like really drunk. Like Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, maybe this fourth glass is a bad idea, drunk," answered Harry. "And...nothing else. I was hoping maybe you could tell me what happened?"

Albus stroked his beard (shorter than Harry remembered and with streaks of auburn, this was so weird). "Well..." he said.

Last Night, with Albus:

Albus was on his nightly patrol when he heard shouting. He immediately followed the sound, his heart beating faster. Was it another one of Gellert's supporters? Albus rounded the corner only to encounter a curious sight. A black-haired wizard facing two other violent-looking men. By the way the boy was swaying and the slurred speech, Albus guessed he was more than a little tipsy. One of the attackers snarled at the boy's comment and raised his arm to cast a spell. Albus opened his mouth the warn the green-eyed boy.

There was no need. Before his attacker could even get out the first syllable of his spell, the boy had cast a linked spell. Judging by the almost rope like, helical twist and reddish color of the spells, he had used Expelliarmus, Stupefy, and Incarcerous. Albus was more than impressed. In fact, his eyes had taken on a speculative gleam.

With another hiccup, the young wizard incapacitated the other man. Suddenly, his head whipped around and his eyes found Albus'. Albus tensed.

"And then?" Harry asked, almost dreading the answer. Please let his chronic idiocy to have been on break last night, please.
Albus blinked. "I'm...not quite certain myself."

After Harry had unceremoniously thrown up on his shoes, Albus decided to be the good Samaritan he was and find the boy some lodging. Harry had one arm slung around Albus' shoulders and was currently using him as a walking stick of sorts.

"You're real nice," said Harry. His breath smelled of beer, and he stared mistily at the increasingly uncomfortable man. Stare straight ahead, Albus. Don't make eye contact.

"Would you marry me?" asked Harry, eyes wide as if he had discovered something terribly important, like sliced bread.

Albus stopped in his tracks, "Pardon me?"

Harry continued, "I know I'm supposta go off an' marry a pretty r-redhead to have lots an' lots a kids, but please. Thasso, so unoginarl, unorigial - boring, righ' Albus? Like, whoa, s'all been done before."

Silence.

"Oh, wassat too sudden? You're not oblijated, obrigrated - you don't hafta say yes."

Harry said horrified, "I am SO sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

Albus smiled, and suddenly Harry remembered just why Albus had been called a "manipulative old coot" and "senile but slippery as a snake" so many times before.

"Um," Harry said timidly. "Can I just give you some money and we'll call it even?"

Albus was still smiling and oh my god, the twinkly eyes, they are back.

"No."

Author's Note

Been a while, hasn't it? Hope I haven't disappointed you all with this chapter.

Review! Point out any mistakes, typos, gaping plot holes!