AN as always, thank you to my beta bbs, this'll normal schedule of uploads will be in effect after this chapter, but I wanted to publish this one now just to set the scene up fully. Next chapter next weekend, enjoy!

Chapter 2

"Hello, Headmaster."

Harry stood in the doorway to Dumbledore's office, so assaulted by the surrealism of the scene that he felt the need to sit down. He drank in the old wizard's face, reliving the countless times over the last seven years when he would've given anything just to be able to turn to the man for guidance. Dumbledore, for his part, was in rare form. Gone was the cool and aloof professor, replaced with an old man staring at Harry in blatant shock and unmasked disbelief.

"You can't be- James Potter?" He said after a moment's lame silence.

"You're right, I'm not," Harry said cheekily, suddenly full of an odd misplaced mirth. "Mind if I come in, professor? I reckon we've got a long chat ahead of us."

It only took the headmaster another moment to compose himself. He visibly straightened and his pleasant, unreadable mask fell back into place as he stood aside, waving Harry in.

Once they were both seated with the desk between them, reminiscent of so many nights in his sixth year, Harry found himself rather lost for words. Where to start? He had so many questions, and there were so many things he didn't even know how to form questions about. Dumbledore didn't seem too inclined to help, content as he was to take Harry in silently, the formidable cogs turning behind his blue eyes.

"Right, well… er- you're the second person today to think I'm James Potter back from beyond the grave," Harry said lamely.

"You do look remarkably similar, apart from the scars you could be his twin."

"And the eyes, I've got my mother's eyes." Harry parroted the old sentiment he'd been told so often as a child it had become trying. He could see Dumbledore's eyes zero in on his; see the dawning comprehension forming.

"Lily's eyes," they said in unison, one voice amazed the other almost bored.

"Yes, well, my name's Harry Potter, and in an odd turn of events the fact that no one seems to know who I am is about the most mundane part of the hell of a day I've had."

Dumbledore gaped at him, but again only for the briefest second before he remastered himself. The silence yawned between them for a heartbeat before finally, Dumbledore seemed willing to take the lead.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," he said helpfully, proffering a small, if tight, smile.

"It's quite a lot," Harry laughed, not even sure what to say, not sure what he wanted Dumbledore to say.

"Let's start with an abridged version of the events that led you to my office today," said Dumbledore. "Start with your birth…just broad strokes will suffice for now, I think."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair out of habit. "This…this is a lot, so perhaps we should mostly do this the easy way," he said. He locked eyes with Dumbledore and pushed images of his Occlumency lessons with Snape to the forefront of his mind, earning the barest hint of surprise from the headmaster. "It can only speed things up." A few breaths passed before the older man gave a stiff nod.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath before beginning. "I was born thirty-first of July, nineteen eighty, to James and Lily Potter. Then, in hiding from Voldemort in Godric's Hollow under the fidelius charm-"

"And how long ago was that?" the headmaster asked.

"Twenty three years, almost to the day," Harry said. "One of the many things I was hoping you could explain, professor." Dumbledore nodded, but explained nothing, simply gesturing for Harry to continue. Harry smirked, feeling as if he were back at Hogwarts and he had just defeated the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

So he launched into a mental recounting of the major life events that brought him here, conjuring his best memories of what he could for Dumbledore to peruse in his mind, starting with Voldemort's attack on his family that left him parentless and famous. He skipped most of his muggle childhood with a simple derogatory description of his aunt and uncle and an image of the cupboard under the stairs. Ever the keen eye, Dumbledore picked up on his hesitancy and a crestfallen look spread across his face.

"For what it's worth," Harry said, breaking the sudden tension that had spread throughout the room, "I never blamed you for it. Other things, yeah, later things…much later, but never that." Dumbledore smiled at him, that same smile Harry had etched into his mind as a child.

"That brings me comfort, my boy, it truly does. Even though it wasn't the me sitting before you, your memories are so vivid that I can't help but feel some sense of it all." Harry smiled.

"Tell me, professor, is Hogwarts as lively as it was when I experienced it? Voldemort possessing teachers, basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black escaping Azkaban, Triwizard tournaments…that sort of thing?"

"That's an awfully accurate picture of the last several years for someone who only just arrived," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard slightly. Harry pushed memories of his years at Hogwarts to the forefront of his mind, allowing the Headmaster to peruse through them in quick succession. Harry had no desire to vocally recount his years at Hogwarts. Too many memories of too many people he'd long since lost were mixed into that pandora's box and he'd much rather focus on the here and now.

"I've always thought Dolores Umbridge was a detestable woman," said Dumbledore, causing Harry to smirk again, but his face fell as he realized where he was in the story.

"That she is, though the horcruxes were the catalyst for everything," he said, almost in a whisper, pushing more memories of his sixth year to the front, the feeling that they brought back washing over him like a pool of cold water. Further they went, no words being spoken, just one man feeding memories to another, their eyes locked on each other in a silent conversation between minds.

"I had ordered professor Snape to kill me?" Dumbledore suddenly clarified.

"Yeah, but you were already dying, you'd been cursed by the protections on the Resurrection Stone." This seemed to be the point where it all became too much for his old headmaster to sit idle and listen. He pushed his chair back from his desk and began to pace the length of his office.

"Continue, Harry, continue," Dumbledore said absentmindedly, as if he was only half present. Realizing the older man would no longer be able to read his memories, Harry began telling the last of his tale. The toughest parts. The loss, the panic, the sense of desperation that engulfed them all as their hunt for the horcruxes drew to a dramatic crescendo.

"So he attacked the school," Dumbledore said, and it might have been helpful prodding or simply clarification, Harry couldn't tell.

"Yeah," Harry continued morosely, clearing his throat to prevent his voice from breaking. "I had Neville and the others clear out of the room of requirement, because I realized that I knew Ravenclaw's lost diadem was in there after talking to her daughter's ghost. We destroyed it and then…"

"And then?" Dumbledore echoed, halting his pacing and looking directly at Harry, hanging onto every word.

"And then…nothing," Harry said bitterly, a rarely tapped and never acknowledged well of self hatred springing forth. "I hit a wall."

-o-o-o-

The dust settled, the nebulous debris of the Great Hall's shattered windows fell away as Voldemort vanished from within the cloud. Harry's wand arm fell to his side, he rocked back on his heels, eyes turning up to the vaulted ceiling.

It was smooth light stone, the corners lost to shadow, no sign of the patchy clouds and blue spring sky beyond. He had never seen the ceiling through the enchantments, and he found himself staring up at it as the silence of the packed hall deafened.

It gave way soon, the first lamenting cry went up at the sight of the fallen, and then everyone began to move again. Several people approached Harry but he was only vaguely aware of them. He felt detached from the scene, like he'd never really come back from the forest.

He had failed…

A body collided with his, arms wrapping around him and constricting, anchoring him. He smelled flowers, it brought to mind every summer at the Burrow, every moment of happiness from his last year of school.

"Come on Harry." Ginny said, tugging on his arm, pulling him to the side of the hall. He went with her numbly, just a few steps, until he caught sight of the Weasleys gathered together by the dead. He stopped in his tracks, and Ginny did too after a step, turning back to look at him in concern.

"I can't," his voice broke, and he resisted her efforts to pull him that way. Her brow furrowed, and through the pain and grief in her eyes he could see concern and fear bubbling up. That made everything worse, the panic she felt, the suspicion. "I have to do something-" he watched the words send fresh waves of mistrust through her, "I'm going to help search the wreckage." He added quickly, pulling his hand free, and she let it go.

"Please don't leave us Harry." She said it quietly, barely audible over the din of cries and voices, and he knew she was asking him to stay with her.

"I'm not going anywhere," they would have time to talk, time to see what was between them, but now she needed to be with her family and he needed to get away from these bodies.

The victims of his failure.

He ignored the looks, ignored the few people that called out to him, his pace increased the further he got from them. Remus, Tonks, Fred… how many? They wouldn't know for hours, days maybe, he wasn't sure of the state of the castle. He cleared the Great Hall with his heart doing his best to crawl up his throat, and staggered into the Entrance Hall hyperventilating.

It was quiet here, impossibly quiet, the voices from the other room muffled by the thick oak doors. It was more than that though, it did not seem possible that things could be so quiet and still here, in the wake of what had just happened.

He was so preoccupied with drawing firm breath, it took him long seconds to realize he was not alone out here. Neville stood crying in the corner, by a suit of armor, he had a forearm up against the wall and leaned his head against it. Harry could tell he was crying from across the hall as his hunched shoulders shook with sobs.

"Neville," he called out to him, alerting him to his approach, and his friend composed himself with a massive sniff and turned to face him. His short lived calm broke at the sight of Harry and new tremors threatened to overtake him.

"I'm sorry Harry," he said weakly, voice wavering.

"For what Neville?" He pulled the boy, man really, away from the wall, slinging a brotherly arm over his shoulder. He felt stronger in the presence of his distraught friend, like he could focus himself in the pursuit of helping him in a way he couldn't do for himself.

"I tried. I really did-" Harry cut him off, knowing where this was going.

"I know, it's okay we'll get the snake, it's not your fault." Neville pulled in a massive sniffling breath, and then steeled himself in a way Harry had never seen the timid boy do. He nodded to Harry, and there was resolve in his eyes.

"What's next then?" He asked, a lieutenant looking for orders.

"For now," he gestured around the empty debris strewn hall, "we help."

"Harry-" they both turned at the low rumble of a voice summoning him. Kingsley strode across the hall from the grounds. He looked weary, was limping slightly, but the sight of him filled Harry with a giddy calm.

Here was a leader.

"Kingsley!" He returned the greeting, words giving way to laughter that was half relief, half nervous energy.

"Come on Potter," Kingsley clapped a hand on his shoulder, "we need to get you somewhere safe."

-o-o-o-

"The resistance never recovered from that battle, so close, we were so close. One horcrux left and Voldemort was beyond himself trying to figure out why I wasn't dead, why he couldn't kill me. He gave it up as a bad job. Turned his attention elsewhere. Up until then he'd pretty much brought England to its knees from the shadows. After showing himself at Hogwarts they made quick work of officially taking over."

"So if he paused his pursuit of you to focus on conquest, what came next? Did he move into Europe?" asked Dumbledore. Harry shook his head.

"No, never got the chance… Personally I don't think he ordered it, it wasn't really his style after so long in the background but- Kingsley and I went to the International Confederation of Wizards for help." He said hollowly, staring into the Headmaster's fireplace.

"They didn't take it seriously." There was no small bit of venom in his tone. "I told them about the horcruxes, it was time to do away with the secrets, the more people hunting him the better." He did not like how defensive his tone was.

"Anyway, we came back with nothing but promises of deliberation… They reconvened in Rome to address the issue of Voldemort once his conquest of England was well and truly confirmed, and the Death Eaters attacked. Twelve national representatives were killed, if memory serves, and the ICW took drastic action. Quite a feat of magic they performed, Hermione reckoned they had some way of tapping into all the magic users outside of England, everyone in the world. They put up wards, an invisible iron curtain that sealed off the British Isles. They locked us in there with him, Muggles and all, to prevent the spread of his power."

"My god-" Dumbledore said in horror, returning finally to his chair.

"Yeah… Well, naturally he went ballistic. Unleashed himself in London, all but razed it to the ground in a day. Wizards died by the thousands, muggles by the millions. The cat was out of the bag, the muggle and magic worlds were united and crushed under Voldemort's heel. But the wards held, and Voldemort was stuck; King of the Ashes." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Wasn't much left in the way of fighting. All of this happened in a matter of months after the fall of Hogwarts. We went underground, sometimes literally. Communities sprang up all over the place, none larger than a hundred or so people, muggle and magic mixed. A handful of purebloods that weren't already part of their crowd went over to avoid being hunted the rest of their lives. The half-bloods tried where they could, hid if they couldn't. And we all settled in, waiting to die off…" Silence fell for a spell, both men lost in thought. Harry could feel himself slipping into less clinical memories, felt the swell of unproductive and painful emotions before clearing his throat harshly. "So that's my story, care to explain what's going on here?"

Dumbledore blinked at him. "Oh, Harry! Forgive me, I was quite caught up in your tale, I completely forgot that you have quite a few questions of your own." He was so calm, so accepting of the outlandish events that Harry would laugh off as the rantings of a madman had he not lived them. He wondered, not for the first time, how the old professor did it.

"Yes, well, not to sound too much like a prat but… well, growing up I was something of a celebrity I guess. I mean I couldn't go anywhere without people gauping at my scar and elbowing their mates to get a look at Harry Potter."

"Yes I would imagine so, 'the boy who lived' was it? Well, here, you didn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"I think, for ease of conversation we'll refer to our conflicting recollections as two distinct timelines. That is to say, your timeline has led you to the here and now, and in this timeline Harry Potter did not survive that fateful night Voldemort attacked." Harry opened his eyes wide.

"I- … Wha- I'm dead?"

"This timeline's you, certainly."

"But… But how'd Voldemort get stopped, if I died that night?"

"A great mystery," Dumbledore nodded, as if agreeing with a statement Harry had made rather than answering a question. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop the retort that formed on his tongue. He knew virtually nothing about this timeline, as Dumbledore put it, so he couldn't jump to any conclusions.

"I had my theories, one of which is the same one your Dumbledore believed, but I could never quite figure out why you died that night if your mother's sacrifice was what brought Voldemort to his end. I think your appearance now will be most elucidating in that regard." The headmaster sat back in his chair with a soft sigh.

"It's most interesting, the parallels our two timelines share. Everything leading up to the death of your parents seems to be the same. I did, for example, believe that Sirius Black was their secret keeper until long after their death, only recently learning otherwise," he said, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes before dimming slightly.

"Though many mourned the loss of the Potters, the end of Voldemort's reign of terror drowned it out, and without a boy who lived to champion the end of the war, many have forgotten the particulars of that Halloween night. Children did not grow up hearing your name nor did parents tell tales of how you survived. I would wager that the average witch or wizard could not even tell you where it was that Voldemort met his end nor who he killed that night." Dumbledore looked up at Fawkes for a long moment in contemplation before turning back to Harry. "Though it seems young Neville Longbottom has filled your place in the story quite neatly."

Harry lost track of time as Dumbledore proceeded to tell him the most bizarre and warped story of his own life. Events that he knew well, yet here in this timeline, his place was taken by Neville, like some wrong boy who lived. The similarities were striking in their detail, with the sole difference being Harry's removal from the events.

"That does bring us to the here and now. I have been gathering information for years now, trying to prove that Tom Riddle had indeed set out to gain immortality in this most dark of ways. After the diary, I was almost certain my suspicions were correct, and with your story I get not only confirmation but an exact account of the number and location of his horcruxes." He beamed at Harry then.

"This summer has been less than productive on that front, what with Sirius and the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, so it is a great relief to have that matter so drastically sorted," Dumbledore said with a small chuckle.

"Are we going to stop him then? Round up the horcruxes and try to end it before he can come back?" Harry asked, sitting up in his chair. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but suddenly excited by the potential Dumbledore was presenting.

"It is a complex issue, one I think will not be resolved tonight." Dumbledore said evasively. "We find ourselves in the most advantageous position Voldemort's opposition has ever been in. As long as we do not change too much, we can operate with a shockingly accurate account of what our enemy is going to do next. It will take a lot of care and planning to leverage this advantage in the best way."

The old man sighed, briefly looking his age before straightening up again. "With what we know, we can protect Mr. Longbottom much better than you were in your timeline...I hope. Your experiences in the Triwizard Tournament and with Barty Crouch Jr. gives us a template by which to work, one I intend to fully take advantage of. I dare say, Alastor Moody will understand, if we can stop Voldemort more quickly this time."

"Now," he continued, not giving Harry the chance to butt in. "Time is getting on, and I'm most interested in this room you claim is but a few doors down, and which has housed a horcrux right under my nose for many years now."

-o-o-o-

They had made straight for the Room of Requirement, dispatching the lost diadem of Ravenclaw in the Headmaster's office within a quarter of an hour of their conversation. It lacked the murderous flair of the locket or diary, and without the added drama of wild Fiendfyre the whole affair was rather anticlimactic.

"When are we getting the rest?" Harry asked in Dumbledore's office, the remains of the headwear still smoking slightly on the desk where it had been cleaved in two with Gryffindor's sword.

"Well, the locket should be a simple enough matter, we can bring Sirius back into the country, and gain access to his family home. The ring too, we should prioritize in the coming weeks, I think." Dumbledore was seated at his desk, but was gazing over at the sword on display as he spoke.

"I have an idea for the snake." Harry said excitedly, sitting forward in his chair, "it was at the graveyard, if we get the rest before the end of the year we can end it there. Get him just as he's coming back." Dumbledore laughed, it was not mocking, but it did pull his gaze over to Harry with a familiar twinkle in his eye.

"An ambitious goal," he chuckled, and Harry's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he took in the Headmaster's tone. "Certainly one to work towards but what worries me now is Helga's cup, if it truly is ensconced in the Lestrange vaults, getting to it is our biggest hurdle to date I would imagine."

Harry sat back in his chair, weighing his words, and after a few too many seconds of silent observation Dumbledore's blue eyes moved off him again.

"We broke into Gringotts once already," Harry said neutrally, "it could be done again."

"Certainly," Dumbledore murmured, contemplatively, almost to himself. "But I think that plan of attack will be a last resort. If our efforts here prove fruitful it will be in an entirely different political climate than when you performed your heist. One that would be far less forgiving."

Harry nodded but did not write off the potential for a second break in, nor did he press the issue though, because talking of Gringotts reminded him of a far less pressing matter.

"Have enough sway with your brother to get me a room?" He asked with a grin, enjoying the solitary blink that belayed the venerable old wizard's surprise. "Apparently my vault's been sealed, haven't a knut to my name."

"Oh, well, luckily enough the Potter vault was remanded to me on the arrest of Sirius Black." Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Your father intended it to go toward the cause should anything happen to you, and as the war ended with him, I had the contents moved to my accounts to put toward the muggleborn scholarship fund. We can have the vault reopened and the transfers made, my boy, no trouble. As for lodging, I imagined you would stay in the castle?"

"What, live here?" Harry asked. The idea was not the most thrilling. At one time he had wanted nothing more than to stay on the grounds year round, but that was before the Battle of Hogwarts filled its. halls with ghosts of a different sort.

"Yes, to stay close to the action, as it were. We have several vacant classrooms, most of the upper floors have attached quarters, you may take your pick." The Headmaster stood, perhaps intending for Harry to find a bed now as it was getting rather late.

"What about when the other teachers arrive?" He was not particularly looking forward to a brush with Snape, even if his old potions teacher had somewhat redeemed himself in the end.

"Oh we'll cook up something in the meantime." Dumbledore smiled at him, moving toward the door, Harry stayed seated, looking up at the man in bemusement. "I'd recommend contemplating your preferred subject as well."

"What…teaching?" Harry laughed incredulously, he couldn't be a teacher. The idea was ludicrous, and yet a small quiet voice in the back of his mind was asking 'why not?'.

"Of course, I have no doubt you've acquired vast skills and knowledge in your fascinating life." Dumbledore responded good naturedly, now holding his office door open, and Harry finally stood. "Bright and early tomorrow, Harry, we have a lot to do in the next few weeks."

So Harry found himself in his new home, a spare classroom on the second floor, down the east corridor, a vaguely familiar room Harry remembered spending some time in during his 4th year. The classroom was not large, he'd wandered in at random, and after ascending the spiral stair in the attached office he picked it for the view of the grounds from the living quarters. It was dark out the windows, true night had fallen, but he was not gazing out at the treeline of the Forbidden Forest.

In the quiet solitude of the room he dropped onto the edge of the bed and hunched over. The day felt like it had stretched into years, he felt the aches of his damaged body, and the dull grating pain he'd struggled to avoid acknowledging all day. He let that sorrow out to breathe a bit as he sat alone in his room, let it swell in his throat and sting the corners of his eyes.

He teetered on the edge of collapse, pushed back the moment that a sob would slip free, if only to hold onto the vaguest denial of reality for a little longer. He could not think of her, or it would all fall apart, but it was inevitable. He was only prolonging it as he sat with his head in his hands in the barren room.

He pulled in a labored breath, ready to whisper her name into the room and break down, but he was interrupted.

Tap tap tap.

He jumped, whirling toward the darkened window.

"Hedwig?!"