Professor Potter

"I don't really think the wands are necessary," Harry said nervously.

"I do," said James Potter.

The two of them sat in identical chairs, separated only by a foot or so of space, in front of the Headmaster's desk. From the opposite side of the desk, Dumbledore watched them with eyes Harry considered too cheerful for the mood of the room.

Since the moment the headmaster introduced him as Professor Potter, James's wand had been out of its holster. The fact it had been in a holster at all stuck out to Harry, who eyed the worn leather affixed to the left side of Jame's chest, positioned in the exact spot Auror's were trained to use for the best range of motion. The holster was shabby in a well-used way.

"There will be no curses flying around my office," Dumbledore assured Harry. "And if there are, I dare say they won't be flying very far. Please, relax."

Harry was tempted to point out that the distance between him and James also wasn't very far. They were close enough that if the man chose to attack, Harry would be hard-pressed to counter it in time. Which was why his own wand was out, just like James's, just in case. When James refused to lower his, Harry did the same.

Heedless of the tense atmosphere, Dumbledore continued to speak.

"I first encountered Professor Potter just the other day giving a wonderful unscheduled lecture in Hogsmeade as I went for dinner. The wisdom he showed was exceptional, enough that I offered him the Muggle Studies position on the spot. However, as I interacted with him, I couldn't help but notice Professor Potter's last name… as well as his very distinctive, awfully recognizable appearance."

"What are you suggesting, Albus," said James. "That he's my long lost twin?"

"Wouldn't that be fantastic?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Though to tell the truth, what I was suggesting was my hope that Professor Potter himself could clear up this strange coincidence for us."

Both of them looked at Harry, who took a deep breath.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said.

"Bullshit!" snarled James, who looked liable to curse him on the spot. Only Dumbledore raising his hand for calm stopped him from following through. Harry expected a violent reaction. Claiming the same name as a man's celebrity son was bound to come off as a sort of sick joke.

"Does my name bother you?" Harry asked, feigning innocence, which was fortunately something he'd grown skilled at over the years. "It's the one I was raised with. By Muggles, see. Distant relatives who took me in when something happened to my parents while I was young."

"Where'd you learn to use magic?" James asked, visibly unconvinced.

"I was homeschooled."

Dumbledore coughed slightly, as if a lemon drop had gotten too close to the back of his throat. "You must have grown up in a truly extraordinary home then," he said, clearly remembering Harry's dueling from the Three broomsticks.

It was outrageous as far as lies went. It sounded nearly impossible. But Harry had put thought into it, and this was his best bet. There was no way anyone would believe he had been to Hogwarts; James would've been at school at the same time based on their ages, and Dumbledore never forgot a student. His other options would be disproved almost as easily. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would have no record of him, and he couldn't even speak a word of the languages. Ilvermorny was his best bet. But he talked with the accent of a born-and-raised British boy, making it hardly convincing. Claiming to be self-taught or tutored, as improbable as it may be, would be the hardest thing to disprove, simply because it was so vague.

In the spirit of this, Harry modestly told Dumbledore, "I did my best with what I had."

"I suppose it explains your knowledge about Muggles. And, indeed, your perspective," admitted the Headmaster. "Some things, no textbook can teach like experience."

"True that," Harry said.

"Albus. Don't tell me you actually buy this crap."

Both of them looked back at James Potter. Despite addressing the headmaster, he was clearly looking only at Harry, the sight of whom only seemed to be making him angrier.

"I believe that he means well," Dumbledore said. "He's shown nothing but respect toward those who deserve it over the days that I've known him."

"You know," James said angrily, "other than walking around using the name of my dead son."

The words hit Harry like a curse. They thundered deafeningly through his head, so loud that he failed to follow what either of the men said next. He couldn't process it. He couldn't understand it.

Harry Potter… Dead?

Ever since James Potter appeared in front of him, upright and alive, he'd come to terms with the fact that this wasn't simple time-travel. Things around him were different from the past he knew in key, permanent ways. All the same, he had an entire conversation with Rosmerta about what his past self was up to. There was simply no way that Harry Potter couldn't exist here!

"He can't be dead!" Harry said.

He must've interrupted something James was saying, because the man looked at him with his mouth still open.

"I think I would know if I had to bury my own baby," James said coldly.

"But… But I had a whole conversation about— The Boy Who Lived cannot be dead!"

Dumbledore tilted his head, looking intrigued. But James's face lost all expression.

"Neville Longbottom is the Boy Who Lived," he said. "Harry Potter is the Boy Who Didn't. So the next time you come around, introducing yourself with that damn name and looking at me with those damn green eyes, I'll curse you until you're set straight."

He stood abruptly, giving Albus one harsh nod and walking from the room, his robes fluttering behind his body. Harry was too shocked to watch his retreating form, but Dumbledore did so with a somber expression.

"You'll have to forgive James," he said. "He is a good man most of the time, but in your name and your appearance, he sees both his dead wife and child. It's no surprise that it opened old wounds." He leaned forward over his desk, tilting his head forward to look at Harry across the tops of his spectacles. "I confess, this conversation has made me very curious about something. You connected Neville Longbottom with Harry Potter. Most, even friends of the Potters, wouldn't understand that significance. But I do."

"The prophecy," Harry said mutely.

"Well, now my curiosity is just soaring. Let me ask you again, Harry, with just the two of us here. Who are you?"

Harry took a deep, long breath. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that this whole thing had him in over his head. He trusted his skills, but without Nott to interrogate, he couldn't understand his situation properly.

Was it the past? That was where Nott had been trying to reach, and certainly everyone was much younger here, while many who died in the second war still walked and talked. But there were also differences that Harry's trip through time couldn't account for. 

What happened at Godric's Hollow two decades before the year he arrived in was different from what it should've been. James Potter was still alive. Neville Longbottom was the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had two options. He could keep weaving lies, getting himself progressively deeper as he did his best to fool everybody, all of the time. Or he could pick someone — someone trustworthy — and come clean.

For all the faults Dumbledore may've had, Harry still believed he was the best man to work with.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said again.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, telling him to go on.

"I was on July 31st, 1980. I am currently 33 years old."

"You are aware," Dumbledore asked slowly, "that it is 1995?"

"I am. Believe me, I am," Harry said wearily. "There was an accident. But that's getting ahead of myself. You asked who I was."

"The history that I told you was all true, at least the major bits. I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley in Muggle Little Whinging, after the murder of my parents. At age eleven, I joined the wizarding world. That was the year I first found this place."

He said the last part lovingly, reflecting again on this wonderful castle that became his first real home. No matter the time, it still felt the same. That, at least, could be relied on.

"Your parents were murdered," Dumbledore said. "Both of them?"

Harry nodded. "There's a reason I froze up at the sight of James."

"If you assumed that Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived… And if you survived that attack… Do you have it?"

Harry didn't even ask for clarification. He pushed up the fringe of his hair, revealing the skin beneath it, marked by a striking lightning bolt shaped scar.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore breathed. "How is this possible?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," Harry admitted "It was supposed to be time travel."

Dumbledore perked up. "You traveled back this far through time? Was a Time-Turner used?"

Harry understood the urgency in his voice. He knew the risks associated with using one to brave time in any quantity greater than a collection of hours. But he had no choice but to shrug.

"There were Time-Turners," he said. "An entire collection of them. And the Veil was involved, too, down in the Department of Mysteries. It was some kind of ritual. Unfortunately, the mastermind sacrificed himself to make it work, getting me caught up in the aftermath."

"You didn't mean to travel through time?" Dumbledore asked keenly.

"Of course not. It was a last plot by angry purebloods, trying to turn back time to the good old days."

For some reason, Dumbledore sagged. He collapsed back against his seat, looking his full age. His body shook. At first, Harry thought he was crying, before he realized the headmaster was laughing.

"You did it," he said. "You won the war. Why else would it be the other side attempting to rewrite history?"

Harry didn't contradict him.

"We won," Harry said. "But I don't know if it could be replicated again. A lot of things went into making it work, back in my time. I'm still learning of ways this time is different. I don't know how that makes sense, but it's obviously true.

"Perhaps true time travel of this sort, which has never been seen before…" Dumbledore trailed off, thinking. "I will look into it, Harry, and bring you a better answer soon. In the meantime, though, tell me of this future of yours. I must know everything."

"I don't think that's the best way to go about this," Harry said.

Dumbledore blinked, unused to being disagreed with. "What do you propose instead?"

"I need to know how this time is different from the past I know," Harry said. "What happened in the First War? How are people who should be dead still alive? What saved my father here, and doomed my counterpart? Once I know everything you do, I can tell you all the ways my time was different more efficiently, because there's clearly more similarities than differences. We even had our own Umbridge."

"Unfortunate," Dumbledore said. "I see your reasoning, though. Very well. I will tell you what I can in the time we have."

"What happened on Halloween 1980?" Harry asked first.

"A mistake. Or perhaps it was a great many mistakes, catching up with me at the same time. You see, Harry, by that time I was weary. I was tired of losing members of the Order and other upstanding wizards and witches to the whims of a madman. When the Potters and Longbottoms went into hiding, despite having no logical reasoning behind it, I chose to believe that Voldemort would still discover them. He had pulled off the impossible too many times for me to ignore the possibility. So I left my own protections, ones that would immediately inform me if he made an appearance. When the dark lord appeared at Godric's Hollow that night, I appeared just minutes after him."

Dumbledore leaned forward, looking grave. "I intended to fight him, Harry. I planned to take it to the death, removing him from this world even if it cost me everything. I feared I was growing too old. I arrived just as Voldemort was entering the home. And I attacked him."

"Our duel was destructive. Lily and James were helpless. I fought as hard as I could, but in doing so, I only succeeded in stalling him. That was when history repeated itself. How much do you know of my past, Harry?"

Harry's throat felt thick. "Ariana…" he said.

The death of Dumbledore's sister had haunted the headmaster ever since the day it happened, caught in the crossfire of his and his brother Aberforth's duel against Grindelwald. When great wizards fought, they did not tend to leave things around them in one piece."

"Lily was holding your counterpart. As the spells flew in every direction…" Dumbledore's voice grew quiet and somber. "James forgave me, somehow. I have not been able to do the same. Over a century of striving to become better, and it made no difference."

"Except that this duel wasn't your fault," Harry pointed out.

"Not the way that the duel with Gellert was. But I could have chosen a different path."

Seeing no way of shaking the Headmaster's guilt now, Harry moved on. "What happened next? How did Neville get involved?"

"When Voldemort noticed your counterpart's death, he realized his goal was accomplished. Despite his claims of grandeur, he was unwilling to risk a proper duel with me. He ran, for he could not know for certain that he would win. And that was the moment when I made my second great mistake of that night."

"Lily and little Harry were not dead yet. I attempted to save them with every bit of knowledge I possessed, but it was too late. And in my attempt to save two lives, two more were lost, for Voldemort was not done."

"He was not as frightened as I assumed. Within minutes he was at Longbottom Manor with half of his inner circle. The fate Alice and Frank met was, if anything, even more tragic than Lily's."

"Cruciatus?" Harry asked tightly. When Dumbledore nodded, he cursed.

He'd seen the effects of it. Neville's parents were broken utterly by the Unforgivable, tortured into a vegetative state. Hating himself for voicing the question, but needing the answer, Harry asked, "How could his parents sacrifice themselves for him if they were already unresponsive?"

"A miracle," said Dumbledore. "They should have been utterly insane, but when the killing curse was cast at her baby, Alice moved. She placed herself in its path, despite having already lost speech and all reason. It was reflexive— an act of pure love."

Harry nodded silently, pushing down a sudden urge to seek out Bellatrix in this world. He could see now how history was different here, roughly. Neville would've lived similarly to how he had, while James Potter alone carried on the family name as a sour and scarred bachelor.

"Voldemort returned through a ritual last year?" Harry asked.

"The trophy was a Portkey," Dumbledore confirmed.

"And the Ministry won't acknowledge it?"

"You've seen our Umbridge."

"Right," Harry said sourly. "I guess that says all that needs to be said."

"Do you have any other questions? Dumbledore asked. "Or is it my turn now?"

"Just one more," Harry said, "then you can ask away. Why are you believe me right now?"

"This story is more plausible than you being a homeschooled genius," Dumbledore said, humor returning to his voice for the first time since having to touch on his dark past.

Harry groaned. "It was the best I could come up with, alright? I don't think it was that bad. It's not worse claiming to be a true time traveler dumped back decades in a magical accident."

"If you would like a serious answer, Harry, then I can only offer this," Dumbledore said. "The wisdom and skill you showed in the Three Broomsticks was beyond the sort of thing one can learn in books. To reach that point, I am convinced that someone has to live through troubled times. You are far too young to have dealt with Grindelwald. Had you been active in the First Wizarding War, I would certainly have remembered you. Which leaves only another conflict: the one that is dawning now, the Second Wizarding War."

"Ah," Harry said dryly. "A simple logical leap to time travel, then."

"Quite!" said Dumbledore.

They quieted down. Despite Dumbledore's earlier eagerness to quiz Harry about his future, the man did not immediately question Harry. They sat in silence, and when Dumbledore spoke again it was only to ask, "What will you do now?"

"Teach," Harry said. "Long term… I'm not sure yet. I haven't completely given up on getting back to my time, but honestly, I don't have high hopes for it. So for right now, I'll do my job. And when Voldemort acts, I'll fight him. Because that's who I am."

He was never a huge believer in destiny, but it was hard to ignore the prophesied link between him and the dark lord. But even without it, Harry wouldn't have acted any differently. Voldemort was the kind of wizard who needed to be stopped. Harry was the kind of wizard who could do it. It really was that simple to him.

"In that case, I have a proposition," Dumbledore said. "I assume you are familiar with the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry smiled wryly. "You could say that."

"I've recently restarted it," Dumbledore said, "seeing as Voldemort has returned. Most of the old guard have already come back. I am, however, in the process of recruiting talented new blood."

"Is this an invitation?"

"If you're thinking of accepting, we'll say that it is. If you're planning to turn me down, let's pretend this old man was just thinking out loud, and leave it at that."

Harry pondered the offer. He worked extensively with the Order before, but it wasn't like he had much choice at the time. He'd been a child, and they were the only people willing to support him wholeheartedly. Not that he held this against them in any way. The Order had been filled with some of the bravest people he ever met, willing to bet their lives while most wizards stayed home and cowered.

The only thing that gave Harry pause was placing himself in a position under Dumbledore. As he aged, he had grown his own list of gripes with how the headmaster handled things, chief among them his soft policy toward Death Eaters. There had been at least three separate jail breaks out of Azkaban as Voldemort rose to power. After the first time, the dark lord's servants should've been reduced to a state where there would be nothing left to break out. But Dumbledore had gone along with the soft ministry, and ultimately died, leaving others to deal with the fallout.

In the end, Harry's decision came down to something very simple.

While the headmaster made mistakes, he truly regretted them, and tried his best to fix them in the future, successful or not. If Harry ever had a serious issue with the way Dumbledore was doing things, he could simply leave. He wasn't a teenager anymore.

Harry reached out, holding his hand above the table. "Let's do it."

Dumbledore took his hand, smiling as they shook.

"Fantastic!" he said. "You made a wise choice, Harry. Whether in fighting or in life, it's never a sin to rely on others for help."