En Passant

Chess. a method by which a pawn that is moved two squares can be captured by an opponent's pawn commanding the square that was passed.

"You're kidding me," Harry said incredulously as they made their way down the hallway of Hogwarts, "Seamus really did that?"

"I know, right?" Ron was grinning from ear to ear. "It's nice to know that sometimes other people do crazy things too and it's not just us."

Harry shook his head, unable to believe that Seamus Finnigan had dared to do something of that magnitude. His friendship with the other had been forever splintered after their fifth year, but he no longer felt as if he were about to erupt in anger every time someone mentioned the wizard.

No, Harry thought uncomfortably, that reaction had moved on to Dean and his very public displays of affection with Ron's sister.

"I wanna ask him about it," Ron complained. Annoyance flashed across his features as clear as the torchlight illuminating their passage. "I can't believe we're stuck making the rounds for Hermione's homework on Halloween."

"We volunteered." Harry pointed out. Hermione had fallen ill just a few days ago. When they'd gone to visit her in the hospital wing she'd begged for them to get her any missed work after they'd finished up with their classes. They hadn't been able to refuse.

"Then, I can't believe Hermione still wants to do schoolwork when she's too sick to even attend class," Ron amended with a roll of his eyes.

"Really?" Harry asked with a grin. "Because that's exactly what I expected Hermione to want to do."

"Well okay," Ron conceded. "Hermione would do that. But my point is, nobody else would!"

Despite Ron's fears, they arrived at the office of Professor Babbling in no time at all. The door was slightly open. Harry knocked. The astonishing force of his blow pushed the door open entirely. It creaked ominously.

Inside was an assortment of Halloween decorations, from lighted skulls to glowing slime. A single desk was up against the back of the room, with two chairs covered in cobwebs pushed against it. On the floor at the centre of the room was an engraved circle of some sort, which looked like it had been copied straight from a grimoire. A flash of grey fur disappeared behind a skeletal book holder, and Harry could have sworn he heard a titter.

The two Gryffindors glanced at each other.

"Do we go in, you reckon?" Ron asked hesitantly. "Wait inside for the prof to show up?"

"They might be somewhere else," Harry said doubtfully. "Hermione will just have to make do without her Ancient Runes this week, I guess."

"No," Ron said with a shake of his head. "Let's wait a bit—no harm right? It's not like the Halloween Feast is going to start yet, so we have until then. I mean we did promise Hermione."

Harry hid a smile. For someone who protested so strongly about missing the pre Hallow's Eve excitement, Ron was surprisingly adamant about waiting for three hours in what basically constituted as a classroom just to fulfill a promise.

They didn't sit on the chairs.

"Blimey, look at this thing," Ron said as he poked one of the beast skulls protruding from the walls. "What do you even suppose this is?"

Harry turned around. He had been examining the spooky paintings behind the desk and it left him with an uncomfortable feeling.

"Ron, maybe you shouldn't touch—" he began, just as Ron stuck his hand in the mouth to prod at the slime covered teeth.

The mouth snapped shut.

"Bloody hell!" Ron howled. He lurched away from the wall but the animal skull did not let go. Its eyes glinted as it held onto its prey.

Harry dashed towards Ron, scanning the room for something—anything—that would help. His eyes alighted on what looked to be a letter opener. He pitched towards it and closed his hand around the blade, uncaring as it tore a line across his palm.

He jammed the blade into the thing's forehead. It opened its jaw in a soundless cry but the slime in its mouth did not allow Ron to pull free. Ron turned wild blue eyes to Harry.

"This is why you don't touch things you've never seen before," Harry said through gritted teeth as he wrapped his hands around Ron's arm to help pull. He had a foot against the wall, using his knee as leverage as the two of them gave the greatest yank they could.

They both went tumbling backwards. Harry skidded across the floor. Ron crashed loudly onto the desk.

"Ow!" Harry hissed.

"Thanks mate," Ron said shakily as he sat up. There were cobwebs hanging off his shoulders. "Never underestimating slime again. Are you alright?"

Harry exhaled. Other people might do crazy things, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes, but they were still the only ones who seem to do it on a daily basis.

"I'm as alright as I'll ever be."

He started to his feet, only to stagger and fall down again, knees weak. Confused, he looked at Ron, whose blue eyes were going wider by the second.

"Oh bugger," Ron breathed, pointing directly below Harry. "Is it supposed to be doing that?"

Harry looked down. He'd landed on the edge of the engraved circle. A part of it was covered up, concealed by the smear of Harry's blood from when he'd caught himself. The lines were faintly glowing.

Ron's face was pale as he lurched forward, "Harry! Get—"

—out, Harry finished in his mind as his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor.

When he came to, the Professor Babbling's office had been stripped of its decorations and had resumed its normal carriage. With a groan, Harry pushed himself up, panting harshly as if he'd just been run through one of Angela's pre-game Quidditch practices. He quickly adjusted his glasses, which had come to hang askew from the fall.

His body still felt unbearably weak, and it was only with great effort that he was able to remain even sitting. He still had no idea what was going on. The runic circle had disappeared along with the Halloween furnishings, leaving only the cool stone floor and a small touch of personality around the room. Even the desk and chairs were placed on different sides.

"Ron?" He croaked, wondering if it was possible that Halloween had just passed without him. But it didn't make any sense that his best friend wouldn't have taken him to the hospital wing, or that the Ancient Runes professor would have cleaned up while the Boy Who Lived was still lying unconscious in her office.

And it was just then that the office door opened. And it was just then that Harry realized it had been closed at all.

"Katrina," an oddly familiar voice called as a man in pinstriped robes stepped in, one hand closed around the brass doorknob while the other loosely held a worn leather-bound book to his chest, "I've finished with this volume, than you for lending it to—"

He paused.

Harry's jaw slackened.

"You," the younger Albus Dumbledore said lightly, "are decidedly not Ms. Vance."

For a moment Harry's mind stuttered, wondering if he was stuck in another memory or if Dumbledore was playing some kind of joke on him, but neither seemed to fit. Surreptitiously he glanced around, and sure enough, there was nobody else that the ginger haired professor could have been speaking to.

"S—sir?" Harry asked hesitantly, "Did you get a new hair dye?"

The Transfiguration teacher's eyes gleamed ever brighter. "Oh I certainly hope not. I've always found my natural colour quite dashing." His gaze skimmed along the surface of Harry's robes then, resting on the cursed scar for a moment longer than the rest as an expression of curiosity crossing his features. "Now it seems that you're one of my students, but I don't recall seeing you before."

"Wh—what?" Harry had known that it wasn't his Dumbledore. It was not only the hair that had changed, but the countenance. This one lacked the wrinkles and the sagely presence. But he had hoped. He slumped. "I see."

The twinkling only heightened as the Dumbledore's lips stretched into a broad smile. "Oh? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage then. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Harry shook his head. There was only one real explanation for it all, but even then it sounded crazy. What exactly had happened? How exactly had it happened? First he needed to confirm.

"First sir, could I see the newspaper?" Harry asked.

The faintest hint of curiosity on his face, Dumbledore did as the dark haired boy requested. With a wave of his wand a copy of the Daily Prophet appeared before Harry, falling softly onto his lap.

Harry scanned the headlines. It said something about the Howling Hedges. The date was July 31, 1942. He swallowed.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Oh I er—" Harry tried to think of a believable lie. An instant later he discounted it as rubbish. There was no conceivable way he could fool Dumbledore, and besides that, he had no reason to. If he was really in 1942, it was only the Headmaster who could help him out of this mess. He sighed. "I'm Harry Potter, and I think I've travelled to the past."

The ginger inclined his head inquisitively, "Indeed? And you are—forgive me, a transfer student who comes later in the year?"

"Uh, what?" Harry blinked in confusion. "No. I'm from 1996."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, "That's over fifty years."

Harry's breath caught at the look. He had seen enough like it by now to recognize it for what it was. His heart sank. "That isn't possible, is it? I mean er—magical theory doesn't allow for something like that. That's what you're going to say, isn't it?"

"No," Dumbledore apologized with a shake of his head. He looked genuinely sorry for Harry. "It does not. Time-turners take the user back twenty-four hours, and maybe even a week that I've heard. A month might be possible. Fifty-four years? It could not be done."

Harry opened his mouth to protest. But Dumbledore held up a hand, averting any argument. His voice was full of good cheer.

"Now Mr. Potter, I did not say I disbelieved you. I have checked you for glamour and have found none. You are by all appearances simply a confused sixteen year old and a Potter, the latter of which I know shouldn't be possible because Charlus had mentioned no siblings when he graduated. I admit it is a most curious case."

Harry's mouth snapped shut.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested as he gave the green eyed boy a kind look, "You should explain how it is you think that you came to be here."

Harry sagged in relief. This was the Dumbledore he had come to know. He had no idea what he would do if he were to be declared insane while stuck in the past. "Of course, sir."

By the time Harry was done, the Transfiguration professor appeared to be in deep thought.

"And do you remember," Dumbledore asked as he peered at Harry through his half rimmed glasses, "what the circle looked like?"

"Umm." Harry scratched his head. To be completely honest, he didn't really remember. He had caught only a glimpse and he didn't have a memory like Hermione's. He grimaced. "No sir, I'm sorry. But maybe we could use a pensive?"

The other wizard's gaze became more thoughtful if possible. "Now, that is not a solution most people would think of first."

Harry grinned helplessly, "They're on my mind. We've been using them for the past two months in our lessons—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, forestalling any continuation of the topic. "Please, do not give me any hints regarding the future. If this is all true, it'd be best for all of us if you told me nothing outside of what is necessary for me to understand how you came to be here."

"Oh—right, of course."

The ginger haired mage's eyes were strangely gentle as he rose from his desk, "Understand, it is not because I do not wish to hear. I simply think that no one should know their own destiny." His tone changed then, to something deliberately light, almost teasing. "But I would rather not cause the collapse of the universe accidentally by pushing it, would you? I haven't yet been able to savour all the different kinds of Bertie Bott's beans."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. They relocated to Dumbledore's office. The oddly dressed man explained that it would be unfortunate if Ms. Vance were to come back to her office in the middle of their discussion. Besides that, only Dumbledore and the Charms professor were in ownership of a pensive.

It was strange being in Dumbledore the Transfiguration Professor's office rather than Dumbledore the Headmaster's office. Harry had come used to the strange room past the gargoyle over the past few years. The ginger haired Dumbledore still held some of the artifacts the future one did, but he also appeared to take teaching very seriously, because his office did actually resemble an office this time.

Harry drew out the memory from when they began talking about Seamus. They watched the events unfold in near silence. Harry snuck a few glances at Dumbledore throughout the exchange, and the old wizard always appeared to be in deep thought.

"So do you recognize it?" Harry asked anxiously as soon as they were out. He fiddled with the edge of his robes.

"I do recognize the ritual circle," Dumbledore said softly. "But I had no idea it was—nobody thought it could ever work, understand. It felt a fantasy even to wizards."

Harry's grip on his robes tightened. "And what does that mean?"

"There is no doubt. You are indeed from the time period you say you are. That runic circle is an ancient magic which is said to transverse time, but it had never been shown to work. Every wizard who has tried to use it has come away disappointed, so it has been thought of as nothing more than an old decoration over the years. That is likely the reason your professor felt it safe to use for Halloween. How could she know that your blood would activate it? But it is strange, this work almost looks like…"

By the end of it, Dumbledore sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to Harry. There was a strange, wistful tone to his voice that Harry had never heard before.

"Like what?" Harry pressed.

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry knew he had changed what he was about to say. "This work looks like it was not made to mean you harm. I cannot yet decipher what all the components mean, but I believe that you are safe."

Harry's jaw twitched at the dismissal, but this Dumbledore had not promised to be completely open to him. He sighed. In the end, it didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. "And? Can I be sent back?"

"Not right away," Dumbledore said with an apologetic little shrug. "It would require research. This circle has alterations from when I first saw it, and it has been a long time since I have given thought to this kind of work. It also remains very obscure. If I had not looked into such things because of—well, at any rate, it will take time."

Harry's stomach did its best impression of the Titanic, "So how long—how long do you think I'll be stuck here?"

"It depends on how long it will take me to figure it out I'm afraid," Dumbledore sighed. "But perhaps…" Dumbledore's voice was slow but it was gaining in strength, his eyes brightening as if he were warming up to the idea. "Perhaps you should take this predicament as an opportunity instead."

"What are you getting at?" Harry asked warily.

Sadness lurked behind Dumbledore's eyes. "You look as if you carry a great burden on your shoulders. Whatever is afflicting you in your time, assuredly it is not here? Think of this as your vacation. Do things you normally wouldn't." His expression turned jovial then. "You are still growing, and you are at an age of finding yourself, so do not be afraid to give other paths a try."

"I—wait you want me to—what, go traipsing the world while you figure this out?" Harry asked incredulously. "I can't do that!"

"Well perhaps not that," Dumbledore hummed. "The world has become a very dangerous in the past years, and I cannot send a student who is not fully equipped into it. What do you think of sampling Hogwarts as it was in the 1940s?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, "You want me to be a student?"

"You already are, are you not?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling. "Besides, I know better than to leave a teenager to boredom for an indefinite period of time."

Harry shook his head, "No I need to get back to my friends right away."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore replied with an expression of knowing something beyond the scope of the other party and taking vast enjoyment of it, "I believe you shall go back to your friends right away no matter how long you choose to stay here."

The look Harry shot his old (future?) Headmaster was one that was rapidly running out of its patience.

Dumbledore chuckled, "Time that passes here will not affect your time. When we figure this circle out, we can set the time at which you get back to be the exact moment that you left, so it will seem as if you had been there all along."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked in interest. It was not what Harry wanted, but it was all that he could ask for. He sighed, and nodded his consent. "It's true that I wouldn't know what to do with myself otherwise…" He hesitated. "But won't I be in danger of changing the future?"

"Anything that happens," Dumbledore said wisely, "is meant to happen."

It made sense, only—

"Wait," Harry said in confusion. "You said—you said you were worried about the collapse of the universe if I told you the future. But if I'm supposed to be here, how can that happen?"

Dumbledore's answering smile was infinitely sad, "Very astute, Mr. Potter. No, I'm not worried about you. I'm only concerned that I won't be able to live through the future quietly if I had prior knowledge of it. I'm afraid I can't trust myself as much as you seem to."

Understanding dawned and Harry could only nod sheepishly. If somebody had come from Harry's own future to tell him about the deaths of his friends, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to save them even if it meant the collapse of the world. He believed Dumbledore to have enough willpower to restrain himself, but it would be cruel to put him in that kind of position.

They spent some more time discussing the details of what Dumbledore believed the runic circle to say, until Harry felt his eyes droop and a yawn escape his throat for the third time. Dumbledore smiled gently and suggested that they continue the talk the next day, which Harry held no reasonable disagreement for.

It did however bring up the issue of Harry's accommodations. Dumbledore meant to provide for Harry while the green eyed boy was in the past, even to foot the bill for school supplies, which Harry protested adamantly. He didn't know how he would pay himself—perhaps he would work a summer job—but he did not want to take anyone's money. Eventually they decided that Harry could pay back Dumbledore in the future, as it was obvious the two knew each other, thus giving Harry a carte blanche on how much he could spend on himself.

In the next few days they invented Harry's backstory, and Dumbledore sent a letter to the absent Headmaster requesting that they speak. Hogwarts was open to her teachers during the summer, but most of them had homes outside of the school. Harry had not realized how unusual it was for Dumbledore to be residing in the castle during the holidays until the moment Dumbledore told him there were only three of them. Perhaps it was because Harry was spending more time with Dumbledore and it made the wizen old man seem more human, but it was only now that he was wondering whether the ancient wizard had any family.

Dippet agreed to meet them in a week. Dumbledore cast a glamour to hide Harry's more obvious Potter features. At Harry's request, the lightning bolt scar was hidden too, and the shape of his glasses were changed to better distinguish his appearance. By the end of it Harry hardly recognized himself.

They met Dippet in the Headmaster's office. It was strange giving the password and entering through the stone gargoyle to a completely different room. Dumbledore had made the suite his own, as wild and as eccentric as he. In comparison, the office housing Armando Dippet seemed disproportionately plain.

"Albus," Dippet greeted from his place behind the a large mahogany desk. He looked as weak and frail as Harry remembered, and his bald head gleamed dully under the afternoon sun.

"Armando," Dumbledore smiled in reply. He gestured to Harry, who immediately stepped forward to make himself noticed. "This is Mr. Petersburg, of whom I spoke of in my letter."

"The son of your friend, hmm, yes." Dippet's attention turned to Harry then, a look of pity in his eyes, "Deeply sorry about your parents."

They had decided to use a real event to corroborate Harry's missing history. Four months ago a real Petersburg family had existed. The line was an established if minor German one, but then at age twenty the heiress had decided to marry a muggle. It had been enough of a scandal to cause the Petersburgs to withdraw from pureblood society.

Four months ago, the followers of Gellert Grindelwald had burned the Petersburg home to the ground to set an example. There had been no survivors. Or at least that was what had been reported. Harry was reluctantly impressed with how well Dumbledore was at spinning a tale.

"I'm sorry too," Harry answered stiffly. He was supposedly Dagmar Petersburg, the fifteen year old son who had managed to escape by the force of his mother. His mother was good at charms, and had faked his death so that he could flee across Europe to England, where her old friend Dumbledore could offer him asylum. The trek had apparently taken until yesterday afternoon. "Sir, I thank you for allowing me to use Hogwarts—"

"Oh nonsense, nonsense," Dippet replied, waving a hand as if Harry's arrangements didn't bother him. But Harry saw the glint of unease in his eyes. "You've been through a lot, dear boy, and of course we would offer you Hogwarts' protection. You are welcome to stay until you've sorted your business out."

"Actually," Dumbledore cut in smoothly, "I was hoping that Mr. Petersburg here might enrol in Hogwarts. It is unsafe for him to return to Durmstrang, but he has not yet completed his schooling."

Dippet flushed a bright red. "Ah—yes, of course. Every young man needs a good education. Of course young Dagmar should attend Hogwarts!"

Harry met Dumbledore's gaze. The professor gave the smallest fraction of a nod.

"I—" Harry started hesitantly, catching Dippet's attention. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. It had been a while since he'd done this kind of deception, but he didn't want to make Dumbledore do all the work. "I don't want to impose. If I just show up at Hogwarts—even though I'm supposed to be dead—I'm scared of how Grindelwald's followers. Mum told me that my greatest defence was my anonymity now, but if I lost that—well, I don't want to get your school caught up in the crossfire, sir."

Dippet's eyes widened. He shifted, as if the possibility of acquiring the Germans' wraith only occurred to him now. "Oh. Um—"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said softly, "you do not need to lose your anonymity completely, Mr. Petersburg."

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired in confusion, as if they hadn't planned this from the beginning.

"I doubt anyone is looking at Hogwarts too closely," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Indeed, so long as a presumed dead pureblood heir does not show up in the registrar, there is no reason for someone to take undue interest in a single student."

"A false name," Dippet muttered. "Yes yes, of course! Yes, that would work. We'd need to establish some kind of backstory as well, of course, but you are right, it needn't be too detailed. Who is going to check, after all?"

Harry just barely restrained his smile of bemusement. Armando Dippet did not know the half of it. While the second backstory did accomplish those things, it also allowed Harry a lot of leeway were he to slip up in his act. Presumably anyone who figured out something was strange about him would discover his 'secret' of begin Dagmar Petersburg, and their investigations would have no reason to continue. Dumbledore truly had thought of everything.

"I cannot ask so much," Harry said with a shake of his head.

"Nonsense, nonsense!" Dippet waved a hand dismissively, a bright smile on his features. "It is the least we could do, and it will not be difficult at all! You shall be… ah, what name does young Dagmar wish?"

Harry was silent for a moment, as if contemplating Dippet's sacrifice. Finally he sighed. "Thank you, Headmaster. If I must have another name, may I be Harry Evans, sir?"

The look that Dumbledore gave him was fondly exasperated. Harry returned a sheepish smile. He knew exactly what Dumbledore would say. He was allowing the future Headmaster too many hints to who he would be. But if Harry had to go by any alias, he wanted to go by his mother's.

"Ah?" Dippet's eyebrows crinkled, "That's a rather… common… name."

"I don't wish to stand out, sir." It was becoming increasingly hard to remember to keep calling Dippet 'sir'.

"Ah, yes, yes, of course. Do forgive me, I was not insinuating anything about you. Why, one of my best students has the most common name known to man. 'Tom' his name is, but he's anything but common. Quite a wonderful lad, that chap."

Harry sat up straight. Tom. The name rang in his head. There was only one person whom Dippet could be talking about.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed to Harry's, but the ginger haired man didn't make any comment.

Harry took a shaky breath. He didn't think—was Tom Riddle still in school at this time? He should have checked. He'd been so caught up in what the time displacement meant for him that he hadn't even considered—

"He'll be in his fifth year just like you," Dippet continued obliviously, "Now it's really lads like him that give Slytherins their great name. I have to admit I was wary of Slytherins at first— they did pick on me quite a bit in my youth I'm afraid— but Tom has been… ah, he has helped greatly in seeing that the Slytherins are just like any other house, really."

Harry's mouth was dry, his mind racing with all the implications. This was the reason why the date had been nagging at him. He had accidentally come back to a time when Tom Riddle was still in Hogwarts.

"Slytherin, sir?" He croaked out, because he did not want the man to realize that he had gone silent.

Dippet blinked, then his eyes widened, "Oh right! You do not know of the four houses of Hogwarts, do you? Well…"

Dippet quickly gave an explanation that Harry half paid attention to. After all, he knew it already.

"And talking about houses," Dippet finished off, a thoughtful frown on his face, "I suppose we need to get you sorted into one, don't we? Well, well, where's the sorting hat?"

Muttering to himself, Dippet looked to his left, where the sorting hat was indeed sitting. Nodding to himself, Dippet took the hat and handed it to Harry, who shakily put it on his head.

The sorting hat did not read minds, Harry had learned that much from both Hermione and Dumbledore. Instead, Gryffindor had charmed it such a way that it could see the different colours that represented personalities within a person, and sorted due to that. Harry's secret was safe from it.

"Well, well," The sorting hat said as soon as it descended over Harry's hair, "What have we got here? Not quite a first year, now are we? But I suppose I'm not here for that… Quite a sharp mind, loyalty and hardwork in the spades. Ooh! My, there's a lot of cunning, and quite a bit of untapped potential for… well, it doesn't really matter I suppose? Your courage and chivalry outshines all…"

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted, more than anything, to trudge back to the rooms of red and gold. He'd be able to endure this situation there, perhaps even enjoy it. He could imagine it now. Surrounded by comfortable laughter, chatting with genuine friends, a chance to be normal—

He wanted it so badly that it physically hurt.

But he had never been normal; not since he had first understood that 'freak' was not his name, not since he had learned of the prophecy. And he could not pass up this opportunity.

Slytherin, Harry thought to the hat, Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!

It wasn't lost on him the irony of his thoughts. It was just five years prior he had willed with all his heart for anywhere but Slytherin.

"Slytherin? Are you sure? Well, it will certainly help you on your way to greatness, but I wonder if your morals will be able to stay intact. Ah well, it is your choice. If you are sure, then… SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took off the hat with a sigh, meeting Dumbledore's surprise and Dippet's pleased expression.

"Slytherin," Dippet murmured, "Just like dear Tom. He's being made Prefect this year—perhaps he can guide you. Yes, you'll be sure to like him."

"Actually," Dumbledore cut in gently, "I was thinking that sixth year might—"

"Thank you for looking out for me, professor," Harry interrupted, smiling insincerely. "But you don't need to lobby for me to be put a grade ahead in Defence Against Dark Arts because of Durmstrang's curriculum. It'd be unfair to the other students."

"Oh! Right! How thoughtful of you Mr. Evans. Yes of course."

They talked some more, mostly ironing out Harry's schooling details; it was finally suggested that Harry pretend to be a transfer student from St. Clarence Academy. The Headmaster promised he'd handle the paperwork himself.

After what seemed like days, though it really only was three hours, Dippet finally released them.

"Something changed your mind," Dumbledore said softly after they were out of ear shot. The professor had asked Harry's year level in order to determine how best to continue his actual education. The plan had been to let Dagmar Petersburg skip a grade on account of his excellence in Durmstrang.

Harry shrugged, "Well I thought about it. If I go back to the exact moment that I left my time, I'll still have to complete sixth year then. And I'd rather do that with my friends with no advantages."

"Hmm." Dumbledore's gaze was shrewd. "And yet. This change seemed to have occurred directly after Armando made mention of Tom Riddle."

Harry stiffened. "Professor, I thought you did not wish to know of the future."

Dumbledore's lips parted in surprise. And then, he smiled and bowed his head. "Yes, you are correct. That was remiss of me. My apologies."

That only caused the green eyed boy to duck his head and fidget helplessly. He did not want Dumbledore to apologize. Especially, he wanted Dumbledore's advice, but the ginger haired man would not give it.

"You told me," Harry said softly, very softly. "That this could be seen as a chance to be something that I normally wasn't. Nothing I do in this time has to—I mean I'll be back to normal in my own time, right?"

Dumbledore's gaze was wary. "Yes—perhaps. But my boy, when I said that I simply meant—"

"I know what you meant," Harry smiled sheepishly. He was grateful for Dumbledore looking out for him in any timeline. He also, as Hermione had so eloquently put it, had a hero complex. However he could not let Dumbledore know about that, because he knew about the professor's suspicions regarding Riddle and he thought it best not to confirm them outright. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin in my first year and I've always wondered what it'd be like if I stayed." He had a number of nightmares in his second year in particular. "So now I guess I have the chance to find out, huh?"

Dumbledore did not look wholly convinced, but he nodded anyhow in bottomless understanding. Harry was thankful.

His Dumbledore—the old one—had wanted Harry to understand the life of Tom Riddle. Harry still did not know how that would help, but he trusted the ancient Headmaster and he needed any advantage he could gain over Voldemort. He was determined to at least give it a try.