There was a hole in reality to the left of Dumbledore's desk. Harry's first impression was that it looked like Dumbledore had knocked over the Pensieve and the gas-fluid thoughts remained suspended in midair, but the Pensieve was full and Dumbledore wasn't flexing his bad hand and making a mild joke about his clumsiness. Quite to the contrary, he was staring at the rip with the intensity that Harry imagined drove his alchemy research, casting spells that Harry didn't think even McGonagall would recognize on the shapeshifting blob.

Harry cleared his throat again, as Dumbledore didn't notice he was there when he said hello some minutes prior.

Dumbledore looked away from the hole that was now aglow like someone set a fire on the other side.

"I'm sorry Harry, did you say something?" he asked.

"Professor," began Harry "shouldn't you be teaching me about Voldemort's past?" He eyed the hole with trepidation.

Dumbledore smiled fondly at him. "Yes, but how many times does a rip in the space-time continuum appear in one's office? Don't you want to see a parallel universe?"

"Dunno, is it dangerous?" asked Harry.

"Harry, when have I iever/i put you in danger?" Dumbledore asked, blacked hand over his heart. Harry declined to answer.

"Besides, I'd like to experience this before I ask Severus to-"

"What?" asked Harry.

"Forget the last thing I said, let's go!" said Dumbledore. With his good hand, he grabbed Harry's sleeve and launched them into the portal. They spun like they were traveling by Floo, but it was cold and seemed to last a lot longer.

Harry landed on his behind in the middle of the room. Dumbledore landed on his feet, of course, about an arm's length in front of him. Harry quickly picked himself off the ground while looking around the room. It had no windows and was decorated in what looked like an Asian style to Harry's admittedly untrained eyes.

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore.

"Indeed," said a similarly aged voice behind Harry. Harry spun around, almost bumping into a stocky man with a topknot and unruly beard. Like a mirror image of him and Dumbledore, the man was dragging a boy Harry's age by the arm. The boy had an entirely shaved head, except for his ponytail and an expression reminiscent of Snape after seeing Neville's boggart.

"Good evening!" said Dumbledore, sticking out his hand. The stocky man started to bow, reconsidered it, and stuck out his hand. Unfortunately, Dumbledore and started to bow instead. They ended up performing an awkward bowing, handshaking hybrid greeting that left Harry feeling mildly embarrassed for them. The other boy made no move to greet Harry.

"Hullo," said Harry cautiously. The boy grunted in return, which Harry thought was rather rude. But then, wasn't Harry rude in the first place for unexpectedly dropping by this boy's universe?

"You must be from the other dimension," said the stocky old man, "please sit down and have some tea." Harry allowed Dumbledore to steer him to a lowset table without chairs.

"So, who are you gentlemen and where are you from?" asked the stocky old man. Harry looked to Dumbledore.

"Well, I'm Professor Dumbledore and this is my student, Harry. We're from Wizarding Britain," said Dumbledore. He took a sip of tea. "This is delicious!"

Harry took a sip. It really was quite good.

"My name is Iroh and this is my nephew Zuko. We're from the Fire Nation." Iroh lit a candle on the table with his fingers. It looked like wandless magic to Harry, except the fire came directly out of his finger. In all the wandless magic Harry saw, the candle would have lit directly.

"iPrince/i Zuko," said Zuko, speaking for the first time that evening. Iroh's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything to Zuko. Excuse him, iPrince/i Zuko.

"Also, we are currently exiled from the Fire Nation," said Zuko.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Harry. What else could he say, really?

"So you can make fire come out of your hands? How else do you use your magic?" Dumbledore asked Iroh.

"It's not magic, it's a gift from the dragons and lion turtles," said Iroh. "If you use magic too, then where did you get it from?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, but Harry was distracted. How could he not have noticed ithat/i?

For the first time, Harry understood why people stared at his scar. He couldn't look away from the discolored flesh around and covering Zuko's eye, and he was curious even if Zuko was a bit of a prat. When Harry came back to his senses, he averted his eyes. He could feel Zuko's eyes on him, though, looking at his forehead with a rapidly softening face.

"How'd you get yours?" asked Zuko.

"A genocidal maniac gave me mine when he killed my parents," said Harry, who hadn't been asked that question since primary school.

"Wow, that's rough," said Zuko, with genuine sympathy in his eyes.

"Er, how about yours?" asked Harry.

"My father gave me mine after I spoke out of turn," said Zuko.

"That's awful," said Harry.

"I did embarrass him in front of his generals, though," said Zuko.

"That doesn't mean he had to burn half your face off!" said Harry.

And he thought, this evening might not be a complete waste of time after all….