Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling, I am not a delusional person who thinks she is J.K. Rowling, nor am I ever going to change my name to J.K. Rowling. Therefore, we can conclude I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 3: Insufficient Explanations

Hospital wings were created with the sole purpose of providing treatment for the ailing and wounded individuals of society.

So why, Harry wondered as he lay on his white bed, did it seem more like torture to stay here?

He had awoken only minutes before and already he was sick of staring at the white ceiling. The minutes seemed to be purposely dragging as slowly as possible just to torture him. Harry was bored out of his skull and he wanted to leave. Preferably now.

But he knew better than to just get up and leave, no matter how much he wanted to. If he really was in the past (something Harry was trying not to think too much about as he was sure it would drive him more mental then he already was), then there was a good chance Madame Pomfrey was still in charge. And he knew from experience that she did not take kindly to having her patients suddenly leave when she was under the impression that they really were in no condition to do so. Which meant he had nothing better to do than glare at the crack in the ceiling that looked uncannily like a dog laughing and try not to think too much about his current predicament.

Harry was too preoccupied with doing just that to notice the entrance of Madame Pomfrey until she was right next to his bed.

"Finally awake are you?" She said, frowning at him.

Harry jumped slightly and jerked his head in her direction so fast that an audible crack was heard. Wincing, he placed a hand on the side of his neck, pressing down in an effort to reduce the pain. Right. That was smart.

"Oh really!" Madame Pomfrey huffed, looking slightly annoyed. Apparently she had taken Harry's grimace as a sign that he was in great pain. "The hospital ward is meant to be a place where one mends their injuries, not where they create new ones."

She tapped her wand lightly on Harry's neck. Coldness spread from the area that the wand had touch and the pain lessened somewhat.

"Thanks." Harry said, trying to sit up.

"You can thank me by not moving a muscle!" she snapped glaring at him in such a manner that Harry was instantly reminded of Hermione.

Needless to say, his attempts to get up ceased immediately. Harry gulped, wondering exactly what had he done to earn the right to face her wrath. If he really was in the past (but hopefully he wasn't), then Madame Pomfrey did not know about his frequent visits to the hospital wing, so that couldn't be why he was on her bad side. He must have done something else to annoy her. He was at a complete loss as to what it was though.

Madame Pomfrey more or less thrust a bottle filled with a light green potion at him and ordered, "Drink it."

Harry meekly took the potion, but didn't drink it. The potion, with its ominous bubbling and faint blue mist, looked rather poisonous.

Constant vigilance, piped up the voice. Harry wondered if the amusement he heard in that was just his imagination. In a desperate attempt to ignore the voice, he asked Madame Pomfrey what kind of potion it was.

Madame Pomfrey frowned at him again, but answered.

"It's a temporary pain reliever. Albus insisted I give you it so that you could go to his office when you woke. Merlin knows what is so important that he insist that I allow one of my patients to go skipping around in the castle in such a delicate state…" she trailed off grumbling.

Oh, so that was why she was mad. The Madame Pomfrey in his time did not particularly enjoy having her treatment plans overruled. Not wishing to face any more of her wrath, Harry pinched his nose and quickly downed the potion. To his surprise, it tasted a little like apples dipped in limejuice with a hint of cinnamon. Not entirely unpleasant, but still rather odd. The effects of the potion were almost immediate.

The aching tiredness in his bones did not vanish completely, but it did reduce to a point where Harry was only vaguely aware of it. He blinked at the empty container in surprise. The Healers at St. Mungo's had never given him anything like this before.

Usually, every potion that he had consumed on their orders either had no effect or some really weird side effect. Such as glittering green hair that attacked anyone and anything that got too close for 24 hours. Harry grabbed a tuft of hair and peered at it. Black. Not green or red or some other unnatural color. Just good old black.

He sighed in relief.Good, no abnormal side effects.

But there could be some delayed ones, the annoying voice in his head said suddenly. And you can bet that the longer they take to appear, the worse they are.

Will you shut it, Harry snapped back, irritated more at the fact that he could still hear the voice rather than by what it had said. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.

Before that conservation could continue, however, Madame Pomfrey came back to see if Harry had drunk the potion. As she took the empty bottle back, she said, "The Headmaster wants to see you right away. Merlin knows why he can't wait a couple more days until you're well again. Really, he may be the headmaster but must he try to dictate what goes on in my hospital wing?"

She continued grumbling in this manner while she checked Harry over to make sure the potion had had the desired effects. She might have continued longer if Harry didn't interrupt her with a question.

"Er, Madame Pomfrey? When did you say I need to see Professor Dumbledore?"

She sniffed. "As soon as possible, he said. His office is …" She continued on to give Harry directions, but he was no longer listening.

He was worrying about what he would do if he really was in the past. He did think that the Dumbledore he had met was the real one, but a part of him just didn't want to believe he was in the past. The idea was just too strange.

It's not that strange, the voice protested slightly indignant. Don't you know by now that the world is full of mysterious and, as you put it, strange things?

I really do not need your input, Harry responded, gritting his teeth.

Had the necklace done more than just send him into the past? Was he truly crazy or was the voice something he had just imagined into being?

Oh, really, huffed the voice. I'm too unique and beautiful to have been created by someone like you.

"Will you remember that?"

Startled, Harry turned his attention back to Madame Pomfrey. She was watching him expectantly. For what, he wasn't sure. "Er, sorry?"

She repeated herself with a scowl. "I said, will you remember that?"

Realizing she was talking about Dumbledore's office, Harry quickly answered while mentally making a note to stop conversing with himself. "Yeah, I'll remember, thanks. Er, can I go now?"

She huffed and turned to leave. "If that's what you wish."

Harry got up slowly, taking care not to rush. The last thing he needed was to be confined in the hospital wing any longer than necessary. When no darkness threatened to obscure his vision, Harry moved a little faster. He stretched, enjoying the lack of aches and pain the motion brought him. Man, he hadn't felt this good since before the Last Battle.

He was halfway to the Headmaster's office before he recalled the reason he was heading there. His good humor dampened considerably.

If I really am in the past, he thought, slowly making his way down a corridor lined with suits of armor. Then I should be concentrating on how to get back to my own time, not teaching a bunch of mischievous brats.

You are aware that you yourself were once a 'mischievous brat', the voice said amused.

Go away, Harry snapped. I told you before; I don't need to hear your opinion. Who are you anyway?

He could not believe that he hadn't asked that before.

Harry…I am your father.

The answer was so unexpected that Harry halted right in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, but didn't even notice.

Okay, he thought bewildered. That was unexpected.

What had that bloody necklace done?

Then he realized that the voice was laughing at him.

Shut up, he thought, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

The look on your face, the voice snickered. It's just too much. By the way, you'd better enter the Headmaster's office before someone comes by and sees you standing here like a loon.

Harry blinked, startled to see the familiar gargoyle statute in front of him. It was only after he opened his mouth did he realize that he had no idea what the password was. If Madame Pomfrey had mentioned it, then he hadn't heard it. Cursing himself for listening to the voice instead of Madame Pomfrey, Harry took a deep breath and began to recite the names of all the sweets that he could recall.

"Lemon drops, chocolate frogs, …er…"

He frowned. It had been so long since he'd eaten any sweet that he'd actually forgotten the names of most of them. Since the last battle, too much sugar had a very, shall we say, scary effect on him. So did caffeine for that matter

Try 'Ice Mice' the voice said in a rather patronizing manner.

Harry gritted his teeth. Should he listen to the voice or continue to stand foolishly in front of the gargoyle? Harry wished for another choice.

Oh just say it already, the voice said impatiently. Unlike some people, I actually pay attention to the people speaking with me.

Annoyed at how true what the voice said was (he had developed a bad habit of ignoring anyone who wasn't saying anything interesting, but, then again, it was hard not to between Hermione's lectures and declarations of adoration form rabid fans), Harry accidentally spoke out loud.

"You do not exist. You're just my imagination. I will not say 'Ice Mice.'"

The gargoyle sprang to life and moved.

Oh wow, the voice snickered in a manner that strangely reminded Harry of Malfoy. You're a regular genius, aren't you?

Deciding it was in the best interest of maintaining whatever pride he had left to ignore the voice, Harry proceeded up the spiraling stairway. Reaching the door, he knocked twice. When there was no answer, he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked so Harry opened it and proceeded inside.

The office was almost exactly as he remembered. The only difference was that Dumbledore's portrait was missing from its place of honor among the rows of all the other previous headmasters and headmistress. Fawkes was on his usual perch, fast asleep at the moment.

Wow, a phoenix…

The awe in the voice's, er, voice, was clear. Ignoring it, Harry scanned the office, wondering where in the world Dumbledore was, because he certainly wasn't here. Slightly annoyed that he had come all the way here and Dumbledore wasn't even there to greet him, Harry plopped down into his usual chair, leaned back, and, on a whim, placed his feet on the desk.

Harry, down! Get your feet off the desk, the voice snapped.

What am I, a dog? Harry replied, a bit pleased at how appalled the voice was. Why should I even listen to you? You don't exist. I hear nothing.

You're about to meet the greatest wizard of all time, the voice shouted, which hurt, since it was in Harry's head. Show some respect.

If he's so great, then why isn't he on time for his own appointments Harry shot back, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't hearing voices.

"Nice to see you've made yourself right at home, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore appeared at the door, his eyes twinkling in an amused fashion.

"Dumbledore!" Startled, Harry swung his feet off, managing to knock down several of the strange objects on the desk in the process. He ignored them and proceeded to pelt the Headmaster with his questions. "Have you figured out why I'm here? What in the world is going on? I won't teacher! I-"

"Calm down, Harry." Dumbledore sat down calmly onto his chair. "All your questions will be answered in due time."

He seemed oddly undistributed by the fact that Harry was only inches away from drowning him in questions.

The voice, unfortunately, wasn't as calm.

Were you raised in a jungle, Harry? Can't you at least greet him before demanding answers? The voice snapped, positively fuming.

Harry just pushed it away, concentrating on Dumbledore.

"Well my boy," Dumbledore said, beaming at Harry. "Ask away."

Harry chose to address the most pressing matter.

"I can't be a teacher!" He insisted, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to teach, I've never taught before, I never even finished school-"

"I'm afraid, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, serious now. "That you will have teach. You're only other option is to go to the Ministry. However, they might just label you a Death Eater and lock you away. You're welcome to stay at Hogwarts of course, but you need to provide them with valid reason for your presence."He smiled. "And if you don't agree, I'm afraid that I will not be able to help you with your dilemma and you shall have to go to the Ministry."

Harry frowned. "Are you blackmailing me?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in barely concealed amusement. "I prefer the term 'compromising.'"

"It's blackmail." Harry stated flatly. He took a deep breath, attempting to keep his temper in check. It wasn't working.

"Call it what you wish, Harry. Do you agree to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher for this school year?"

"Wouldn't the Ministry notice that I don't have any records?" Harry demanded, ignoring the question.

"As long as you do not give them reason to notice your presence," the old man replied cheerfully. "Then they will be too occupied with rounding up Death Eaters to notice."

Any ideas, voice? He asked mentally. Of course, the one time he wanted the voice to reply it didn't.

Sighing, he relented, "I agree."

"Excellent."

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, a piece of parchment appeared on the desk, along with a pale brown quill. "Sign this and we'll be all set."

Without even bothering to read the contract, Harry scrawled his name in his messiest handwriting. He'd teach, but he would not be happy about it.

Dumbledore vanished the parchment with a flick of his wand. "Now, let us address your predicament. How did you get here?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to tell me, sir?" Harry shot back, too annoyed to care about his rudeness.

Harry, behave, the voice snapped, only to be ignored.

Dumbledore smiled with ever-lasting patience. "Allow me to rephrase that. Did you do anything out of the ordinary that could be responsible for your little trip?"

"Oh." Now Harry felt rather dumb. He quickly relayed his tale to Dumbledore, from the Weasly's attic to the box that the necklace had been in to the whirlwind that had sent him here. The old man listened attentively, not even the smallest flickers of a surprise crossing his face at the extraordinary things he was being told.

"So," He said, thoughtfully when Harry finished. "You put on a necklace and found yourself in the past, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. That is a bit inconvenient."

I know! Harry shouted in his head.

Calm down was the reply.

I am not going crazy. Harry told himself firmly, ignoring the voice. He focused instead on the Headmaster's inquiries.

"The necklace, can you describe it?"

Harry scowled. What did the appearance of the jewelry have to do with anything? He answered nonetheless. "It was a little strange-looking. It was made completely of crystal, even the chain…"

Harry suddenly remembered that he had the chain in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to Dumbledore.

"Ah." The old headmaster said, seemingly recognizing it. "That simplifies things considerably. Were there any crystals on the chain?"

"Yeah," Harry said, surprised. "There were-"

"Seven?"

Hope began to blossom in Harry's chest as he nodded. Had Dumbledore figured out what had happened?

"Well, Harry. All you must to do to in order to return home is retrieve all seven of the crystals. Problem solved." Dumbledore leaned back, satisfied.

"Problem solved?" Harry said incredulously. "The problem just got bigger! I don't know where any of the crystals are!"

"But I do know the location of one of the crystals." Dumbledore beamed at Harry. "All you must do is retrieve it and then search for the second one. Simple."

"Where is it?" Harry demanded, feeling the whole situation was anything but simple.

"Why, were you arrived of course. In the middle of the Forbidden Forest." Dumbledore reached for the bowl of lemon drops on his desk."Would you care for a lemon drop?" he asked, helping himself to a few.

"What? No! I-"

Harry was interrupted by a loud buzzing. One of the instruments, the one Harry had knocked to the ground, had suddenly begun to emit a shrill, ringing sound.

Dumbledore regarded it calmly. "It seems the group that I was expecting is arriving ahead of schedule."

He got up and motioned for Harry to do the same.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I must ask you to leave now. If you want to visit the Forbidden Forest, just look for Hagrid. You can't miss him. He's the only half-giant in the castle."

Fawkes, who had awoken sometime during the exchange, left its perch and settled on Harry's right shoulder.

"Fawkes will accompany you." The old man added.

And with that said, Harry found himself being politely but firmly pushed out the door before he could voice a protest.

Just before the door closed behind him, Harry heard the unmistakable sounds of someone, perhaps two someone's, stumbling into the room. A voice, a young boy's by the sounds of it, was cursing profoundly. A more mature voice was reprimanding the younger. The door shut however before Harry could see the new arrivals, though frankly, Harry wasn't too curious about why he had been so abruptly kicked out. He was too busy stressing over what Dumbledore had said.

He mulled over all his problems as he began the long walk to Hagrid's cabin. And boy, did he have a lot of them.

He was in the past, searching for pieces of rock that he had no idea where they were to get home though he had no idea how the crystals would do that. Plus, he was expected to teach children who were barely younger that he was. And, don't forget about his magical exhaustion sleeping disorder thing. The potion that Madame Pomfrey had given him seemed to have dispelled a good deal of his fatigue, but he wasn't sure how long that would last.

On the bright side though, there were no egomaniacal, snake-loving, psychopaths after his blood. Well, yet anyway.

END CHAPTER THREE