Chapter 1: The Visitor

Early morning classes were in session. Chattering from practical teachings drifted down the hallways, students enjoying their free period walked along the halls to their common room, or hurried with last minute homework before class began.

There was nothing unusual at all about the day; on the contrary, it was very usual for a September afternoon. But, it wasn't usual at all; at least, it wouldn't be. In the next few moments a pop would sound on the seventh floor near a medieval tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Of course, the only witness would be an auburn haired wizard walking along the corridor and humming a short tune.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in class, wistfully taking notes as his teacher, Professor Garside, lectured on the act of changing appearances. Dumbledore, who had gotten a perfect score on the Transfiguration O.W.L, was already confident that he knew how to change his appearance. He'd found a way to do that in third year. To be perfectly honest, Dumbledore didn't understand how others couldn't grasp the concepts.

Magic came so easy to him: it was like he had found the perfect recipe for a soft, creamy butter that wouldn't tear his bread, but no one else could seem to get the ingredients right. Their butter was still too hard, less creamy. By the time they had pulverized their bread, he was spreading his favorite raspberry jam on his own.

But, Dumbledore realized that was another matter completely. He knew cooking wasn't at all like the process of magic. If there was anything Dumbledore couldn't do, it was to make the perfect butter. He'd save that job for his mother, who could make the most delightful goat's milk butter anyone could ever taste.

Dumbledore chuckled darkly to himself, thinking about the goats in his backyard in Godric's Hollow. His brother had always been fascinated by those goats- Pokey and Hokey. Every summer that Albus had been home, he'd watch Aberforth out the kitchen window as he fed and milked the goats. He always talked to them quietly as if they were his best friends. Sometimes Dumbledore wondered if they were, in fact, his best friends. He hadn't once seen Aberforth with someone in the Gryffindor common room in the four years Aberforth had been there. Though, Dumbledore had an amazing ability to stay in place for long periods of time while doing evening research in the library, so that might have been the reason.

"Albus," came a whisper to his right. A thin, dark-haired boy was looking at him with bright brown eyes.

"Yes?" Albus asked his best friend.

Elphias Doge pointed behind them. Albus glanced around and noticed mostly everyone else had their heads down on the desk or else not paying attention at all. Albus hummed, dropped his quill and let his fingers slide together.

"I shall be back," Dumbledore whispered, standing up easily. He made almost no noise despite his height as he slipped passed Professor Garside.

Dumbledore's pace quickened. He hummed as he made his way down the seventh floor hallway. Something was not right. He knew that. He stopped right in front of Barnabus, humming, and fingering his wand in his robe pocket. Dumbledore wished he had some kind of sweet with him. He wanted to believe that the strange feeling would go away if he had something to chew. He was hungry, anyway, which probably accounted for thinking about buttered bread during Transfiguration. He'd missed breakfast because he'd over slept.

Abruptly, Dumbledore spun around, his wand already out. The pop that sounded was loud and deep, and the sound of bones, muffled by fabric against the floor was even worse. He looked down at the stone and noticed a boy lying there, right in front of him, in blue robes. He'd been right.

He didn't hesitate. The boy seemed to be unconscious, anyway. But, he didn't drop his wand. He leaned down close to the dark-haired boy. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, Dumbledore decided. That would put him around his own age, seventeen. Slowly, Dumbledore pushed back the boy's hair to feel his forehead, but, instead, he noticed some kind of scar there. He let out a low hum and fingered the lightening shaped scar.

The boy jerked, but that was it. Albus looked around as if the boy's name was carved in the stonewall.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked lowly. In some ways, he looked like Atticus Potter, a third year, but Albus couldn't be sure. His nose was a different shape, and his eyes were, too. Just his hair and facial structure were about the same. His glasses, though, were nothing Dumbledore had ever seen. They didn't look much like glass lenses. For a short time, Dumbledore contemplated what to do. But, he'd rather not go to Professor Black. Black had a rather short temper with him ever since he found out that… well, it wasn't important.

What was important was the boy lying in front of him. Should he wake him? Dumbledore thought about it, and just to be safe, searched through the boy's pockets until he found a wand. Holly and phoenix feather, Dumbledore thought. He hadn't been aware that Ollivander had sold the one of the wands with Fawkes' feather inside.

"Enervate," Dumbledore said. The phoenix wand's owner jerked again, but this time, he groaned and his eyes flashed open. Dumbledore caught sight of green eyes. "Hello," Dumbledore said in the friendliest voice he could muster.

After a few moments of studying Dumbledore, he shot up into a standing position. Dumbledore stood as well, noticing he was a number of inches taller than the boy.

The boy swayed a little. Dumbledore caught his shoulder.

"Who are you?" The boy asked.

Dumbledore shook his head wearily. "No, my dear boy, the question is who are you?"

He blinked, recognition coming to his eyes. "Professor Dumbledore?" he said.

Dumbledore chuckled at the word 'professor.' "Indeed, I am Dumbledore. Professor, no."

The boy swayed again like he was going to fall, but he seemed to hold his ground.

"What's your favorite type of jam?" he asked.

What an odd question. A coincidence, really, since he'd been thinking it earlier. "Raspberry. And yours?"

He didn't respond to his question, instead he said, "You are Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded. "May I ask your name?" he asked again, hoping that he would actually respond this time.

"Harry P-" the boy said, trailing off like something was wrong. "Er, can you tell me what year it is?"

What an even more odd question. Dumbledore decided to answer. "It's '98," he said like it was simple.

"Of what century?" the boy, Harry, asked.

"The nineteenth."

Harry swayed again, and like before, kept his ground. He glanced around, for the first time taking his eyes off Dumbledore, which he realized he hadn't done. This Harry person seemed harmless to him, but Dumbledore reasoned, that might have been because he had taken away his wand. His mind was working fast, though. What should he do? Should he go to Professor Black? Or should he go to Professor Merrythought, who, of all people, was the professor Dumbledore trusted the most.

"How old are you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Eighteen," he said immediately. He seemed to rethink that, though. "Well, if this is really 1898, then negative 82."

Dumbledore, for the first time in all his Hogwarts days, found himself confused. "Negative?" he asked himself quietly. He thought about that for a moment, and finally realized something. No one could apparate or disapparate inside Hogwarts except Houseelves. "Negative!" he exclaimed. "How did you do it?"

Harry's lips curved into something of a smile. His eyes didn't shine. "I was pushed into a batch of new turners in the Department of Mysteries. I didn't think I'd turn up in Hogwarts or during your time."

Rapidly, Harry's face changed; his smile disappeared and he looked sad. Dumbledore wasn't sure what to make of this. He didn't understand why this boy had been in the Department of Mysteries. Now that he had a good look at him, Harry didn't seem at all like the sixteen- or eighteen as he had learned- year old he thought he had been. He looked years older in his eyes.

"What were you doing in there?" Dumbledore asked suspiciously. He still wasn't sure if he should be trusted.

Harry seemed to hesitate. "I'm an Auror," he said. Dumbledore had a hard time believing it, but he looked down at Harry's robes and realized he was wearing the Auror insignia on the royal blue robes. "There was a break-in in my time. We were trying to capture them."

"An 18 year old Auror?" Dumbledore said.

"The Ministry needed people," he said simply.

"When is your time again?" Dumbledore asked.

"1998."

Dumbledore felt excitement rise up in his chest. 1998! That was a hundred years from now! He had calculated that in his head when Harry had said negative 82, but to actually hear it caused him to realize that there was an actual time traveler at Hogwarts. However, he tried not to get too excited. Although he had never known of one, he knew to be cautious. He couldn't hear anything about his own future. But, if Harry knew who he was, then he must still be alive.

"Don't tell me anything else," Dumbledore said. He glanced around the corridor, saw no one, and quickly dashed off down the hallway. He could hear footsteps behind him as Harry caught up. He led the way down a staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Art's classroom. Dumbledore slipped into it and found Merrythought sitting at her desk.

"Mr. Dumbledore," she said. "Shouldn't you-"

When she caught sight of Harry behind him, she didn't go on.

"I questioned him," Dumbledore said, glancing at him as he fell beside him. "He's an Auror, but he had a little mishap in the Department of Mysteries."

Merrythought stood. Her black dress flowed behind her as she gracefully came toward them. Although she was young and had only been teaching for three years, Dumbledore trusted her greatly. She had won several awards for dueling and gave private lessons to Dumbledore when she had seen his skill.

"What sort of mishap?" she asked Harry in a whisper.

Harry glanced up at Dumbledore as if looking for guidance. A few long moments passed. He almost thought Harry wasn't going to say a word. "Time-turners," he said finally.

Merrythought drew in a breath, looking toward Dumbledore for confirmation. He nodded his head. He knew when people were lying, and Harry was not lying.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Harry Potter," he said carefully.

Dumbledore thought about Atticus Potter again. There was definitely a resemblance there. He had to ask and he did, "Are you related to Atticus Potter?" But Harry gave a small shrug.

"I know I'm related to the Peverells."

At that name, Dumbledore felt his stomach twist. He hadn't known that about the Potters. He wasn't given much time to think about it though because Professor Merrythought asked him what time he was from. Harry told her and the color of her skin grew faint. "What day?" was her next question.

"September 7th," Harry said.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. He traveled exactly one hundred years.

"Perhaps we should take this up with Professor Black," Merrythought said, studying Harry. "There's no way to send him back."

"What?" Harry said. "I have to go back!"

Merrythought sent him a look that Dumbledore often got, meaning that Harry had to be patient. "Of course you do. Of course. But, at the moment, there isn't a way."

"But-"

"There has to be a way," Dumbledore said, cutting into Merrythought's words. "There have been plenty of time-travelers. They had to get home somehow."

Dumbledore had done reading on time-travelers before. Ever since he'd come in contact with Nicolas Flamel, he'd been interested in time. However, he'd had other things to research, so he hadn't spent much time on it.

Merrythought sighed. "Can we trust him?" she asked.

Dumbledore retrieved Harry's wand from his pocket and held it up to look at it closely.

"How did you get my wand?" Harry said, but Dumbledore ignored him.

He shook his head, running his long fingers over the wood. He didn't know too much about wands. Like time, he'd only spent a small amount of effort researching them. But, he knew the two wands that Ollivander had made Fawkes' feathers with. One was holly, the other yew. Just in its weight, Dumbledore could tell this holly was lighter. It was softer in color than the yew as well.

Without a second thought, Dumbledore nodded. "He can be trusted."

He handed Harry back his wand. Just to be sure, his hand immediately went to his pocket where his own wand was, but Harry just pocketed his own and Dumbledore's hand relaxed.

The three stood in silence for a long time. Dumbledore studied the boy. Harry caught his eye and Dumbledore was hit with a flash of an old wizard with a long, white beard staring gravely at him; old, tired blue eyes peering over top half-moon spectacles.

Harry averted his eyes quickly, possibly realizing what had happened. "Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured. Merrythought gave him an odd look, but Dumbledore smiled. "I believe class will be ending soon. Although Elphias would gather my things for me, I must ask Professor Garside a question."

Merrythought surveyed Harry. Dumbledore wondered what she was thinking, but it didn't take long at all for him to find out: "You must be excellent at Defense, being an Auror so young. I have been needing an assistant. Would you be willing?"

"Defense was my best subject at Hogwarts," Harry said. "But, why are you asking? I can't stay here."

"Well, we have to figure out a way to get you back, right? If we turn you in to the Ministry, I doubt they would go lightly on you. There might be a way to have you stay here. I hate to do it, but I could get a good friend to forge documents for you. He's been around a long time. Come, I will take you to Professor Black. That way, you can stay at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled. "Are you sure this will work?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

Dumbledore nodded. Merrythought was a very smart woman. He trusted her very much. Then, Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Harry Potter behind with Professor Merrythought.

Dumbledore made it in just in time to hear the bell ring. Everyone stood, chattering immediately as Garside yelled, "Two feet next class discussing human transfiguration!" Dumbledore spotted Elphias stuffing his book into his bookbag.

"What took you so long?" Elphias asked him, handing Dumbledore his own bag, which he had packed up for him.

"I'll tell you as soon as it's sorted out," he said. "But, I have to ask Garside something. I'll meet you in the common room after dinner."

Elphias gave him a curt nod. "Farewell, dear friend." Dumbledore chuckled as Elphias lifted his arms and walked away as if asking the heavens why Dumbledore had to abandon him.

"Professor," Dumbledore said, stepping up to his desk in the front where he was shifting through the homework that had been turned in earlier in class. Dumbledore noticed his loopy handwriting found its way to be first on the stack.

Garside wasted no time. "Have you finished the thesis?"

Dumbledore mutely opened his bag and pulled out the scroll. Garside grinned pleasantly as he took it away gently as if it were an ancient document.

"Beautiful," he said, carefully unrolling to see the title. "I'll read over it and send it off to Transfiguration Today."

He had already begun reading it, probably expecting Dumbledore to say thank you and leave. But, that did not happen. Dumbledore stayed put. "Professor," he said.

"Yes?" His eyes still flickered across the page.

"How much would you say," he paused, uncertain. If the Potters were really related to the Peverell's, then, just maybe… "I mean to say, how much truth are in children's stories?"

The only thing Garside moved was his eyes. "Why, may I ask?"

Dumbledore didn't waste any time in making up an excuse. It had crossed his mind before Harry mentioned the Peverell's. "They're told to teach a lesson to children. The tales take characters and put them into situations where an error has occurred. The error makes the whole story, and without the error, the story would have never taken place."

Garside seemed lost, his heavy eyebrows twisting into a small, knotted indention. "This is true. However, they are stories, Albus. Myths."

"Myths are based on some sort of fact, Professor."

Dumbledore thought Garside was going to disagree with him, as he liked to do frequently. Apparently he was under the impression that Dumbledore knew too much, and to be honest, he believed that. Garside liked to prove him wrong.

After a moment's pause, Garside clasped the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I'm not much a historian, Albus. Professor Binns might be a better person to go to."

Dumbledore inwardly cringed. Even though Garside thought Dumbledore arrogant, at least he tried to consider what Dumbledore had to say. He liked to lay caution on his side rather than letting him do whatever he wanted to do as most of the other teacher's allowed because Dumbledore had already surpassed them. He guessed all that Garside wanted to do was ground him somewhat.

Binns, though, couldn't care less. To him, Dumbledore was a regular student. Whatever Dumbledore had to say had no effect on him. He told the truth plainly, and it was always based on fact and not myths. Once Dumbledore had approached him in his second year about the Founder's of Hogwarts. He wanted to know if the Chamber of Secrets was real. Binns dismissed him, saying, "Stories are just stories, Theodore," like Garside had said and walked away, up to his office, probably to research Goblin's more.

"I know what you're thinking," Garside said as he picked up the scroll again. Dumbledore looked at the stone floor. "They're not real. Stick to what you know. You know Transfiguration."

In truth, Garside had no idea what Dumbledore was thinking. This caused him to sigh. He realized he had lost the argument without really trying. "Yes, Professor."

He nodded curtly, signaling that Dumbledore should leave. He didn't hesitate, spinning on his heel and ran full out toward the Headmaster's office.

Harry Potter was seated across from Phineas Nigellus Black for the first time in his entire life. The strangeness of this irked Harry. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He'd only ever seen Phineas in the portrait next to Dumbledore's desk, and when he actually looked up over the bookcase, the portrait was gone, replaced with the stone wall.

Merrythought was arguing with the Professor. "He applied, sir. You know I've been looking for an assistant."

"None of the teacher's have assistant's," was Phineas's reply. He was still as blunt and cold as Harry remembered him to be.

Merrythought seemed to hold back her true feelings. Harry suspected she spoke her mind quite often. "Of course. But I'm doing other research outside of Hogwarts. I'm assisting Albus Dumbledore with an internship. It's a great deal of work."

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore," Phineas huffed. "Star student, Headboy, published, on the Junior Wizengamot. He could take every single N.E.W.T Hogwarts has to offer right now and gain Outstandings on them all. Why waste your energy when he knows it all?"

Harry could tell he was being at least a little sarcastic. He felt a little uncomfortable. Seeing Dumbledore so young was a shock. He'd seen pictures in Rita Skeeter's book, but those could hardly be compared to the real Dumbledore: the real one. He was there like he'd always been, but without a crooked nose, no long beard, and fully colored hair. It was a strange sight to see, but this was before Grindelwald had changed him. Harry didn't know what Dumbledore was really like at seventeen. If there was one thing Harry learned in the year after Dumbledore died, it was to not take too much stock in what he saw on the outside.

Harry glanced at Merrythought. He'd only heard of her in passing, so he wasn't sure how she'd respond.

"He still has much to learn, Phineas," she said frigidly. "This meeting is about an assistant; not how much you dislike Mr. Dumbledore. Now, all Mr. Potter would do is help me with lesson plans and demonstrations. I'd still do the grading and teaching. I just need someone to be my planner. I do get frazzled easily, you realize."

Phineas studied Harry, his black eyes scanning his face. Harry unconsciously reached up to pat down his bangs in an attempt to hide his scar. Phineas's eyes finally landed on his chest, where the Auror symbol was.

"You're an Auror? I hadn't realized there was a Potter in the di-"

The office door swung open. All three turned. Dumbledore stood there, his cheeks flushed, but not out of breath as he swiftly made his way to them. He stopped in between Merrythought and Harry.

"Mr. Dumbledore, we are having a private meeting," Phineas said, outraged, his eyes darkening.

Dumbledore nodded patiently, glancing down at Harry. There was a slight twinkle in his eye that caused Harry's heart to jump. It'd been a long time since he'd seen that.

"Professor Merrythought has kindly given her time to assist me with my studies, Professor," Dumbledore said. "She is friend's with Nicolas Flamel. As you know, I have been apprenticing with him for the past few months. She has never once failed to be there to aid us both." He paused as if to allow that to sink in. "Please, she needs an assistant."

"Why not a House-Elf? There are plenty in the kitchens," Phineas suggested.

Harry remained silent. To be honest, he didn't much understand why Dumbledore and Merrythought were sticking up for him as willingly as they were. If he had met with a time-traveler, he would have been right suspicious of him. But, then again in Dumbledore's time, there hadn't just been a war where he could only trust a few people. Dumbledore was a strong believer in chances, anyway.

"I need a human," said Merrythought. "One who isn't bound by a Master. Mr. Potter is competent."

They hadn't even seen what sort of magic he could do, Harry thought. "I'm willing, Professor," he assured.

Phineas gave a great sigh, but sent a suspicious look in Harry's direction. "Very well."

Merrythought and Harry stood. Dumbledore relaxed.

"Now, leave," he waved his hand, shooing them. As Harry left, he realized the office seemed too empty. Devices and trinkets were replaced with books about the Dark Arts and potions in vials. It seemed dark compared to what Dumbledore had made the office out to be, and just from that, he could tell the school was run much differently.

Merrythought's office was a floor down from the Headmaster's on the sixth floor. Harry walked slightly in front of Dumbledore. He was aware of how light Dumbledore's footsteps were compared to Merrythought's, whose heels clapped against the stone. Harry's trainer's squeaked a little, but with Dumbledore, there was only a light pattering.

"Now that that's out of the way," said Merrythought as she ushered the two boys into her office. Harry glanced around. Books were scattered about the room. There was a bookshelf, but as that overflowed with books, she had the rest in an assortment of stacks. On a small table behind her desk was what looked like a small workshop area, with metals pieces and things Harry couldn't even make out in vials like in Phineas's office. But, what seemed to stand out most to Harry was her desk, which was piled high with papers.

Dumbledore sat down on a Victorian style couch and crossed his legs, reaching over to the workshop table to grab something that looked like a snitch, but it was much more complex. The inside revealed parts and pieces that reminded Harry of a Muggle car motor.

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and tapped the device. An eerie sort of smoke ensued from the side, along with a high pitched squeak. He reached over again to get a small piece of metal and a Muggle screwdriver, which had a handle made of wood.

"Please sit down," Merrythought said, who was already seated comfortably in her plush chair behind her desk. Harry could barely see her because a stack of paper hid her face. He sat down next to Dumbledore.

"Thank you," Harry said during a short pause. "I mean, I don't understand how you trust me. I know if I was in your situation…" he trailed off, not really sure what to say.

"You didn't try to attack me," Dumbledore said like it explained it all. "And your wand. It has Fawkes' feather."

Harry became aware of the wand in his pocket. He liked it there. The thought of losing it again like he had for five months still haunted him.

"You already have Fawkes?" Harry asked, realizing what that meant.

Dumbledore nodded. "Nicolas gave him to me the first day we met. Such as kind fellow. I mean to say, both him and Fawkes." A goofy sort of grin fell onto Dumbledore's lips. "My brother thinks it's mad that I have a pet phoenix, but I say it's mad that he has two goats named Hokey and Pokey! Funny sort of creatures, they are."

As Dumbledore chuckled to himself, Harry tried to make sense of his humor but failed miserably. "Er, right," he said, looking toward Merrythought. "What am I going to do as your assistant?"

She smiled as if she were keeping a secret. "You're not going to be my assistant."

"Then, what-"

Merrythought didn't waste any time in explaining.

"I'm going to help you get back."

AN: This is the first Harry Potter fan fiction I've written in a long time, and it's the first one that's going to be long. Before, I was a little 13 year old writing stories that only lasted as long as this first chapter. Now that I've had more writing experience, I'm able to write longer stories. I'm a second year college student at the moment, so please bear with me. As of right now I'm on Chapter 4. Also, I don't have a beta, so if some parts of this were difficult to read, I'm really sorry. Please tell me so I can fix them.

Also, this will follow canon. It'll go on until after Dumbledore meets Grindelwald, which slash, but a very, very minimal amount. I think Dumbledore only had a crush on Grindelwald. Nothing else.

One last thing, I realize that all the time-turners were destroyed during the battle of the Department of Mysteries. My answer to that is that the Unspeakables made more. And by batch, I mean, they were hanging on a wall, and Harry hit them. They weren't fully developed yet and that's the reason they took him so far back. This won't really come into the story at all, so that's why I'm saying this.

Anyway, please review!

To Be Continued