A/N: *hugs everyone* Here. Have an update.

Elves don't think in the same way as humans. Of course they don't. Humans are stupid.

When the Universe decided to bestow magic on a small percentage of their kind, the Elves knew that no good could come from it.

The one thing that was to be said about humans was their ability to harness love. Love was one form of magic that Elves had very little knowledge about. They couldn't understand it because they were unable to feel it.

That is, all except from one.

The White Elve was the oldest, and was responsible for the creation of the rest of the Elves. Apart from being the first of their kind, and their creator, White's ability to understand love, and the fact that he was capable of creativity, (which is an impossible feat for one who was unable to love,) made him well-respected, even if he did seem a bit mad at times.

Any Elve which White created could only understand one aspect of the universe at a time, but will understand that one thing much deeper than a human can possibly comprehend.

White was the exception. He knew everything.

Everything, that is, except how to create an Elve of love.

The sound of nature unravelling itself was what pulled White's thoughts towards the physical plain – more commonly known as "Reality."

White did not much care for Reality, and so he was very annoyed and unsettled when he found he couldn't leave.

He took a look at his surroundings. That's what you had to do in Reality. You had to be aware of things and make sense of them. How bothersome.

He was on a small island in the middle of a lake. The air was chilly. The area around him seemed completely devoid of life. There were no buildings.

This calmed White down a little. He would not have liked an encounter with a human.

He decided to find out what had brought him here. The sound. That one sound that even non-magical humans could make. The sound which was capable of altering nature within a split-second.

White believed it was the sound of a gunshot. Only he knew that it wasn't a gunshot. It had been a magical noise. Why else would he be here?

He reached out with his mind and touched the area around him, exploring. He stopped when he found an odd ripple within the air.

"My father?"

He turned to see one of his children standing behind him. This Elve was in the shape of a female. (Elves didn't have a gender, but they had to look like something – call it artistic licence.)

She was turquoise in colour, but with dark blue "hair" made of light.

"Kaliu. Why are you here, my child?"

Her face remained impassive as she answered him.

"Time has been twisted. It seems I have been pulled here to repair the damage. Only… It is beyond me. Time has been affected, but Time is not the cause."

Of course. The "ripple" White just felt… It is a breakage. Of course his Elve of Time would be pulled here.

"How have you come to this conclusion my dear?" he asked.

"Time is incapable of breaking itself, father. There must be something else at work."

"Yes," whispered White, studying the space in the air where the "ripple" was absently, "Well, there is only one thing that can touch Time. As Time doesn't actually exist, it is very difficult to break."

"Time is all that exists, father."

All White did was smile. Kaliu continued, after a pause.

"Time cannot be broken father. It has been reshaped."

"Cannot be broken? Are you sure?"

"If time were to be broken, father, so too would the Universe. Reality cannot make sense without Time."

"Oh my! It's quite perplexing how something which doesn't even exist could be so important!"

Kaliu looked pointedly indifferent. White chuckled. Kaliu continued.

"What should we do, father?"

White pouted and sat down hard on the ground. He wanted nothing more than to ignore this problem and continue living out his existence as a weave in the fabric of the Universe in peace. As it was, he had to fix this problem instead, or he'd have no Universe to be a part of.

"I am going to meditate on this anomaly, my dear. I suggest you join me for this."

Wordlessly, Kaliu approached her creator and sat opposite him. They clasped hands and closed their eyes before opening and reaching out with their minds.

Harry decided to shut his eyes against the blurring movement of time. It was faster than in McGonagall's office, and even that was saying something.

Harry's rear end hit cold stone floor.

The sofa he had been sitting on had disappeared from underneath him.

His surroundings were pitch black. He unholstered his wand and gave it a flick, causing a light to shine out of the end.

He was still in his quarters, but they were bare. The walls were damp and covered in layers of dust and cobwebs.

There was no fire in the fireplace, and of course, there was no portrait.

He turned towards the exit, where he found a door exactly where the tapestry usually was. He hurried out of the door. He was desperate to get his bearings, and find out exactly what the year was.

It was night outside, and oddly, none of the braziers in the castle were lit.

Harry shivered as a gust of wind picked up, whistling eerily through the castle.

Hogwarts was normally pleasantly warm, despite most of the windows not having glass.

Harry shivered again, and picked up the pace of his footfalls to help him warm up.

He regretted taking off his overcoat, meaning that all he had on was a shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and a tie.

People, or a newspaper would come in handy to find out the date.

Hogsmeade was as good place a place as any to start looking.

He weaved his way down corridors and staircases to reach the Entrance Hall.

Cobwebs hung in sheets over archways and like tapestries over walls.

Harry's footfalls echoed painfully as he noticed that the walls were completely bare of moving artwork, and the creaking suits of armour were nowhere to be seen.

He met nobody on the way down. Not even a ghost.

Harry's pace increased, his anxiety and confusion rising with every step. Eventually, he reached the entrance hall, heart hammering in his chest.

How far back must he be for Hogwarts to be uninhabited?

Hasn't Hogwarts been around for - Harry cursed himself for not taking Hermione's advice and reading Hogwarts: A history.

He had reached the bottom of the stone stairs.

A sound made Harry stop.

The noise sounded like a voice. A person he knew, but couldn't place it.

"Harry? Are you here?!"

The noise was louder now, and Harry could no longer deny that he knew this person, if they were indeed calling his name.

He couldn't bring himself to answer. It was dark, and a voice which he may or may not recognise was looking for him.

His instincts making him err on the side of caution, he raised his wand, allowing the light to spill towards the top of the stone step, which is where the voice seemed to be coming from.

Harry heard muttering coming, the sound getting slowly louder. He also saw a light come and go, before Harry was blinded by its source appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Who's there?" said Harry sternly.

"Harry? Harry, it is I, Albus!" Harry furrowed his eyebrow and peered at the silhouette at the top of the stairs. The task was made difficult by the man's bright light in his face.

"Sorry, can you turn out your light? I can't see you at all."

Immediately the light disappeared. Harry peered past the light of his own wand to take in the person before him. He didn't recognise the man at all.

"Could you... Come closer? I can't..."

The man moved to the bottom of the stairs. As he got closer, Harry took in his appearance.

He was quite broad in the shoulders and very tall. The way he walked seemed oddly familiar, but it was not a walk he associated with his old headmaster at all.

The man had said he was Albus, but he in no way resembled the Dumbledore he knew.

"Harry? I am afraid I cannot see you with the light in my face...

Harry hesitated and turned his wand away to point at the floor.

Albus sighed and walked towards him after seeing his face. Harry hesitated and instinctively took a few steps back. Albus stopped.

"Is something the matter, Harry?

"You said you were Albus. Do you mean - Albus Dumbledore?"

The man laughed.

"Do you know many men named Albus?"

Harry sighed in derision. That question has more weight than this Albus knew.

"Complicated question. Never mind that. I haven't seen you..."

Harry gestured up and down Dumbledore's form,

"This... young."

"Ah." said Dumbledore, nodding pensively.

Harry's heart fluttered as smiling blue eyes twinkled mischievously at him from under his shoulder length Auburn hair, and suddenly, somehow, he knew this man had to be Albus Dumbledore.

The longer the man looked at him like that, the more it made Harry uneasy, like he was face to face with a tiger getting ready to pounce.

Harry scratched his head and laughed awkwardly.

He looked this Dumbledore up and down again. The man was definitely taller by a few inches, and he wore very old fashioned clothing - though unlike his usual wizardly robes, these were undoubtedly muggle.

He wore a gold waistcoat over a white shirt, a large bottle green cravat adorning the man's chest.

His defined arms almost strained against the shirt sleeves, before expensive looking cufflinks glittered at his wrists.

The man's well-tailored trousers draped perfectly downwards, leading the eye down to a pair of very polished black shoes.

Harry had never seen Dumbledore wear something so... Neat, even if his chosen style was a bit colourful.

He looked away as he involuntarily licked his lips, the arm that was scratching his head dropping at his side, and the hand holding his lit wand twitched slightly, causing the light to dance over the floor.

"Where - I mean, when exactly are we?"

"I am uncertain," said Albus cheerfully, moving closer. Harry noticed that this Dumbledore's voice was radically different from the older Dumbledore. More melodic and youthful.

Of course, even voices change over time, Harry thought.

Harry nodded, a little distracted by the heat emanating from Dumbledore, which was a lot even with the small change of proximity.

"I was going to go to Hogsmeade to see if there are any newspapers," said Harry.

Dumbldore nodded.

"That would be a wise course of action."

He gestured to the door, and Harry nodded, pushing the heavy front doors open, and stepping out into the night.

They were surrounded by trees. The stone steps descended immediately into the forest, which spread out for miles, all the way to the mountains in the distance. All that interrupted the endless sea of treetops was the inky black lake, which looked the same as ever.

"Oh." said Harry lamely.

"Indeed," breathed Dumbledore.

Harry craned his neck and peered in the direction of Hogsmeade. There was nothing but trees.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore, "How do you think we should proceed?"

Harry felt uneasy listening to Dumbledore ask him what they should do. Up until now, Dumbledore had always been the one to take the lead.

"Haven't got a clue. Need to think a minute."

Harry racked his brains to try and understand when in history the castle had been deserted. He shivered violently and folded his arms close to his chest. He grew increasingly frustrated.

"Oh, I hate it when Hermione is right. Should've read that damn book."

He turned on his heel and entered the castle again, the darkness pushing in on him annoyingly. It oddly felt colder inside than it did outside.

He decided to push through to the Great Hall. It was completely devoid of life, and of tables. It was completely bare.

Harry made his way over to the empty fireplace on the right hand side of the hall. He was, by this point, shivering quite badly, so getting warm was necessary for him to think straight.

He pointed his wand into the fire.

"Lakarnum Inflamari."

It was one of Hermione's old tricks - fire that could burn anywhere - even empty fireplaces.

He heaved a sigh of relief as the heat washed over him, warming his bones. He sat heavily on the stone floor, ignoring how the cold floor made his rear end protest.

Dumbledore came and sat down next to him, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

"You're uncomfortable." He said this pointedly, looking away from Harry and into the fire, clasping his hands in from of him in his cross-legged position.

Harry didn't say anything. He hadn't given it much thought, but yes. He was uncomfortable.

"I know how you feel," Dumbledore chuckled, "but, well - I cannot tell you why." He sighed gravely.

Harry nodded again, still not saying anything.

Harry suddenly realised something.

"How - have you got a time-turner too?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"It must be early for you, indeed..." He pulled out a time-turner from under his cravat.

Harry gaped.

"Won't we have a problem with causing some kind of paradox?"

Dumbledore put away his time-turner again, chuckling.

"I think, as you would say, that ship has sailed, Harry."

Harry inclined his head, choosing not to continue this line of discussion.

"May I ask your age, Harry?" said Dumbledore gently.

"Thirty six," said Harry dismissively, his mind distracted by their current predicament.

"I myself am thirty," said Dumbledore, and Harry could feel his eyes on him.

"Mmhm," said Harry, keeping his eyes on the fire.

"Harry, we will be quite alright. This is not an unusual predicament for us. We shall be sent back eventually, so we should use this time to our advantage."

"What advantage?" said Harry, "I have essays to mark, detentions to oversee... I can't do any of that if I'm being thrown Merlin knows where. Or when. Whatever."

He looked at Dumbledore, who avoided his eyes, suddenly looking grim.

"That is, I mean to say, we could... Become more familiar with one another. It is... Unusual, becoming acquainted when the people in question reunite in a jumbled order. However, I already know that the effort is rewarding."

Harry's eyes were ghosting over Dumbledore's hair, marvelling at how the fire danced in the reflection of the man's sleek tresses, before the man he looked made an odd movement, and slapped his hand to his chest.

He looked at Harry as if about to say something, but the man faded before Harry's eyes, and he was gone.

BANG!

Harry jumped as the Great Hall doors flew open, and a silhouette walked in.

Harry scrambled to his feet, brandishing his wand.

"Harry, put that down," called the silhouette as he walked briskly closer to Harry.

Harry lowered the wand as a more familiar looking Dumbledore, with his silver hair and pale blue robes, appeared in the light of the fire.

The man reached out with his hands and grasped Harry's upper arms, studying him carefully over his familiar half-moon spectacles.

"I remember..." he said under his breath, "What a shame..."

Harry instinctively looked down at Dumbledore's hands. They were both healthy.

This did not go unnoticed by Dumbledore.

"Come, Harry..." and the man gestured to the floor, not letting go of Harry's arms as they sat down.

The man smiled, taking hold of Harry's hand.

The feeling was so comfortable that Harry couldn't bring himself to pull away.

"You were just sorted into Gryffindor."

"Ah," said Harry, glad of the man giving him a frame of reference.

Harry pointed on the floor nearby.

"Your thirty year old self just time-hopped from here."

"Yes, indeed," confirmed Dumbledore with a nod.

He seemed to think hard for a while, before speaking again.

"You must forgive me if my younger self were to become... Impatient. I... He... Well," Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry was surprised to see a blush creep up the man's cheeks.

Suddenly, Harry felt his time turner spin against his chest.

"Oh, you have got to be..."

Harry's sentence was interrupted by the familiar rushing sound pressing against his ears, and he closed his eyes against the persistent blur of activity around him to avoid the onset of nausea.

The sound of rushing stopped, and Harry found himself in a much warmer version of the Great Hall. The hearth in front of him was crackling merrily, now sporting a handsome, normal-looking orange fire.

He stood up and spun around, taking in his surroundings. The house tables were back, and it was also still dark outside, although the hall as lit up enough for Harry to see his surroundings.

Harry furrowed his eyebrow. Will he have to find out what time period he had arrived at every time this happened?

A door opened and closed behind the head table, which Harry knew to be the trophy room. It was Dumbledore again, almost as he was during Harry's school years, though his hair was still auburn, it was longer, as was his beard.

The man didn't look over or say anything, but made his way automatically over to Harry.

When he reached Harry, he smiled gently.

"Yes, the jumps are very erratic, Harry. They will be quite a pain. You are in my current present now. Take my arm. We must make good use of all the time we are given."

Harry took his arm, much the same way as he had when he was sixteen - all of those years ago, only this time, it was his right arm – and it was perfectly healthy.

Harry felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through a small tube as they apparated.

They arrived in what Harry recognised as McGonagall's old office. So… This was when Dumbledore was the transfiguration professor, thought Harry.

Dumbledore opened a dusty corner cupboard and pulled out a backpack. It was made out of surprisingly modern material – possibly nylon, and it was clearly muggle.

He thrust it into Harry's arms,

"You'll need this."

"Okay…" said Harry, looking at it dumbly.

Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively.

"Apparently, I do not need to tell you anything about it. Sometimes things… Sort themselves out."

Harry dumped the bag on the floor by a rickety chair, in which he sat heavily.

"What can you tell me?"

"I recently asked you the same question, coincidently," said Dumbledore airily, Harry could detect a hint of ice in his voice.

"My apologies," said Harry sarcastically.

"Much will be explained to you soon, Harry." He looked, if Harry didn't know better, annoyed.

"Is there something wrong professor?"

Dumbledore blinked, and the twinkle which had been momentarily absent seemed to ignite once more, he smiled, his eyes crinkled above his half-moon spectacles.

"Not at all Harry. As I said, everything – or, at the very least, most things, will be explained to you soon. If I were you, I would put on that bag."

Harry felt the Time Turner start to turn, and Harry jumped up, snatching the bag up tightly in his hand.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt, as if from a Portkey, and Harry felt himself being thrown in every direction at incredible speeds, the blurring of time still ongoing, but faster, much faster.

Harry witnessed, somehow, through the blur, the castle being built in reverse, the walls lowering around him, the floors disappearing level by level until only rock could be seen below.

Harry felt himself flown backwards he noted he was over an island in the Black Lake, before he was propelled upwards like a cork out of a champagne bottle. Harry screamed. There was a flash of light, causing Harry to blink, and he saw nothing but white when he opened his eyes again.

He stopped screaming, and sat up in mid-air. He was floating.

Then he was falling.

Harry yelled and flailed his arms and legs hopelessly. Miraculously, the backpack was still firmly grasped in his right hand.

There was the deafening sound of a gunshot, and the white disappeared to again be replaced with the familiar grey and green of reality.

Harry's back made harsh contact with rocky ground. Before he lost consciousness, he heard voices. Both loud and a whisper, echoing against nothing.

"Kaliu – did you do that?"

"Certainly not."