Everything That Can Go Wrong Will Go Wrong

Chapter One

Harry's PoV

        Harry clutched his scar. It had been a year since Voldemort had been killed from his own spell, but sometimes, the old curse scar seared up agan for no known reason. His green and gold flecked snake, Lin, hisses reassurance to his owner from under his sleeve.

        Harry said the password (phoenix tears) to the newly built and stationed gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. Harry entered the door and sat rigidly in the chair opposite of Albus Dumbledore's presently occupied portrait.

        "You wished to see me, Professor?" he asked. The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling like they used to when he was alive in the flesh.

        "Ah, Harry," he said pleasantly. "How wonderful it is to see you again. I trust you have been well?"

        Harry scowled. "May we please get to the point for why you summoned me? Professor?" he added hastily to cool the accidental harsh tone. Dumbledore watched Harry as he brushed a hand through his long dark hair, his startling green eyes looking slightly impatient.

     “Potters never lose their arrogance, it seems,” a cold voice sneered from beside him. The former headmaster, Severus Snape, was looking at Harry distastefully, who shot back,

     “Clearly you do not understand the meaning of the word “arrogance”, which means showing overbearing pride in one’s self, I think you get your head mixed up between me and my father.”

     Snape opened his mouth, but Dumbledore shot a pointed stare at both of them. “Now, Harry,” he started, as if nothing had occurred, “Are you aware of the stirring going on at this time?”

     The teenage boy’s scowl deepened. “I would say that the “stirring” as so called is a little more than that.”

     After the fall of the Dark Lord, the wizarding world was allowed to have half a month of peace, which was put to an abrupt halt when the Death Eaters who had survived and gotten away started rampaging the muggle streets. These attacks, though, were not as calculated as when Voldemort was alive, and also as many of their best fellow Death Eaters had died in the Great War.

     Dumbledore smiled at Harry. “Yes, and I believe that the strongest of aurors are dealing with this, and also, I think, the brave warriors’ group you named after me?”

     This got a slight grin out of Harry, remembering the times while he was still at Hogwarts, his biggest mourn was that hag of Umbridge.

     “Yes, sir,” Harry replied, his smile fading away as the real reality came to him once again. “And I must be going and helping them. There’s still a surprising amount of stray Death Eaters that had gone into hiding,” he said grimly.

     The aged wizard’s eyes twinkled brightly. “How would you like it, Harry,” he murmured quietly but clearly. “To take a break from all this fighting? You have already been through much more in your lifetime than a child should have.”

     This statement brought a slight frown from Harry. “Professor, you know that I can’t just sit here—”

     “I’m not asking you to, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted withought any sign of impatience. “It is not of your behavior to sit aside, more likely for you to throw yourself in the fire and help. No, Harry, what I’m asking you is, and this time, I will be clearer: would you like to take a break from fighting and teach Defense against the Dark Arts?”

     Harry blinked, confused. “But, sir, you do know that Hogwarts does not yet reopen to students until the year after?” His question brought the slimy Snape back to his portrait.

     “Of course he knows, Potter, don’t question so rudely—” Dumbledore held up a hand, and Snape slunk back sideways into his portrait.

      “Harry,” the old wizard began with importance written all over his face. “How would you like to teach Defense against the Dark Arts to your parents in 1976?”

     The teenage boy gaped at him, speechless. “Is that possible?” he asked when he regained speech but was still flabbergasted. “I mean, time-turners only take you as far as 24 hours, not even close to more than a decade—”

     “Please allow me to speak, child,” Dumbledore quietly interrupted, though his smile showed no impatience. “I have lately come across a simple spell that takes one anywhere in time, as long as it stays within the century-mark, and whisks you back after one year. I have not tried it yet, of course, so it may be faulty, although I highly doubt it, it was found with great work in the most secretive stash of books—ah, but I am straying from the subject. So, would you like to try it? I have gotten Minerva—Professor McGonagall—to write a letter addressed from me to my past self that will explain everything.”

     He paused for a reaction of his speech from Harry, but when he did not receive one, he proceeded. “Now, over the details: You will teach Defense against the Dark Arts in the year 1976 under the false name—changed to draw suspicions from being related to James Potter—of Harry Otter—no, no, just making a little joke, my boy (Dumbledore added at the odd look Harry gave him)—under the false name of Harry Evanter—a small creation of mine of Evans and Potter.

     “I have requested the kind Molly Weasley to pack up your trunk for you, which contains clothes, your broomstick, and personal items I believe she picked up around your room, photographs and things, so you won’t be missing your friends too much, though I advise you to keep very obvious things you may have away from prying eyes. Your trunk is shrunken and on my desk—beside the cage—on the right—yes, that’s the one. The spell Incantem Reversi ought to do the trick when you get there.

     “I have also planted the story to your friends that you are leaving on a secret mission for more death eaters elsewhere, and they will not be able to contact you for a year until your return.

     “And, the most important thing of all: you must not say anything to anybody but myself, or make any actions that would lead for the secret to be out, do you understand, Harry?”

     The wizard nodded, fingering his trusty phoenix wand. Everything had not quite processed into his brain yet, and the question directed to him suddenly snapped the dam in his brain and the information suddenly flooded to his brain all at once. I’m going to see my parents! They’re going to be younger than me? I’m going to see Sirius again! And Remus! And that bloody rat Pettigrew! I’ll kill him before he graduates! He betrayed them! He—

     “Harry, you have never been a good Occlumence, and even as a portrait, it is extremely difficult to block you out. Remember what I said about changing the future, Harry—it includes not killing anybody.”

        Harry blinked, and sheepishly half-grinned at the painting. “Sorry, sir.”

        “Quite alright,” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, are you ready?”

        Harry grabbed the letter on the desk. “I dunno, professor.”

        “Understandable,” the old wizard said. “It is not always that one visits his dead parents as teenagers.”

        “Now, Timeus Reverso!” Dumbledore suddenly waved his wand at Harry. Surprised, he stepped back, but already his vision had engulfed into darkness, and he felt himself being lifted off his feet. That’s when his mind closed and Harry drifted into what felt like unconsciousness.

A/N: Oh wow, that sucked.