Harry Potter and the Overload of Gen Z

A Boy Named Harry

A/N: I've decided to bring this story over from my AO3, I hope you enjoy it!

This is a story featuring a time travelling Harry Potter who knows more than he should and just happens to be a snarky guy who lives to confuse the shit out of others.

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"Good luck, Harry."

Those were the last words spoken to Harry Potter before he disappeared in the middle of the night from the Dursley's doorstep.

When he disappeared no one noticed, all except a certain twinkly-eyed wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore. The wizened man had been in the middle of responding to a letter from the ministry when one of the instruments on his table broke with a loud shatter. Watery liquid and shrapnel scattered across his desk, ruining the letter the man was writing.

With a small wave of his hand, he restored the letter back to its non-damaged state and turned his eyes towards the broken instrument. Dumbledore's eyes lost their usual twinkle as he stared long and hard at the broken bits and pieces of the tool used to check the strength of the blood wards he had placed.

Something had happened to Harry Potter.

The headmaster quickly departed, apparating to Privet Drive, staring at the empty doorstep of the Dursley's home. Albus Dumbledore was not a man who panicked easily, yet that night, fear grappled him.

Harry Potter was missing.

Worry lining his wizened features, the man quickly made his way back. It would do no good for the wizarding world if they knew that Harry Potter had disappeared - they needed a symbol of hope to help conquer the dark times. He only hoped that by lying, he was making the right decision.

When he was not busy with his headmaster and ministry duties Dumbledore spent his time in the following years leading the search for Harry Potter and with each failure to locate the child, Dumbledore resignedly hoped that the boy was safe and sound, raised in a loving family.

Dumbledore was a man who had made many mistakes, that he had accepted, and leaving Harry Potter on the doorsteps of the Dursley household had been one of them and one that he greatly regretted.

Minerva was the first he told, the two standing next to the warm flicks of flames of a fireplace, yet the warmth did little to disperse the cold tenseness that grappled the room as each word left Dumbledore's mouth. The irony of it all ridiculed him - Minvera had been the one who had warned him not to leave Harry with the Dursleys and Dumbledore had not listened. Minerva had screamed at him, glared at him, her usually calm and stern composure broken, hairs sticking out in frail wisps where usually they would have been pulled back into a tight bun. Eventually, Minerva relented her anger, joining Dumbledore in his search yet the sharp look she gave him through her glasses betrayed her lack of forgiveness.

Dumbledore understood. He really did. He had failed Harry Potter and those who trusted him to take care of the boy.

Afterwards, he told Remus Lupin - the man deserved to know what had happened to his friend's son. Remus, like Minerva, had also been angry and the werewolf part of him must have been in pain Dumbledore had realised. It pained Dumbledore how there was little he could do other than to offer words of consolation to the man who had not only lost his dear friends but also a child he had cherished very much.

The next and final person he told was Severus Snape. Reluctantly, Severus had joined the search, a faint glimmer of worry hiding behind his dark eyes that he concealed well. He knew how the man loathed James Potter but he also knew how the man had loved Lily. Severus had scowled at him, talked of his stupidity and how he was catching up to his old age.