“It’s calm… too calm… for too long. Something will happen soon,” Harry mumbled thoughtfully.

Hermione sighed. “I think so too. It has been a couple of months since the last attack. But let’s go inside now. The others are waiting and only sitting here and waiting for an attack will do no good. You should enjoy yourself from time to time.”

Four figures were coming out of the shadows and stopped. At the same moment their faces became visible, Harry’s heart missed a beat. In front of them four young men were standing. A pale one with brown hair, one with longer black hair that elegantly fell over his eyes, one with unruly black hair and a small, mousy haired one. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and...

“You okay, Harry?” he suddenly heard Hermione asking. He had not even noticed that she was finished with her tale, and looked up startled.
“It’s… nothing…” he answered quickly. He’s angry, Harry thought. He’s angry that the attack on the Weasley’s failed. “I think we could all use some rest before we continue. I don’t think we’re of much help this way.”

“You do know that smoking is forbidden in the whole castle.”
Harry had been wrong, when he had thought that the day could not get worse. It just had. Sighing, he extinguished his cigarette on the stone and turned the owner of the voice. “You worry too much over things that don’t concern you at all. If the Headmaster doesn’t want me to smoke here, I’m sure he’ll tell me.”

Harry slowed his steps, when he neared the Quidditch pit, not wanting to appear out of breath. He walked around the stands and saw James sitting on the bench for the reserve players. His father was already expecting him.

Suddenly the portrait swung open and three men, laden with plenty of colourfully wrapped presents, were about to storm into the room, but stopped dead in their tracks, when their eyes landed on Harry holding the baby. A small present, wrapped in blue paper with golden stars on it, fell from the stack and hit the floor with a loud ‘Moo!’. Other presents followed suite, when Sirius Black got over the initial shock and whipped out his wand. “What are you doing here?”

Harry could only stare at his father. Whenever he had seen him in the memories of people that had known him, he had never seen him this insightful. This was a completely new side to his father that he just got to know. While James' words slowly started to sink in, many others emerged in his mind, so, after a brief moment of silence, he sputtered, "Dumbledore is keeping something from you, too."

“As you see,” he continued after a moment’s hesitation, to let the information sink in, “Voldemort is just a wizard – a powerful one, I admit – but he’s still just that. He had been wronged more than once in his childhood and this formed the man you’re now afraid of. I’m not saying that you don’t have to fear him, but by fearing his name you only give him more power over you!”

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted them brightly, helping herself to some scrambled eggs. “Isn’t this a beautiful day? Perfect to squash Slytherin.”

Again many concerned witches and wizards doubt the Headmaster and his reasons for keeping an obviously dangerous man like Mr. Potter employed. A man, who always claims to only have the best interests of his students at heart, should choose his employees more carefully. This is an advice from the Prophet and worried parents out in the Wizarding World, whose children are attending Hogwarts.

Harry’s eyes landed on a small figurine of a ballerina standing on the windowsill and suddenly his eyes widened, as something that could only be a memory shot through his mind. “I blew that one up…”
A chuckle from the door tore him out of his thoughts, as Lily and James came through the door, both carrying some bowls and putting them on the table. “Not yet,” Lily said with a grin. “But thanks for the warning.”

Hermione and Lily exchanged another glance, as if silently communicating with each other, after which the brunette explained, “Because we believe we found someone who has used this spell and returned to his own time afterwards.”
 
 
 
 
 

“While I was doing this, I always thought that I would return to a future where everything was changed, but I was wrong. After nine years I came back… to the exact date when I left, but nothing had changed at all. I had aged nine years, but everything else was the same. I was still working as shop assistant, my flat was still a rathole and I…”
 
 

Hermione simply looked at her with a challenging look on her face. “I’ve received eight Outstandings in my N.E.W.T.s and one Exceeds Expectations. I would say I’m more than qualified to help you, at least with your research concerning my boyfriend’s condition. I will help you, whether you like it or not.”
 
 
 
 
 

Harry really had to congratulate him on his poker face, but he knew that the look on his face wasn’t much different, as he regarded Voldemort calmly, his whole body poised and ready to hurl any spell he might need. “Hello Tom,” he greeted him, his lips curled with a smirk. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
 

“I haven’t done anything to them!” Harry defended himself. “I’ve just taken a leaf out of our teacher’s old book. Maybe she’s been sad about the bunny.”
“You used a bunny?”
 

“M-my L-lord…” the rat-like person in front of him stuttered, shaking. “I’ve… I’ve got news…”
“Speak, Wormtail, I don’t have all night,” he hissed.
“M-my Lord… I-I have reason t-to b-believe that…that…”
“What Wormtail?”
“P-professor Potter a-and his f-friends are from the future…”
 

“Miss... Evans, was it?” Hermione nodded tersely, at her father’s question. “I’m sorry, but did you just say that our daughter is a... witch? And that you are a witch, too, and that these young men are wizards?”
 

“Ron! What’s wrong?” he asked, more than ready for battle.
 

“It’s... it’s time...” Ron breathed.

Voldemort is going down!
 
 
 

On his left, he saw Bellatrix Lestrange run up to them with her wand raised in the air. She yelled something and Harry knew that it was over. A jet of green light came shooting from her wand, directed at him. Trapped by the storm, there was nothing he could do to dodge and he could only hope that the storm would swallow the spell before it hit him.
It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, as just as he wanted to close his eyes, hoping to finish the incantation before the spell hit, he saw someone run up to them, right between the spell and him.