Harry woke up, and tried to remember his dream.

He could never remember his dreams anymore. They swam immediately out of reach upon surfacing. The glimpses he could snatch came back to him at odd times throughout the day, nonsensical images and feelings of déjà vu. His dreams weren't like they used to be. He used to dream of bad people doing bad things. Sometimes his dreams had actually come true. Sometimes he could decipher them, adding this peice to that peice, forming a picture, a crazy jigsaw of future events. Vivid dreams, Harry supposed, we're just another part of being the Boy-Who-Lived-In-A-Muggle-World. Now he was where he belonged, his dreams didn't matter as much, and as such, that part of his magic had waned.

The morning light was pale, and lit up the small dorm room without enthusiasm. Outside it was cold. There was a wind, and it pushed at the window - not enough to rattle the pane, but enough to make it flex with a broken rhythm, like a weak heartbeat.

In the bed along the far wall, Seamus still slept, and in the one nearest the door, Ron snored, the sheets twisted around his lanky body like they'd attacked him during the night. His eyes twisted to the dark skin of Dean, and the slumbering form of Neville. Harry could call neither boy a friend, but they were nice enough to him, and he felt obliged to keep out of their way as much as possible. He stretched out slightly and rolled over, desperate to get the sleep that had so easily claimed his dorm mates.

The sky burned a fierce orange.

Not the actual sky, of course. But the shield that surrounded the city was burning. It held up, though. Draco was a master at wards, and he had still yet to have his work be defeated. It hadn't stopped the Death Eaters from walking straight through, however. But then again, that wasn't it's purpose.

Flames licked the cracked streets, and a thick haze of smoke hung lazily, pooling around and oozing out of the cinders of Durham Cathedral. It had taken four and a half hours for the ancient structure to burn down. Harry could only hope that if God existed, he would exact a special punishment on the forces of The Dark Lord for burning down the house of worship. Harry wasn't a religious man, but this angered him nonetheless.

He was snapped out of his stupor by the hellish glare of spellfire. Streaks of violet and green danced through his friends, and one by one, the surviving members of the Resistance either fell, like marionettes with their strings cut, or found cover in the endless rubble. People screamed. People died. People fought.

Harry and Ron were on a rooftop when Voldemort drifted into view. They watched him float down, a vision in light eating black, until he was standing on the shield that defended the remnants of the city. The Resistance's last stronghold. He smashed his wand into the tip of it, and a bright, white ripple extended outwards from that point. The shield darkened, and an overcast greyness fell upon Durham.

"It won't hold for much longer," Ron said, and Harry gripped his wand tighter.

Harry gave a curt nod in the affirmative. "We don't have much longer. I can't say it's been a pleasure, Weasley, but the first six years of our friendship were some of the happiest I ever had. I just wish it had turned out differently."

"Me too, Potter. Me too." Ron sighed truthfully. "I wish we could turn back time. Like an overcharged time-turner. Remember that in third year? With Hermione's? 'Cause I don't." Harry rolled his eyes. Ron could never get over being unconscious for one night and missing time travel. After giving Ron a slap on his back, Harry handed him his sniper. As much as Ron had hated to admit it at first, no wizards reflexes were fast enough to stop a bullet, even if they didn't have the capability to just sail right through a shield.

"Harry!" Hermione kicked open the rooftop door, a broadsword in her hands. "Oh my God, Harry, we need to go now!" She turned around and sliced an Inferi apart, before plunging the blade into the chest of a Death Eater.

"Good luck, Ron." Harry said softly, truly meaning it.

"You too, Harry. Do this for us all. So many lives have been lost, and only you can save them. I just hope thirteen year old you gets the message." Ron said, not taking his eye from the scope of the Barret.

Harry gave him one final, pitying, look, before rushing to Hermione's aid, and planting his revolver into a Death Eaters face and pulling the trigger. He would have loved to have used a Clint Eastwood, 'Dirty Harry' line, but there just wasn't time for such luxuries.

"Do I want to know where you got a sword?"

"Husband of mine, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Hermione grinned, proudly swinging it to rest on her shoulder as she struck a dramatic pose.

Harry gasped for air as his eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright. What the hell was that? He was no stranger to nightmares, but that was different. He remembered it. Properly. He could perfectly recall it, almost... Almost like a memory, rather than a dream. Off the scale of different, and crashing into the uncanny valley of, 'What the hell, brain? Why is that so real?'

He quickly glanced around, but relaxed as he found himself in the relative comfort of the Gryffindor boy's dormitory. He stretched his arm out, and felt the red velvet of the bed curtains, almost as if to see if this world was real. Satisfied it was, Harry stood up. Light now leaked through the window in faint dark hues, the November sky effortlessly pouring in the illumination. A flash of burning sky went through Harry's mind, and he stepped back in shock, but then as quickly as it had came, it was gone.

Harry knew it must be early in the morning, and a quick Tempus confirmed it was six on the dot in the morning. Harry quickly started his routine, that of brushing his teeth, a brutal training regime including pull-ups, sit-ups, push-ups, a run, a shower, and it was only halfway through that Harry realised that this 'routine' he was so used to, was something he had never done in his life. Ever.

Harry shrugged it off, labelling it as a fluke, and that he had been reading one to many of the 'fiction' books in the library when he should have been studying. It wouldn't be the first time he had replaced the dust cover of a fiction book with that of a textbook to give the appearance he cared about his academics. Hermione had yet to catch him, and he felt rather smug about it from time to time. He finished his shower at half past seven exactly, which made him frown slightly, but it left him fifteen minutes before his roommates woke up to think about his dream.

What the hell was it? That was the main question that ran through his mind. Never before had Harry had anything even remotely similar to that happen before. He referred to Dra - no, Malfoy. He had referred to Malfoy, as though he were a friend, and the way he had spoken to Ron had been that of an enemy. He blushed when he thought about Hermione. He was slightly confused when it came to that regard. Why had his brain decided that Hermione was his wife? He hadn't really thought about girls in a way more than 'friends' before, so this was a development for him.

Then there was the burning town. Voldemort? Did that mean he had returned, in this dream? He specifically remembered saying that the city was the last stronghold. Did that mean in his dream they were losing? Was his scar influencing this?

He went cold at these thoughts, and pushed them to the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about what it could mean. He forgot all about waiting for Ron, and after getting changed, made his way down to the Great Hall, alone. He sat there and stirred a bowl of porridge absentmindedly, a headache now perusing him. The day had only just started and he could already tell it wouldn't be a good one.

"Harry?" A worried looking Hermione sat down opposite him. "Are you alright?"

Harry on receiving the fright, instinctively and instantly had his wand at his best friends throat, a Diffindo on his lips, before he stopped himself with wide eyes, realising what he had almost done. He dropped his wand to the table with a clatter and started to violently shake. How could he have even thought about that? This was his wife, and he nearly killed her!

"Oh God, Hermione," Harry cried in relief. "I am so, so sorry!"

Harry frowned inwardly, drawing a long shuddering breath externally. He had just called Hermione his wife. Why had he done that? Why was this... This dream having such an influence on him? More than any other?

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers, and fright hid behind concern in the soft, chocolate orbs. She clasped his hands in her own, stopping them from trembling. "I'm here, Harry. It's just me. Are you alright? Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yes," Harry said drawing another long breath. "No. I'm not sure. Wait, how do you know I have nightmares? I haven't told anybody."

Hermione went slightly pink. "Ron told me a couple of weeks ago. Says he heard you. Don't be mad at him, he was just worried about you. I -" Hermione swallowed, concern overtaking her eyes completely now. "I'm here for you, you know?"

"Thank you, Hermione." Harry said quietly. "I am so sorry. About before. I don't know what that was."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later," Harry told her.

"Are you OK?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"I don't know."

Hermione looked around, and confident that the only others in the Hall were a couple of Hufflepuff's who were to engrossed in their conversation to notice, (even the teachers weren't in the room yet, although that wouldn't last long) she quickly stood up and jumped over the table and sat down next to Harry. Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Hermione just squeezed him in a tight, warm hug. They stayed that way until the doors opened once more and the flow of students began to rush in.

"Hey Harry, where were you this morning?" Ron asked as he skidded to a halt and sat down opposite the pair. "I woke up and 'bam!'" Ron slapped his hands together, and lowered his voice to a whisper for effect. "You were gone!"

"I just woke up a little earlier is all, Ron. Nothing to worry about." Harry plastered a fake grin onto his face so convincing, Hermione almost fell for it. Almost. Harry was still reeling from what he had almost done to Hermione, that he didn't allow what would have usually eased a smile from him to do so. That wasn't something which would leave him quickly. Was he too dangerous to be around? What if next time, he didn't stop himself in time? His mind was awash with worry.

He stood up suddenly, and the world tilted dangerously. "I, er, need to go. I'll be back." Harry said.

"As long as you're back for classes," Ron snorted. "If you leave me to fend for myself in Trelawney's class, I'll deck you."

"Yeah..." Harry muttered, fully aware of Hermione staring at him. He waved slightly and stumbled out of the Hall. His brain was thick with emotion. He needed to lie down. He made his way towards Gryffindor tower, and uttered the password in a barely audible voice. What was happening? The next thing he knew he was standing beside his bed. He frowned. He didn't remember climbing the stairs to get to the dormitory. He had started to break out into a cold sweat. I'm not well...

With that last thought, slumber claimed him.

Harry grabbed the robes of a Death Eater and threw him out a window effortlessly, his muscles rippling as he did so. The Death Eater screamed on the way down, before the screaming ended with a dull thud. He turned and kicked another in the chest, before taking his head off with a blasting hex. Happy the room was clear, he grabbed Hermione by the hand and led her out into the street, where they took cover behind the charred husk of an overturned Ford Focus.

Harry popped his head above the wheel arch, and instantly ducked down. Spells scarred the underside of the car, and exploded against the sidewalk. Harry took this rare moment when they had cover to survey the damage. The makeshift wall was all but destroyed. Even now, it was crumbling under the heavy spellfire. A floating ball of blueish energy drifted to the wall and exploded against it. Watchtowers fell, Order and Aurors alike were killed by the blasts or, more likely, the falling masonry. A few explosions rocked the city itself, damaging houses and other dwellings. Magic was tossed to and fro and men and women went down screaming, but up close it was battle the old fashioned way. Blood and blade and grunts and spittle.

Hermione waited a moment before she rose above her cover, and fired a merciless Confringo in the direction of their attackers, and then dropped back down.

"Guess that takes care of that," Hermione said mirthlessly. "Draco's waiting for us - this could be the only way we save everyone, so we need to do it quick."

"Let's go then," Harry said. He stole a quick kiss from her. "Lead the way."

They got up and started sprinting down the open street. Hermione coughed in the smoke, and Harry quickly tore his shirt off and put it in front of her mouth like a gas mask. She thanked him with her eyes, and swung with her sword against an oncoming opponent.

A Death Eater with a face like a battered shovel came at him with a sword in his fist. Harry knocked the sword to one side, tried to swing the butt of his shotgun, but he needn't have bothered. A well placed sniper shot took the Death Eater out of action.

Harry would have to thank Ron, if either of them lived through today. Or if the plan worked.

Harry turned around and jammed the barrel of the gun into another Death Eater's stomach before pulling the trigger. The body was flung into the air and dissapeared behind a pile of broken brick that was once a house.

"Nearly there," Hermione said as they continued on, fighting all the way. She paused to decapitate someone. "It's just underneath the Cathedral."

Harry went to give her a witty, perhaps sarcastic joke in response, but never managed as a jet of light took her off her feet and sent her cascading down the road. Harry whipped around and ran towards her. He flung his outstretched wand hand out, and a bright blue curve of energy formed, keeping the rubble at bay.

"Move, Hermione!" Harry roared, desperately gesturing with the other hand for her to move. She got the idea, and stood up. She started towards him, slowly at first, only a limp, but sped up. It was then that a stray cutting curse sliced open Harry's cheek, causing him to flinch back and lose control. Hermione's eyes widened when she saw this, and started to break into a sprint as the flickering blue light faded away. Harry's own eyes widened as he saw this mistake, and quickly went to rectify it, but not fast enough as the building beside him crumbled and fell, right on top of his wife.

Harry stood there, shocked.

This was confusing. This was wrong. This was... He looked up, feeling the need to call a halt to everything, to point to his Hermione Potter, to tell them that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But all around, people fought and died, and none of them felt the need to call a timeout.

His grip on his wand tightened, and his breathing quickened in pace. Spells richocheted off twisted metal and around him, almost bending to his will. He let out a scream, a primal roar of rage.

He started slightly and jumped out of bed, reaching for a revolver in a holster that wasn't there. Hang on. A gun? Why would I... Why would I have a gun?

He gasped out in pain as a stream of memory flowed through his brain. A .44 Magnum, how to engage and disengage the safety, the best way to hold it, how to stop it from jamming, how to squeeze that extra amount of power out of it, how to enchant it to make it more durable and the bullets faster, how to clean it the most efficient way to get rid of caked oil and dirt, how to make sure the gunpowder didn't burn his knuckles when fired, how to-

Harry swallowed. He was really not sure what was happening anymore. The only real need he felt was to run, to find Hermione and to embrace her, to kiss her, to make sure she was alright. Harry shook his head, frustrated tears starting to form. That wasn't him. Why would he want to kiss her? What was happening to him? Why was this happening to him?

There was a light knock on the dormitory door, and Hermione peeked her head around it. "Harry? Harry are you okay? Please, I'm worried about you."

Harry groaned and rolled over. Though it felt like he had slept well through the day, a quick Tempus told him that wasn't the case, and only fifteen minutes had passed since he had fallen asleep. He looked up, and for what felt like the first time, he truly saw his best friend.

She was smart and brilliant with brown curls and brown eyes, she had a tongue as sharp as her cheekbones and the worried look that quivered her top lip was barely covered by the nail of her thumb that she gently nibbled on with her slightly larger than usual teeth. She was everything she had always been, but most important she cared. She was worried about him.

"Is it because of Sirius Black?" Hermione decide to come straight out with her suspicion of what had her friend acting so strangely. "Are you worried he'll get to you? Is that what's wrong?"

"I'm more worried he'll get to you," Harry muttered distractedly, not noticing the small smile and light blush that formed on the brunettes face at his words. He was more worried about the fact that he suddenly didn't hate Black's guts anymore. He stood up. "We should, erm, probably get to class. What do you have?"

Hermione stiffened slightly, and looked away, not meeting his eyes. "Ancient Runes." Harry noticed her hand had jumped to her neck and he saw a glint of gold where her fingers grazed. A necklace of sorts.

His head burst into pain, less intense this time, as memories of events later in the year flowed into his brain. The time turner, how his Hermione had used it all year to get to all of her lessons, rescuing Sirius and Buckbeak, flying with Hermione on Buckbeak, Fighting off almost two-hundred and seventy-six Dementors with a single patronus, remembering Hermione's shocked worried face, how close he had come to kissing her when they ran back into the Hospital wing, watching themselves vanish, Dumbledore's talk about how-

Harry stumbled back as more pain throbbed. Discovering Sirius Black's innocence, the real traitor, Peter Pettigrew turning into a rat - Scabbers - Professor Lupin turning into a werewolf, Snape refusing to acknowledge to the Minister of Magic that Sirius was innocent, Hermione showing him-

Harry opened his eyes that were once more blurred with tears of frustration. Hermione ran towards him and wrapped him in a run-of-the-mill yet one of a kind 'Hermi-hugs' as he had dubbed them.

Hermione was asking him if he was okay, but Harry wasn't fully listening. He was trying to figure out what was happening when it struck him - there was only one way Harry could confirm if these 'Memory streams' were real, or just another side-affect of a funny dream. He had to ask Hermione if there was a time turner.

It wasn't exactly something he could confuse with anything else, but it could simply be an outlandish idea created by an overcharged mind. Even wizards couldn't time travel, right? Right? There was only one way to find out. He swallowed nervously, and gently patted Hermione on the back. "Err, Hermione?"

"Yes?" Hermione answered immediately, jumping back so she could see his face. "What is it? Can I help? What can I-?"

Harry placed his index finger on her lips, effectively quieting her. She blushed, looking suitably chastened. "If you don't, and this is complete nonsense, then please just ignore it, but I have to ask - Do you have a time-turner?"

Hermione's mouth dropped into a perfect, 'O' before it began moving not unlike a fish. Her eyes were panicked, her breathing quickened, and he could feel the tension rising in the room. "H-how could you possibly know about that?"

"I'm, erm, not sure," Harry responded semi-truthfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can we talk about this later? I need to get to Divination. You need to get to Runes and then I'm assuming Arithmancy with that wonderful device of yours."

"Harry," Hermione's eyes were wide. "Please tell me, who else knows about this? How can you know?"

"No-one else knows," Harry said. "To the best of my knowledge at least. I-I... I have to go."

Harry got up, and embraced his friend in a hug that lasted a second to long to be friendly, not that he could tell, before he was gone out the door.

Hermione on the other hand, would usually be able to tell these things. She picked up on fine details like that. It was what she was good at. Someone would tell her later in life that these were attributes to being naturally gifted at mind arts, but right at this moment she was panicked that anybody had found out her secret. Let alone her best friend. Let alone Harry Potter, who always got into trouble.

She frowned to herself. That wasn't fair. That wasn't his fault at all, not even in the slightest. But, but, she still didn't like anybody knowing this! She had sworn to keep it a secret, and was positive she never let it slip. She even wore it to bed to keep it secret, despite Professor McGonagall's warnings about accidentally turning in her sleep. There was simply no way she had let slip.

No, she decided. She hadn't let slip. But there was obviously another way to find out, and Harry Potter had done so.

Harry sat with his eyes closed, his legs folded under him and his hands resting on his knees.

After Hermione's departure from Divination earlier in the year, a new more Ministry like teaching program was put into place. Unfortunately, they still had the crazy Trelawney teaching them. She seemed slightly more subdued, however as she thought the course. While it was interesting as she taught them the basics of magic, as she was doing this lesson, there were also the prophecy telling, future seeing, nonsense in alternate lessons. They switched - every Tuesday a Basic Magic teaching, and every Thursday a mad lesson, as he and Ron had come to call them. He'd only had the lesson two months and he was starting to see why Hermione had stormed out. He was good at it though, he admitted to himself. And hopefully with whatever dreams he was having he would only get better. He had to top Hermione at something, after all.

"Breathe," crowed Professor Trelwaney, bounding around the classroom like a woman possessed. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breeaathee."

Harry breathed. He was pretty good at breathing. Certainly as good as anyone else in the room. Top marks for breathing.

"Let your body relax," Professor Trelawney said, in her 'mystic, magical' voice that he hated so much. "Listen to my voice. My voice is the only voice. My words are the only words. Let them fill you, like water fills a jug, or like tea fills a cup. Magic is like water, is it not? It ebbs and it flows. It nourishes. It destroys. It is all things."

Harry could hear his classmates around him. One of them made a whistling noise when they breathed in. It was faintly distracting, but Harry did his best to push it from his mind. He was actually getting relaxed now. The adrenaline was gone from his system. His teeth no longer chattered. His hands no longer trembled.

Professor Trelawney continued to talk. "It doesn't matter what you choose to use your magic for, be it to open your Inner Eye, or cast offensive magic, or perform a simple Reparo - because magic is a wonderous thing. It relies on the same muscles, you could say. We draw from the well of magic. You can feel it can't you? All around us?"

The whistling was getting louder. How come nobody else was getting annoyed by it?

"We are not magic's masters," said Trelawney, "any more than a windmill is master of the wind. But the windmill allows the wind to push it, to move it, to power it. The wind? The wind is indifferent to the windmill, because the wind is something vast and unknowable. The same with magic."

Now Harry was confused. Was magic water or wind?

"It comes from the great well of magic, and it seeps into our world," Trelawney continued her crazy ramble. "How much of our world is defined by magic? How much is dependent on the energies it produces?"

Harry cracked one eye open. It was Ron. Ron and his musical nostrils preventing Harry from finding his 'centre' or whatever it was he was supposed to be finding. He frowned. Was it his centre he was looking for? Was it something else? Had he missed it? He probably hadn't been paying attention. He was always doing that.

Ah, his dreams. Yes. He needed to focus on them. Having being thinking about it for most of the lesson, he had come up with a fair few ideas. Meaning two. The first one was the obvious one - Tell Dumbledore. Harry was resigned to the fact that he simply had no idea what was happening at the moment, but hopefully, Dumbledore would be able to shed some light on the situation. The greatest wizard of their time had to hold some kind of knowledge about this stuff.

The second idea was to tell Ron and Hermione. This was the one he wasn't too sure about. Hermione would go off her rocker with worry, or not believe him at all. Ron would laugh zat him until he felt stupid, much in the same way Hermione would probably bring facts to the table that proved the whole thing was normal. Hermione would never laugh at him, and he liked to think that she would believe him, but he still wasn't sure if he could tell her this or not. It wasn't like she told him everything. Harry wasn't to concerned whether that was a fair statement or not at the moment.

One thing was for sure though, and that was that he needed to find out how much of these dreams and strange memory flashes were true. He had lucked out in Hermione's time turner, but he didn't want to go making accusations and demands without being sure his rather suspicious information was correct. Such as telling people that Sirius Black was innocent, when it could turn out to not be the case. He didn't want to get his hopes up...

"Now remember, students. You can use this in any subject to assist you." Trelawney was saying, before she started to mutter herself in a decidedly Snape like fashion "though I doubt you have the brains to remember that. That's the end. Go, and look to the future with wonder."

Harry rolled his eyes at that, and started to make his way to Dumbledore's office. He reached the statue and swallowed nervously. How did you get access to the office without a password? Did you just knock? Harry nodded to himself, and rapped his knuckles on the stone head of the gargoyle once, before hissing and snatching his hand back. Lesson learned: Don't hit stone.

Blowing on his knuckles, he huffed slightly. Trying multiple different types of sweets didn't seem to work, and he was about to turn away when he heard a low chuckling.

"The Headmaster has agreed to allow you entry." The gargoyle smirked, before jumping aside to reveal the staircase beyond.

"Oh, now he's agreed to let me i- wait. Has he been watching this whole time?" Harry raged.

Snickering, the gargoyle nodded.

"Jammy, child-labouring, whiskey old dodder," Harry murmured to himself angrily as he made his way up the stairs and knocked on the door at the top of them.

"Come in," called the suave voice of Professor Dumbledore. "Do not let the door slam behind you."

Harry grumbled as he entered the room, gently closing the door behind him and making his way towards the desk. As he entered the room, he suddenly felt nervous and all anger was forgotten. Now he was just a thirteen year old boy in the Headmaster's office, and whether he was there by choice or not, it was never a good place to be in your school years. It was when Dumbledore asked the reason for his being here that the ridiculousness of the whole situation struck him. Time travel was real. Not only was it real, it was controlled by a fourteen year old girl, who just so happened to be his best friend. He knew this because of crazy dreams from the future that he couldn't possibly explain. Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Sirius Black was a dog. Sirius black was innocent, and Scabbers, of all creatures, was the true traitor to his parents death. He married Hermione in the future. Of course, the biggest one being that Voldemort returns. Now that was a huge one. Finding all of this out in the space of a morning was enough to make anybody's head explode.

"I think I'm going mad, Professor." Harry told the older man meekly.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, leaning forward. "I'm sure that's not the case. Please tell me why you have drawn this conclusion."

So he did. He told Dumbledore everything. From waking up that morning, to the first dream, to the second dream, every tiny detail, every word said. About the impossibility of it, but the apparent realism as he had accurately predicted Hermione's time turner, which Dumbledore agreed nobody could know about. He told him about reflexes he hadn't previously had, and routines that he had never run but now screamed for him to do in his head. At the end of it all, Dumbledore just sat there in silence.

"I do not believe you are mad, Harry. Some of those things you just cannot have made up. And if they are true, then logic dictates that the rest is also. Only time will tell." Dumbledore said quietly. "I'm not sure that there is anything I can do Harry, other than tell you these nuggets of information. The reason you got these memories is likely because of an event that the you from the future caused. I haven't heard of something along these lines happening before, but there is always a first for everything. The fact that I have not heard of any events like this is no great testimony either. Why would I have heard, if the future has been changed? This could have happened a thousand times, and altered the lives we were meant to live without us even knowing.

I will need you to come back to the office after dinner tonight. There is much you have given me to ponder over, and even more you have given us to discuss. Before you go Harry, you must know that these 'flashes' are likely going to continue. If a future version of you has, in fact, sent his memories back, then you will be getting all of these, an alternate history right from that Harry's earliest memory. I beg of you to not tell anybody this just yet Harry. Not even your friends. And remember, that whatever you see, do not act on it. You can't rewrite history, Harry, not one line. That much is imperative." Dumbledore finished seriously. "Come back tonight. We shall talk more then. Thank you for coming to me with this, Harry."

And so Harry left Dumbledore's office, three times more confused than when he had entered. It was going to be a long day waiting for dinner.

a/n: Reupload cause likes to screw with me. This is why I mostl stick to hpfanficarchive.

As you can likely tell from my stories, I just write down ideas that spring to mind and see where they go. That's kind of the reason I haven't gotten too far on my other stories. I get an idea, I write it down and send it out and usually never think of it again for quite some time. I don't just write them down quickly, either. My chapters are (on average) a short 3,000 - 4,000 words long and it takes me like three weeks to write one. I'm not the best at this by any stretch of the imagination, and I have little to no clue what I'm doing. I try and update as often as I can, but sometimes I just can't get into the writing mood, or I'll be distracted. I get distracted easily. Like now. I seem to have lost track of this little AN, and I'm not sure where it's going, but I know where it started and that's what I want you to remember.

Anyway, leave a review if you enjoyed it. I might not write very quickly, but I love reading the reviews. It makes it all worth it.