A soft breeze blew just beyond the open window of Number 12 Grimuald Place. A young raven-haired man lay awake on a dusty old bed beside a beautiful young woman with fiery red hair. His mind was wandering, yet again, to a time that seemed so far away. It was a time when he was naive enough to think that he could save everyone, including those that were beyond saving, and, just before he drifted into a peaceful world of unconsciousness, he reached out and enveloped the hand of the one he did save, the love of his life, and his true soul mate, Ginny, the gentle wind rustling the leaves of a nearby oak tree turned sharply toward the old house. The winds swept into the room where they slept, intertwined, and brushed along their tangled fingers, and an auroral blue light enveloped them. They felt themselves falling, falling, falling back into the past, and onto the path to their new future.
Xx~&~xX
With a jolt, Harry Potter awoke in a dark room, atop a lumpy old mattress. His fingers brushed along the caliginous walls to a shelf above his head. He felt around only a moment more before his hand landed heavily on a pair of familiar wire framed, glasses that he slid onto his nose, though they did nothing for the distinct absence of light.
"Where the bloody hell am I?" He wondered aloud to himself as he searched desperately for his wand. Finding none, he felt around the cramped space that, somehow, felt familiar to him, even in the dark. While contemplating trying to use a wandless lumos, Harry felt something brush the top of his head. He stretched a hand, that felt entirely too small, and made him wonder if someone had slipped him some polyjuice potion filled with a first year's hair, above his head, felt around for the source of the unexpected touch. It was a light string, and, upon pulling it, light encompassed the small room.
The word 'room' however was being extremely generous as it was in fact, a minuscule, and homely-looking broom cupboard that Harry recognized immediately as his one-time bedroom, and long-time punishment room located at none other than Number 4 Privet Drive.
Before this could sink in completely however, there was a heavy banging on the cupboard door, and a shrill voice permeated the space. "Up! Get up! Now!" This unpleasant shouting was followed by the tell-tale sound metal scraping metal, that had signaled Harry's freedom so many times in his childhood, and a sharp slap against the wooden door. His body seemed to act of its own accord as it jumped, and darted out of the cupboard, and walked, head down, to Petunia Dursley's side.
"Cook the bacon, and try not to burn anything. I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day!" She squealed, and Harry knew that things could only get worse from here.