Nineteen Years Later

1

The sun was going down over the Forbidden Forest, and a light breeze rustled the dark green leaves of the trees. They swayed softly, as though they were whispering secrets that only they could know. Animals and magical creatures alike were alert all through the forest, waiting for a sound, any sound, that would break the eerie silence. To Harry Potter, it seemed as though the leaves and vines were reaching for him, like cold clammy hands grabbing his wrists and arms as he ran down the path towards what he knew was certain death. He couldn't remember why he was running or where he was going, but the same words kept echoing through his mind:

"You have one hour."

He slowed to a stop as he reached the clearing, but never got a chance to catch his breath. A burst of green light shot through the air and struck him, forcing him to the ground as the scar on his forehead burst to life with a blast of white hot pain. He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, and then the world went black.

Ginny Potter awoke to Harry mumbling in his sleep. She shook him awake and he sat bolt upright in bed, panting and gasping as though out of breath. He seized his glasses from the bedside table, jumped out of bed and began pacing furiously across the room, rubbing his scar furiously with his left forefinger.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, squinting at him in the near darkness.

"Nineteen years," he muttered, still pacing. "Nineteen years without a nightmare or a flashback, without even thinking about any of it!"

"Is it…back? Your scar?"

"I don't know. I could have just dreamed it." He paused. "But why today? It just doesn't make sense." Harry stopped pacing and turned to face his wife.

"Maybe…" Ginny replied, "maybe you're just nervous about Albus going off to Hogwarts for the first time."

"Maybe," Harry answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I have to say I'm afraid for him in a way I never was for James."

"He is definitely…different, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "Very different."

"I'm nervous for him, too," Ginny replied, sitting up and dangling her legs over the side of the bed. "He's so small for his age, and…shy."

"It's not shyness. It's not that he's afraid to play with the other children- he just doesn't want to."

"He's just introverted and a little bookish, that's all," Ginny said rather defensively.

"But he doesn't read books, Ginny! At least not storybooks or poetry or even history textbooks! He's only ever had an interest in your dusty old spellbooks and potions recipes," Harry sighed.

"He does like his magic, that's for sure," said Ginny. "Why, only yesterday I had to scold him again for changing a pot of geraniums into a jewel-shelled tortoise."

"See what I mean?"

"It was a very good tortoise," Ginny said softly. "It was almost a shame to make him change it back."

"You're too soft on him, Ginny."

"Don't you see, dear? He's a prodigy!"

"I know," Harry whispered. "And that's what scares me the most."