I haven't done many oneshots, so I figured I would do this one. Although please tell me, if you review: should I keep it a oneshot, or expand it, making this a prologue? I might make the decision without you, but please tell me anyway.

Enjoy.

Daylight was drawing to a close. Twilit streets curved through the small town, twisting into a maze of streets that would have been harder to follow if the place were much larger. There were about forty or fifty houses, a pub-cum-boardinghouse called The Ghost Horse, a small museum, a graveyard, and an old-fashioned convenience store. The town was very proud of the fact that someone had set off a bomb of some kind, seventeen or eighteen years earlier. Of course, what they hadn't quite figured out was why a house had been destroyed in the explosion, even though there hadn't been a house there before. But they were proud of it anyway. Some of the elders of the village claimed it was proof that the fairies who had lived there when the elders themselves were young were still there.

It began to rain.

A young man came walking down the main street, which had no other name but that. Behind him came three people, all around his age, one perhaps slightly younger. They wore hooded cloaks, the hoods drawn around them tightly, obscuring their features. They did not seem to be in a hurry, despite the drenching, ice-cold rain that poured down from the heavens. They walked slowly, with purpose, pressing their bodies close together. They did not speak, choosing instead to remain completely silent as they moved down the street.

Their entrance into the pub would have been completely silent had it not been for bell attached to the door, which jingled raucously. Only the bartender looked up as they walked in. He called out to the rest of the pub, "New people in the house!"

Immediately, everybody fell silent, gazing at the four strange new arrivals. There was a long silence. Finally, one of the older men spoke up, "It's custom 'round here to introduce yerselves." He stared at them hard.

The one who was evidently the leader hesitated for a moment, and then nodded at the other three. The four of them slowly loosened their hoods and drew them back. Two boys and two girls stood before them, none older than eighteen. Some of the younger men nudged each other and winked at the girls, who promptly sent them scathing stares.

The leader was a thin boy, with messy black hair and sharp green eyes. He was slightly tense, like a lion ready to spring. When he brushed back his bangs, a wicked red scar shaped like lightning came into view. "Harry Potter," he said, nodding at the man who had requested they introduce themselves.

Behind him was a pretty red-haired girl with hazel eyes and a stubborn chin. A dusting of freckles danced across her nose, and she was about a head shorter than Harry. "Ginny Weasley," she proclaimed.

The third person was a girl with clever eyes and bushy brown hair. "Hermione Granger."

The fourth was by far the tallest of the group. Freckled, red-haired, and gangling, he gazed around the room as if daring anybody to stare back. "Ron Weasley."

The man nodded, satisfied. "I'm Abraham Johnson, but ye c'n call me Old Abe."

Harry Potter nodded coolly, then turned to the bartender. "We need two rooms for the night, as well as supper and breakfast. We'll be on our way after that."

The bartender went into a back room and promptly came back with two keys, holding them out to Harry, who took them thankfully.

"Your rooms are up those stairs," said the bartender, jerking his thumb to the left, where a pair of rickety old stairs resided. Without a word between them, the four newcomers headed up the stairs. A few seconds later, there were several sharp cracks, and several people spluttered in surprise, pouring half their drinks down the front of their shirts. The bartender ran to the foot of the stairs in alarm, calling out to his customers, "Somebody get a rope! The stairs must have broken in, just like my old dad always said they would!"

But when he gazed up, the stairs were as whole as ever and there was no sign of any of the strange new guests.

They were at the top of the stairs, and an argument was taking place.

"Ronald Weasley!" said Hermione, angrily. "How could you have been so foolish? We're about five steps up and you suddenly grab us and Apparate upstairs!"

"All those Muggles staring at us was getting to me!" Ron complained. "And besides, nobody saw us."

"Yes, but somebody could have," snapped Hermione. "And that makes it worse, because it shows just how irresponsible you are. Besides, you were already out of sight."

"But, Hermione," said Ron pleadingly, looking to Harry and Ginny for help.

"No buts. Find your room, leave your things there, and meet us downstairs in a few minutes." She turned away, and Ginny took them by the arms and dragged them down the hallway.

"She'll cool off in a moment," she murmured under her breath to Ron, who smiled ruefully. She kissed Harry on the cheek and went back to Hermione, who was still simmering quietly.

Harry shrugged. "Come on, mate. Let's get out of here."

The girls were already downstairs when harry and Ron arrived. You could tell because there was a small cluster of younger men around one table, and you could just see Hermione's bushy hair. And you could hear her saying, "Get away! Just leave us alone!"

Most of the other occupants of the room were ignoring the scene, but a few were watching with interest.

"Alright, alright," said one of the handsomer ones soothingly. "Just give me a kiss first."

Ron's ears turned red and he started forward, but he needn't have bothered.

SLAP! There was a resounding smack and the man fell to the ground, more from shock than pain, though there was an ugly red welt on his cheek.

Now everybody was watching. The man got up with an expression of shame and rage, but before he could turn on Hermione, and older man interrupted. "You was harassin' 'er, Jeremy m'boy. Leave off, yer acting like one o' them rich snobs y' bring back from school sometimes. Y' always swore y' wouldn't be like 'em, remember?"

Jeremy glared at him, and then at Hermione, but he and his buddies quietly went back to their table only occasionally sending a hateful glance their way.

Ron smirked as he and Harry walked over to the table the girls had saved. "Was that a magic-enhanced slap?" whispered Ron. The booth was small but Harry grinned madly when he found himself pressed neatly against Ginny.

"None of your business," Hermione whispered back, but she was blushing. "Oh, all right, it was, but I was angry."

"So was Ron," Ginny muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Er, I said, we're leaving at dawn?"

"What should we eat?" interjected Harry quickly.

"We've already ordered," said Hermione. "Four beers and four orders of fish and chips."

Noticing Harry's look of amusement, Ginny nudged him. "What, think I shouldn't be having alcohol at my young age? I'll have you know I once got stinking sloshed when I was seven."

Startled, Harry looked at Ron, who nodded. "It was scary. Mum was screaming at her, but then Ginny got mad, and all these pots started flying around. One of the pots hit Charlie and he got sent to St. Mungo's with a really bad concussion."

Ginny looked at Harry evilly. "Don't cross me."

Harry mock shuddered. "I won't." As an afterthought, he added, "But that wasn't what I was thinking about. I was just remembering that I've never had fish and chips before. The Dursleys sometimes went out for it, but they never brought leftovers or anything."

They talked quietly about their home life, favorite foods (in Ron's case), studying for NEWTS (Hermione), and Quidditch. When the food arrived they ate silently. Harry thoroughly enjoyed his fish and chips, so much that when he could, he teasingly pinched small sections off of Ginny's.

The bar was slowly emptied of its occupants, until the only ones left were the wizardly foursome, the bartender, and Jeremy's increasingly drunken group. For a while, there was no trouble, but when the bartender left the room and Jeremy turned to look at them with slightly bloodshot, drunken eyes, Hermione pinched Harry and said, "Why don't we go upstairs?"

"Sure," said Harry, and they quickly got up and began heading towards the staircase that led up to their rooms. About halfway there, Jeremy called out, "Hey, bush-head! Watch this!" Heads turned to Jeremy as he picked up a spoon, leaned back, and threw hard. Ron was the first one to realize that it was on a direct path to Hermione, but Harry and Ginny were a split second behind. All three reached out their hands, but when Harry and Ginny saw the furious look in Ron's eyes, they backed off respectfully. Ron reached forward and caught the spoon. A moment later it was on its way back to Jeremy, who promptly passed out cold when it struck his left temple.

"Good one, mate." Harry stepped forward and clapped Ron on the back before turning to Jeremy's goons, who were glaring at them but preparing to slink toward the door. "All four of us will be sleeping with one eye open tonight. Don't try anything." One of the group, a heavyset young man who looked about twenty years old, started forward. And Harry looked at him. His green eyes flashed, and they stared at each other for a moment. "Leave," Harry sad, quietly. And the man felt afraid, because in those eyes there was fear for his friends, love, and sadness, but most of all, the terrible wisdom of pain.

"Let's go," the man muttered, turning on his heel. But the others were already gone. He lost no time in following them.

"You shouldn't have done that, Harry," remonstrated Hermione. "Now they'll be spreading the word that we're troublemakers. And in towns as small as this, they generally take pitchforks to people like that."

Ron and Harry winced. It was at that moment that the bartender came back in. He looked surprised that they were still there. "If yer gettin' sich an early start, ye might as well go to yer beds. Yer decent, fairly ordinary people. I'll wake ye."

Suddenly realizing how tired they were, the four extremely unordinary people thanked the bartender and went back to their rooms.

Bam, bam, bam. Harry woke to the sound of the bartender's knock and Ron's snoring. He groped around for his glasses, calling out at the same time to let the man know that he was awake. The knocking stopped and Harry listened as the sound of footsteps receded. His glasses had somehow been knocked off of the bedside table in the night, and they were cracked badly. "Reparo," he whispered, tapping them with his wand. He dressed quickly and made sure Ron was fully awake before going down for breakfast. This time, only a few men resided at the thick oak tables, and Harry guessed that they were guests as well.

They ate a hasty breakfast after Ron came down, and then they went up to their rooms to gather the few things they had brought.

Then they left.

A young man was standing on a corner smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper, when a hand gripped his shoulder urgently. "'Scuse me, but could you tell us the way to the graveyard?" He turned around and immediately recognized the so-called 'troublemakers'. "Oh, it's you four," he replied easily. "Just go down a bit, then first left, then on that really curvy street turn at the third right, then walk a bit, then..."

Three were ignoring him, but the brown-haired girl seemed to be memorizing the directions studiously. When he was done, she asked, "And the Potter house?" The man looked startled. "Never heard of it," he replied, shifting from foot to foot. "We got a couple o' Potters buried up here, but we just know they was killed in that confounded house that got blowed up."

"Er," began the girl, but the dark-haired boy interrupted, "How do you get there?" he asked.

The man went into another maze of instructions, and again, three ignored him. And when he finished, the other girl said, "All right, Hermione, take us there."

The man called after them, "Don't worry about Jeremy and them. They're the real troublemakers 'round here."

And then they were gone.

Four young people traversed the rubble of the Potter house. Harry found himself remembering things, little things, like Lily tickling him, or the layout of his room on the second floor. "You okay?" asked Ginny.

"Not really," Harry replied.

Eventually he called out to Ron and Hermione, who were exploring the pther half of the house. "There's nothing."

"Have you tried a spell?" asked Ron, stepping over what looked like the remains of a lamp. He drew out his wand when Harry shook his head and said, "Accio Horcrux."

Nothing happened.

They left.

Harry was starting to feel like everything was far off. The only thing he paid any attention to was the graves. He held in his hand a few flowers he had magicked up, but he didn't lay them down. Not yet.

On Lily's grave was a carving of a single flower and the inscription,

"Loving wife, kind mother,

Gave herself for another."

On James' was a broomstick and the words,

"With his family to the last,

To a broom he was bound fast."

Harry smiled. He didn't cry. He felt a warm pressure on his hand and realized Ginny was clutching his arm tightly. He smiled wider and a single tear dripped down his cheek before he wiped his eyes. He laid three flowers on each grave and turned. "There weren't any Horcruxes," he started.

"We'll find them anyway," said Ron.

"Not even any clues."

"We'll research."

Harry smiled tiredly. "You'll like that, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes were gleaming.

"We stick together," said Ginny fiercely, squeezing Harry's hand tighter.

"But..." Ron started to protest, but Ginny glared at him and he subsided.

Harry felt better. "We stick together," he repeated, and it was as if the sun was shining through the clouds. A bright grin grew on his face. "Voldemort doesn't stand a chance," he said happily, and they vanished with a pop; air rushed into the spot where they had been a moment before.

The village of Godric's Hollow never saw any of them again.

Well, there you are. Any feedback is appreciated, and somebody should definitely tell me whether the end is lame or not, because I'm not sure about it. If you feel like I should redo anything, just tell me. I'll see whether I can do it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the protagonists. I do own Old Abe, Jeremy, and various assorted unknown characters.

--Fox