Hello all, it's your favourite completely random writer who can't finish a story, FireWren!

This story is an experiment of mine. Recent events of my life have caused me to try and purge certain emotions from my dailiy life: emotions that I have always used to write my stories. Without those emotions, I had to try and find a new muse for my many story ideas. This story is the guinea pig.

This story is largely inspired by the multitude of Second Chance and Time Travel fics in the Harry Potter fandom, though my biggest inspiration is probably Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches by LeadVonE. It is a truly marvellous fic, and I hope you decide to check it out

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling This story is simply a fan appreciation of her marvellous work.

Warning: This story will reference information that was given in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Those who wish to avoid mild spoilers are advised to but this story on hold and go read the play.


Harry sighed.

No matter how intently he stared at his mountain of paperwork, it refused to magically complete itself. The pile simply teetered within the 'In' box on his desk, ominously looming over his quill and ink pot. Harry steeled himself for the task ahead. Some days he found himself wishing he had a Horcrux to hunt down or a Basilisk to fight: anything to get him away from this bloody desk!

Then again, he certainly wasn't as young and spry as he used to be. Harry Potter was getting older. Well into his forties, his once jet black hair had streaks of grey in it, and his face had more than a few wrinkles adorning it. He was also a little larger than he once was, being able to constantly enjoy full meals whenever he pleased. He was still small compared to most men his age, but he no longer felt quite as much of a runt. Though the most notable change was in his trade-mark lightning-bolt scar finally having faded to being barely noticeable against his skin. It was still there, of course. It would be there for all his life. But like all things, even it had begun to fade.

As Harry reached towards his quill and removed the first paper from the top of the pile, he glanced over at the portrait on his desk and smiled. Smiling back at him was his greatest treasure of all: his family. Ginny was cradling a baby Lily in her arms, occasionally looking up to wave at him, or to stop the toddler versions of James and Albus from rough-housing each other. Harry had more recent photos of his family, but this one was always his favorite: the one that never failed to make him happy.

Harry took a glance at his watch. It was getting late. Most of the Ministry will have headed home by now. His kids would be getting back for the holidays in less than an hour. Lily and James would be eager to talk about all their activities in school. Maybe he could even sit down with Albus and have a chat. Harry hated to admit how little he knew about his Slytherin son, but maybe he could try and patch things up over the holidays.

That is, if he could ever finish his paperwork. Harry gave the offending stack another glare, before returning to his current paper with a sigh. What did dark wizards have against holidays? Couldn't they take a break around December and let him go spend time with his family?

A faint knock at his door drew Harry's attention away from his paper yet again as Ron Weasley stepped into his office.

"A right bloody storm out their, mate." Ron said by way of greeting, shaking some snow from his brilliant red hair. "Hermionie is all in a tuff, saying the weather will make it difficult to get together for Christmas dinner. Does she forget that we're bloody wizards?"

Harry made a non-committal grunt as he returned to his work, dipping his quill into his ink pot. Ron was still Harry's closest friend-even more so now that he was his brother-in-law-but Harry still found himself having to tune out the other man's complaints from time to time.

Ron took a glance at Harry's work pile and grimaced. "Lord mate, not sure how your gonna make it home with that work load. This is why I quit the Auror business and started working with George at the joke shop. Too much paperwork."

Harry gave Ron a rueful smile. "Oh yes, I'm sure that's why you chose to do that. Nothing about being the funny father, or your wife being the Minister for Magic."

"Oi!" Ron yelped indignantly, giving Harry a light thump on the shoulder. Harry just let out a laugh.

Suddenly, one of Harry's Aurors, a young woman by the name of Magnolia, burst into his office. Harry turned to her with a smile, which was immediately replaced by a more serious grimace when he caught sight of her.

Magnolia's normally neat and tidy robes were in disarray. Her glossy black hair was in a tangled mess above her wild and panicked eyes. A large gash was open on her forehead, blood trickling down her face. Harry immediately stood, placing his quill down and moving towards her. "Magnolia! What's wrong?"

Magnolia glanced around, looking like a trapped animal, before her eyes finally met his. "Chief Potter! Death Eaters! In the Ministry!"

Harry saw Ron snatch up his wand and toss it to him, before grabbing his own. Harry placed his hand on Magnolia's quivering shoulder, forcing her to look him in the eye. "How many? And where are they?"

Magnolia drew a shaky breath, wiping the sweat and blood from her eyes. "Two dozen. Some were sealing up the floo network in the entry way. The others were heading to the Department of Mysteries."

**Transition**

Harry Potter moved quickly through the halls of the Ministry, two of his best Aurors at his side. He had sent Magnolia to go and get medical treatment, and got Ron to head for Hermionie's Office. The Death Eaters may be heading to the Department of Mysteries, but he wouldn't bet money on them passing up a chance to off the Muggle-born Minister if said chance arouse.

What Harry couldn't figure out is why the Death Eaters would ever dare to attack the Ministry directly. It was true that at this hour, the Ministry only had a skeleton crew, but it was still one of the more secure places in magical Britain. What was so important that they would attack it head on? And where had they gotten these numbers? The last time this many Death Eaters were in one location... well, that was when Voldermort was still around.

"Alright, remember," Harry said as they moved towards the door to the Department of Mysteries "Our goal is to delay them until back up arrives. Keep your spells defensive, don't take any unnecessary risks. If these are really Death Eaters, they'll be some of the strongest wizards you've ever faced." Harry glanced over the anxious looks of his two Aurors. Both new bloods. Too young to have been in the war. "Good luck, and above all else: stay alive."

**Transition**

A sense of loss seemed to permeate his every being as Harry Potter wrestled himself from sleep. His head hurt fiercely, and somethingseemed off. He felt weaker, for some reason. And quite hungry. He reached over to his side, seeking the comforting hand of his wife. Instead, he met the cold, hard surface of the wall. Confused, Harry reached to his other side for his glasses, only to hit another wall. Fighting the urge to panic, Harry sat up, only to strike his head against the strangely close ceiling. With a start, Harry suddenly realized the truth.

He wasn't at his comfortable house just south of London.

He was in the cupboard under the stairs, at Number 4 Privet Drive.