James was enjoying a dream when he awoke to find a pretty redheaded girl staring down at him, worry lines covering her forehead and a firm line pressing down on her mouth. Determination.

"James?" She asked. Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't remember much. Just alot of green light and his son- something along the lines of Harold or Harry.

Deciding he couldn't answer the girl's query, James asked the only one that seemed important at the moment.

"Do you know a Harry around, maybe Harol... " His voice faltered when he saw that they were in some sort of a cupboard, then resumed talking.

" ... here?" James couldn't help but notice that the redhead drew in a sharp breath during the name Harry, leaving him to wonder.

But before he could question her odd behavior, a little boy came up to him, practically feeding him déjà vu by the bucket.

"I'm..." But that was all James needed. Memories flushed back to him. That high-pitched, cruel laugh; James thinking (and hoping) with all his heart that his Lily and Harry were safe, easily giving up, surrendering to the green light that came out of the blue towards him, picturing the night before, them a happy family, something they might not ever be again...

Needless to say, this hit James like a pile of bricks. No, scratch that. A pile of enchanted bricks that Lily would cast at him while in Hogwarts, filled with every jinx taught in charms.

"Oh, Harry," he murmured, making the rest of his son's words end abruptly, being muffled by the sudden hug James deposited on him.

Though the boy was most certainly Harry, something was different. Once James had leaned in for a hug, and felt the body he was so positive he'd never see again, it was obvious the boy in his arms wasn't the same.

He felt more... weathered. So, reluctantly, James pulled away and studied his son from arm's length.

"How old are you?" James asked in a high voice that masked his feelings well.

"Four," Harry whispered timidly, as if he had done something wrong. Harry tensed up, though, James realized, he had during the hug too.

Time travel. That was it. Somehow he had traveled through time 2 years into the future and landed himself in this room.

This was good, right? Then why was something nagging at him, hidden at the back of his mind?

He had no idea. Harry and Lily were here, so what- oh. They were alive. Checking the pulse on Harry, he smiled. James would've screamed, but he still had no idea where he was. They could be locked in some sort of cell or-

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, (James supposed it was her) sounding as if she was intruding on a private moment, her voice low and annoyed.

"I think so," he stated, turning towards her voice. He stopped mid-turn, pausing to absorb what he saw. No wedding band, red hair still far past her elbows, and a Grffindor scarf draped around her neck.

She wasn't Lily. No, this girl was Lily Evans. Not Lily Potter.

Those emerald green eyes she had were so innocent and worry-free, unhearing of a terrible procephy that would threaten her son's existence.

It was the same face that held worry lines nonstop, not just when she was worried.

Just when James was absolutely positive the day couldn't become even a little odder, the door opened.

This left a poor little boy, an angry Lily, a still ruffled James, and a rather confused Petunia Dursley to sort things out.