A/N: Good news, Won Won finally makes an appearance! Bad news…well, you'll have to see now won't you? Also, Harry has been thrown into an alternative universe and is now in his original timeline, with a twist. You must think I'm on something at this point, huh? :3

Harry lies comfortably on his back with his arms folded neatly underneath his pillow; enjoying the first few moments after a blissful night sleep and the transition to early morning light peeking into his window (window? I must be still dreaming) before being awoken rudely by a shrill female voice and footsteps thundering above his head with enough force to make the cheap and tattered fleks of paint rain down on the thin bedspread, feeling the slight 'seqish' under his sock as he laid waste to yet another spider. He turned over, eyes slowly opening and still laced with sleep, he faced his door. He inhaled sharply when he caught the odd scent—drifting up from under the crack beneath his door like a vapor. It was the scent of blueberry pie. Could aunt Petunia be making dessert to impress Vernon's boss at dinner? That couldn't be it, the only dessert she ever makes from scratch is a cake, and even then it's loaded with frosting. But it smelled so delicious! As if he could just reach out and…

Wait a minute. He isn't at the Dursley's.

Well, he was, just not in the cupboard under the stairs. He rubbed the cold from his eyes and remembered the move into Dudley's second bedroom after that horrendous incident regarding his invitation to Hogwarts. It took some getting used to, especially after awkening from a dream of walking through peacful, endless, country fields that suddenly turned into a battleground. The sky had grown dark and a firece wind nearly blew him over. He can still hear those whispered words…

"You can never hide…Your mother couldn't. What makes you think this will be any different?"

He winced and felt his scar. This time he knew that dream was more of an omen then anything. A sign of things getting progressively worse if he fails to stop the one threat to end all of humanity.

Voldemort.

Harry doesn't like to think on this for too long, it's also dangerous since he could easily let the Dark Lord inside his mind without meaning to. He bolts upright and realizes he is probably late to prepare breakfast, and his ever-demanding relatives will probably throw a fit if he didn't get into the kitchen soon. Rubbing the cold from his eyes, he hastily grabs a pair of 'two-sizes-too-big' jeans while buttoning up a wrinkled, and very broken in, shirt. It was when he closed his dresser drawer that he noticed how clean the surface of the furniture is. He runs a hand over it, thinking it appears almost new…

A timid knock sounds on his door just he sees this room is far too large and well decorated. He tries to recall what happened between last night and waking up this morning and can't. He instead feels the dull throb of a headache forming, as if his mind is blocking out some repressed memory.

"Honey? Are you up? Your breakfast is getting cold!"

"Are you ready for your first day back, dear?" She says, eyeing his clothes as if they were made of clay. "Harry, aren't you going to change? Why are you wearing those old things?"

"First…first day?" He replied numbly. He couldn't beilieve what he was seeing.

"Yes, silly. Did you get enough rest?" She ruffled his hair affectionately before returning to her seat. She suddnely looks pensive as her eyes darken, possibly re-living a year that he never did. "You'll certainly need it. I'm so happy you made it through your fourth year. Well now, enough talk. Come and eat your breakfast before you're late!"

A bead of cold sweat trailed its way down his back, making him shiver slightly. He felt like he had been riding on a train, and after seeing nothing but fog for so long, his destination was finally in plain view. His feet were glued to the floor as he helplessly gaped at the man and woman seated at the table. He could feel his nails digging into his sweaty plams; his heart was racing while he put one hand on the counter to brace against a heavy wave of dizziness.

Fourth Year? How could I be in Third one minute and not remember a thing about my Fourth the next?!

This is impossible! I should have died, or disappeared entirely!

He swallowed thickly, apparently dust had gathered in his mouth from the unmeasurable amount of time it was open.

"Harry? Are you all right? You look a bit pale, dear."

Ha! Pale! Looking pale is the least of my problems right now.

"Sure he's fine, sweetheart." The man with full moon glasses, and messy black hair that mirrored Harry's, turned a page of the newspaper he was reading, chuckling to himself. Little did he know that Harry was on the verge of either laughing hyserically or crying, and the prospect of both happening is high. "First day jitters got you, do they?"

The woman with eyes he remembered as strongly as he remembered to breathe and a promise he still heard in his dreams gestured to his plate, his now cold plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. "Is it the food? We can always buy something else for breakfast I suppose—"

He let out a breath he didn't know he held in and promptly sat down. Clearly Fate, Merlin, Dumbledore or whatever controlled the events in the broken pieces of his life had resolved to give him a second chance. But could he manage to pretend nothing happened? Living with the Dursleys? Facing Voldemort twice and walking away with a few scars, scars that were more of the emotional variety? Defeating a hundred Dementors out of sheer dumb luck? If someone had told him that James and Lily Potter would be waiting for him calmly at the dining table, he would have gladly punched them.

"Nothing, mum. It's fine, perfect really." He said this with uncertainty, but beemed at his mother anyway to ease her evident worry.

James smiled proudly at his son. He hoped Harry would forget about the nightmares and have a normal year—or what is considered normal for his family. "There, you see? Resliant. Just like his old man!"

Lily only raised her eyebrows at her son in a last look of concern and went back to her meal.

Lily was carrying Hedwig's cage, while James opted for pulling the heavy trunk out to the car behind her, all the while Harry stopped to admire his pleasant surroundings. It wasn't often he got to see such a warm and welcoming home. If not for the Muggle magazines that Hermione had sometimes showed him or the finger paintings he saw the other children draw in primary school, he wouldn't a clue as to what a real home with a family that cared was supposed to be like.

Then he saw the picture placed on a rather immaculate end table. It had an ordinary stainless steel frame; he saw a knick in one corner that gave him the impression of having been dropped once upon a time. The picture showed four handsome young men in tuxes; out of the four only two were smiling brightly, the others looked a bit uncertain at their picture being taken. He turned it over, hoping for a date, but notice that something was hidden behind picture. He pulled out a white card with writing scribbled on the back.

"Don't you realize that the history of the universe has brought us here to this second?"

Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail.

Date –

"So much for that." He mumbled, running a thumb over the faded date. Replacing the picture and wishing he had studied the Marauder's Map longer.

If Sirius is Padfoot, my father is Prongs, and Remus is Moony, than Wormtail must be…

It was Peter Pettigrew. The same Peter Pettigrew that Sirius had mentioned snitched on his parents.

He glanced at the picture again, noticing a different detail this time that was subtle unless one was looking hard enough. Call it intuition or a figment of his imagination, but behind of the friendly brown eyes of James, the intelligent hazel of Remus, the detertirmined grey of Sirius, and the sensitive green of Peter, there seemed to hobor much pain later on for each of them. He turned suddenly when a door shut behind him.

"Remember your second year, son?" James mentioned quietly. He's seen how tense Harry had been this morning and decided he could use a bit of cheering up. "When Ron saved you and Ginny by telling Dumbledore you where trapped in the Chamber of Secrets? I'll always remember the look on your mother's face you came home that summer, it was a dispirited look, almost like a part of her is only half living – doing everyday things automatically without any real motive behind it. I don't think she will ever fully lose it. She hasn't been the same since we lost…" He trailed off, knowing he was rambling. In truth, he missed his three best friends and how they would often share their deepest secrets. Secrets none of them ever told their family or girlfriends, they knew exactly who they were and what they wanted to be. Having all of that stolen from them was killing James inside. It was neither fair nor indispensable. Life could be cruel to the young and just when they believe they've finally found a place in the world. When he saw his son looking at the picture, it reminded him of how often he did the same now.

Harry answered slowly that he did, it isn't the way he remembered it, but a lot happened that year and it was hard not to agree that he didn't think they would make it out alive.

"Back when you three were friends, I suppose. I shouldn't be going on about a such a morbid things, your mother wouldn't be pleased. Being your first day and all," He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, staring at the photo with a rather sad look. He was about to say that they would always be friends when his father spoke again. "Well, I'm sure you'll do just fine. Don't let the unfortunate business with Diggory and…just don't let it upset you, we'll show the Ministry—"

A car horn sounded them to hurry as James went on.

"Do you still have your Invisabilty Cloak?"

"Yes. How could I not?" Harry grinned; he hoped to pass it on to his own children one day. Which was looking bleaker as time by. How did he survive being seen? Shouldn't the affacts from the Time-Turner have killed him? How was he going to get back to his original line now?

"Good. Because in times like these you need a family heirloom to keep close, and maybe stir up a little mischief in the process, eh?" He winked and followed Harry out the door.

"There you are! The train will be arriving any mintue!"

"Right. Let's get the last of your stuff before your mother throws something." His eyes crinkled in amusement. Wondered briefly if he would ever inherit those 'laugh' lines. "You know how she can be when we're late."

Harry watched his father load his stuff into the backseat and turn to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek before getting in behind the wheel, remembering what his mother said about doing more things the Muggle way and suggested they rent a car just to see how it felt. James was initally against it at first, but warmed up to the idea after Harry told him how fast the speed of a Muggle car, the right one, could reach.

Harry was left wondering just who this Diggory fellow is and how the Ministry fit into all this.

"No, I wouldn't know."

Because what other choice did he have but go along with this new life and hope no one knew any different? They would never believe him, especially when it came to their deaths. In the back of his mind, something kept nagging at him; something gravely important, and for the life of him he couldn't remember what it is.

The train arrived and Harry was rushed onto platform 9/3 qaurters, not before he was bombarded with several hugs from his mother of course. He wished he could stay in her arms forever, telling her everything that mattered and everything that didn't.

"Where are Hermione and Ron?" He asked, noticing his two best friends absent.

"What do you mean? Don't you remember, Harry?" Lily sounded perplexed, throwing a worried glance at James and thinking maybe Diggory's death had affected him more than they thought. "All right, I'm sure your friends are already waiting for you on the train, now go and get your seat!"

Remember. I'm supposed to remember... What is it that I've forgotten?

Harry left his parents, having a few minutes before the train departed, and soon enough found the tall frrame of Hagrid.

"Hagrid?"

"Oh, 'ello Harry! Did you make it here all right? Blamey, don't think I ever seen you this late."

"We made it here fine, thanks. Um, Hagrid? Do you know what happened to Hermione?"

A few students walking by him snickered, some students he recognized in Hufflepuff muttered 'nutter' under their breath.

What's their problem, then?

"Didn't yer hear, Harry? Miss Granger is no longer attendin' Hogwarts." He lowered his voice. "Not sure what Ron thinks, though. Not after you two…well. Best not ter bring up that again, eh?"

"Why? Why is she not at Hogwarts? Is something wrong?"

"Not at liberty 'ter say, Harry. Maybe you ought to—"

Harry didn't hear the rest as the train let out a whistle for the last time and he ran to catch up with the last minute students, his thoughts heavily preoccupied on why she could possibly be taken out of Hogwarts. During the departure he wondered just what he was getting himself into.

On the train however, it was a very different story.

Harry found his usual seat; only his usual friends weren't seated in it. Instead, Ron Weasley sat alone actually reading, he closed the book abruptly the second Harry sat down and glanced at his former friend smugly.

"Always got to play it up for them, don't you?"

"What?"

"The 'Chosen One' never does wrong, all the while we're the one's left do the dirty work!" He sneered, a vicious gleam in his eyes.

"Ron, what do you mean? Do you know where Hermione is?" Harry asked with some catiution. He noticed Ron's hair was cut shorter than he'd ever seen it, there were also what appeared to be a bruise healing on the left side of his temple.

"She's exactly where she belongs, for now."

Harry waited for Ron to elaborate further, only when he didn't, Harry settle for looking out the window as Ron sat back and covered his book with his Gryffindor scarf, what the contants of that book contained he obviously did not want the other boy to find out. Harry was determined to find out what happened to Hermione if it killed him and one thing is for sure, Voldemort was still out there, very much alive and not planning to rest any time soon, nothing had changed in that aspact.

A/n: Ron, I'm sorry. I am a terrible author for doing such a loathsome thing. *slinks back to corner to return to her beloved oneshots, with a ridiculously wide smirk.*

Btw, Harry did change his clothes; he didn't realize they were his PJ's…x3

I really liked the idea of James basically plannning to pass down the cloak to Harry, since according to Beedle's Tales it was passed down from family member to family member, even though this isn't exactly mentioned in canon, one can assume from the Sorcerer's Stone…