Wow, I had not realized how long it had been since I updated this story. Almost a year. It is not cool. I apologize, but real life has interrupted a few things. I am so happy that so many of you have clicked on this story and followed, favorited, and reviewed it. It is not your typical triad, but there is just something touching about the three of them and how for as much as they do, they are all very unappreciated by everyone.

This is an AU. There may be bits and pieces that you recognize and others that I could only wish had been canon. But since it isn't, the opportunity to bring it to life is my choice, my job and my pleasure. I hope that you enjoy this.

All Our Tomorrows begin with Yesterday.

Chapter 5

It was a rush, the only way that he could describe it.

Not the type of rush he felt when he was curse breaking. That was pure adrenaline. This was the rush of feeling like you are falling, life you are falling from great heights.

He had fallen from his father's old broom when he was a child. He had been showing off for his younger siblings and he flew high above their house. The broom that he had chosen to use did not have protective charms on it like the one that his uncles had purchased for he and his brothers to learn on. The one that had all the bells and whistles to protect young bodies. The higher he flew, the more nervous he got about getting caught, so when he heard his mother calling for them to come in to eat, he panicked and dove for the ground, realizing quickly that he would not be able to slow this broom as quickly as his practice broom and the ground met him much more quickly than he had anticipated or wanted. This resulted in his first trip to Saint Mungo's and a thorough dressing down by his mother.

The return of consciousness, the sounds rushing toward him, the air in his lungs, the sight of his siblings, oh merlin, his father, completely left him reeling.

How did this happen? He remembered dying, that flash of green that came out of nowhere, from the last person he would have ever expected it from. He remembered holding his wife as she died a horror filled death, that he had no way to stop. He remembered, the loss of his first child, more than a memory, but only there for a short time. He remembered the war. He remembered his marriage and the beginning of the end. He remembered seeing…. No, that could not have happened. She would not have done that… She could not have done that.

Merlin, where was he? Looking around, he saw the soft sides of a tent, smelled the unfortunate lingering odor of cat urine? He hoped that it was cat urine. It looked and felt nothing like the tents that he had stayed in while on assignment when working for the Goblins in Egypt. They would never had provided their top curse breakers with such tattered and worn housing. Then he remembered his father borrowing a tent from a coworker at the ministry, but that was in 1994, for the Quidditch World Cup… No that is impossible.

Sudden movements and louder voices brought his attention to the people surrounding him. He saw his brother Charlie, his hair burning brightly in the light of the lanterns lighting up the tent. His younger brothers, the twins Fred and George. Oh gods, Fred, breathing, smiling, joking Fred. George, both ears, looking a bit nervous, but whole, not a shadow of himself that he became without Fred. He wanted to cry at the sight. To their right was Ron. Little Ron who had such a hard time accepting that they were poor, that he was forced to wear hand me downs, that they were not famous for more than being blood traitors. Ron who had tried, but who got fed up when he was denied something. Beside him was the Potter boy, looking alive and well. Well not exactly well. He looked seriously underfed. And beside him was his sister Ginny.

Still trying to understand what might have happened he noticed his brother Percy, standing by his father and looking longingly out of the flap of the tent as if he wanted to run as fast as he could and follow the bushy haired witch that had just walked through it.

Hermione Granger was here. She had traveled to the cup with them, she had fought with Percy's boss and he remembered them arguing afterwards. Why was this important? After all his memories coming back to him and Merlin there were horrific memories? Dreams? Hallucinations? Had those things really happened? Was he truly back in 1994? How did he get here?

Seeing his siblings talking quietly amongst themselves, he found himself walking toward his father. He was worried that his father would question his disorientation, so he found himself schooling his face, hopefully reflecting that nothing was amiss.

"What did I miss, one moment everything is calmed down and the next Hermione Granger is running out the door?" asked Bill seeing the concerned look on his father's face.

"I'm not sure, she seemed a bit frantic don't you think? Do you think that maybe the earlier events got to her more than we realized? She held off more than a dozen stunners, and the whole running through the woods trying to avoid the Death Eaters?" his father questioned, still looking towards the tent entrance.

"Maybe it just caught up with her. She is a muggleborn, to see muggles tortured before her eyes, was probably something she was not prepared for, as much as she seems ready for anything." Reasoned Percy, still looking like he wanted to rush after the witch in question.

]

"Yes, she certainly is a most capable witch as I am sure that you will learn."

His father and Harry seemed to both be about to head out and search for the petite witch until Percy rushed forward to stop them.

"Dad, Harry, let me check on her."

Still slightly disoriented, Bill saw his brother and Harry Potter arguing about who should go after her, before his youngest brother Ron chimed in to remind Harry how Hermione would not appreciate him putting himself in danger.

When he did not immediately offer to go after his friend himself or even with Percy, Bill had to remember that his brother had only just completed his third year at Hogwarts and probably still had not gotten passed his self-absorbed phase that seemed to be something that he and his brothers had been inflicted with at times.

Percy rushed out and his younger siblings continued to discuss the behavior of the witch and what had happened earlier in the night before feeling comfortable enough to discuss the quidditch match. None of them ready to go back to sleep any time soon. He could see a bunch of potentially grumpy Weasleys returning home tomorrow.

While his brothers began looking through the kitchen of the tent for food, Bill walked over closer to his father to see him still staring at the tent flap. He knew that his father was concerned that Hermione and Percy were still outside the protection of the tent, but even more so, worried about the possible return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Bill, do you think that you can check on them? I don't feel comfortable with them out there." Asked Arthur.

"Sure dad. I'll check on them and bring them back." Promised Bill heading for the tent exit.

Walking straight for the door, he saw the concerned looks on the faces of his siblings but did not stop to report his mission. He knew that he needed to find Percy and Hermione both, but first he needed to reconcile everything that was going on.

Looking across the moor he took in the trampled tents, the burnt-out husks of some of the more elaborate pop-up homes and the left-over smoldering fires left behind. It looked like a war zone and he wondered how he was intimately familiar with what warzones looked like. He could smell the ruminates of the fire that had burned around the castle. Could picture the fallen giants, the massive carapaces of the acromantula and the blank and staring eyes of so many children, so many friends, mentors and loved ones. That is what he recalled.

He felt the hurt of the loss of his first child, the devastation that he saw in his wife's eyes and the anger and fury in his mother's eyes when they told her the news. He felt the shock once again as he remembered his mother pulling her wand from her apron and pointing it at his wife, his mate and being shocked to immobility to stop her from cursing her, for giving the family hope and then taking it all away. She should have forbidden the marriage from the beginning, knowing that the upstart half-breed had no right to be in their family.

The shock of the memory hit him and drove him to his knees along the tree line, where he proceeded to throw up what felt like, everything he had ever eaten. He belatedly threw up a silencing charm around himself as he wiped his mouth and began to crawl away from his sick, sobbing and shivering.

What the bloody hell had happened? What were these terrible memories? What was he doing at the bloody Quidditch World Cup in 1994? He remembered 1995, 1996, 1997, where he had been savaged by Greyback…. Greyback….

He reached up and touched his face. Felt along the line of his cheekbone, down to his lips and his chin, where his wife had once let her fingers trace, followed by the softness of her lips, and had assured him, that his scars only made him more handsome. That they showed everyone how strong he was, and his Gryffindor bravery was now displayed for everyone to see.

There were no scars now on his face, no wife in his arms. He was alive, he was in 1994. He had died, his child had died, his wife had been murdered. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? How did he get here? How was he alive and how was he supposed to face his mother and those that had wronged him?