A/N: This story plot is a cliché. Am I aware of that? Yes. Do I care? Not really. I just wanted to write my impression of it, put my own spin on it. So please don't review and tell me that this plot is overused. I already know. Thank you.

Disclaimer: None of them are mine. I'm just a teenager, writing at midnight and waiting for the 6th book to come out. JK Rowling owns her universe and lots of thanks to her for letting us borrow it.

Chapter 1 of 4

Potions class. That forty-five minute block of time full of agony and torment.

Remus Lupin was a genius in every school subject. Every one but Potions, that is. No matter how hard he studied or how carefully he read the directions for the day's assignment, more often than not the class ended with him desperately trying to keep his cauldron from melting or overflowing. He was always furious with himself after these episodes. His best friends, James, Sirius, and Peter always assured him that it was no big deal, that he was allowed to be bad at something. Of course, the fact that these words of comfort were always delivered through howling laughter didn't make him feel any better.

Today they were working on the Divinus Mixture. If it was mixed right, Divination students would be able to look into its murky depths to see the future. Of course, they could just use crystal balls but Professor Cambridge doubled as Potions master and Divination teacher and he loved nothing more than to mix his two passions. Hence, the Divinus Mixture.

"Is it supposed to be this color?" Remus asked James who was working with him today.

"I can't see the color through the smoke, Moony." James replied, trying to waft the greenish smoke over toward the Slytherins at the next table.

"It's kind of an orangeish-reddish."

"No. I think it's supposed to be blue."

"Dammit."

"Try adding the quills, then stirring."

Remus poured in exactly eighteen and a half porcupine quills. Then he stirred clockwise eight times. As he adjusted his ladle and began to stir counterclockwise, the cauldron gave a jerk and the potion exploded out, drenching him. His body was on fire and the room was spinning. He heard a dim scream as he was swept into the colors as they faded into black.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry searched through his bag but he couldn't find his Transfiguration essay. "Check upstairs." Ron suggested, "I may have left it there after I copied it."

"Yeah, that's probably it." Harry said, "Come on, I need to get Hermione to check it over."

As he hurried up the stairs to the sixth-years' dorm he heard Ron behind him saying, "You mean she didn't already?"

The dorm was a mess. Harry went straight for the pile of books beside his bed. He was so intent on his search that it took Ron three tries to get his attention.

"Harry!"

"What?"

"There's someone in my bed."

There was indeed someone there. The someone was clearly asleep and he had his back to them. His light brown hair was messed in every direction.

"Who in the bloody hell...?" Ron said.

"New student?" Harry suggested.

"Maybe, but what's he doing in my bed?"

Harry shrugged. "Wake him up and ask."

"I'm not waking him up. You do it."

"He's in your bed."

"So?"

"So you do it."

"But what if he's a..." Ron lowered his voice, "A spy?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Fine, I'll do it."

He approached the sleeping figure. "Wake up." Harry said, shaking his shoulder.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Someone was shaking him. Remus groaned and turned around, eyes still closed.

"Wake up."

He forced his eyes half-open, despite the bricks that seemed to be weighing them down. A blurry person was standing next to him. All he could see was the unruly black hair.

"Hey James." He muttered, "Sorry about the potion. Was Cambridge mad?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. The boy in Ron's bed shook his head, trying to focus.

"I swallowed some of it." He said, "I think when I messed it up I accidentally made a sleeping potion because I can't keep my bloody eyes open."

He looked vaguely familiar, like Harry had met him in a shop or something. And he'd called him James. But maybe that was a coincidence. There were hundreds of Jameses in the world. And this boy was about his age, there was no way he could've known Harry's father. Right?

The boy closed his eyes again. "Let me know when Charms starts." He said, "I promised Sirius he could copy my answers."

Sirius. There was no way this was a coincidence. Ron was for once a little quicker on the uptake than Harry.

"Lupin?" he exclaimed.

The boy's eyes snapped open. "Who are you?" he demanded, "James, who – you're not James."

He sat up and looked around the dorm. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Us?" Ron said, "What are you doing here? And why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like, young."

"How old did you expect me to look, forty? Who are you?"

Harry suddenly had an idea of what might be going on. "What year is it?" he asked Lupin, who was still glaring at Ron.

"Nineteen seventy-six." Lupin replied. "How did you not....Who are you? James's twin?"

"Go get Hermione." Harry said to Ron. Ron nodded, stammered something, and ran out of the room.

A few minutes later Hermione was sitting with them, trying to figure out all the details of what had happened.

"So you're telling me," Lupin said, "that I've somehow traveled twenty years into the future in one Potions class?"

"Well, yes." Hermione said. Unlike the others, she had not been completely baffled by the idea of time-travel. After all, she had used it many times during their third year. Harry had only used it once, and Ron never. But even Hermione had to be amazed at twenty years.

"Is Dumbledore still headmaster?" Lupin asked.

"Yes."

"And is Cambridge still Potions master?"

No."

"Who is? Maybe they can help."

The other three exchanged looks. "Er..." Harry said.

Lupin watched him expectantly, the patient look Harry knew so well crossing his young features.

"Do you want something to eat?" Ron asked, "I mean, it's been twenty years."

"No, no, I'm quite alright." Lupin recognized the stall technique. That could wait awhile. As long as Dumbledore was still Headmaster, he knew there would be a way back to his own time. For know he was a bit curious about the future and these people who seemed to know him.

TBC...

Yeah, so let me know what you think. Remember, flames regarding the fact that it's cliché will be rolled into fireballs and sent back to the flamer. Love to everyone else!