It was the morning of October 31st- Halloween. Harry woke with a start as a fierce pain shot across his forehead, causing him to cry out in agony.

Next to him, Hermione shook herself awake, then looked at Harry in astonishment.

"Harry? What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.

He tried to put the pain to the back of his mind and grinned what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a twinge in the old scar, that's all. Go back to sleep now, okay?"

"No! Harry, last time your scar hurt it meant trouble and I'm sure it does this time. We've got to take you to see Professor Dumbledore!"

"Hermione. We're not at Hogwarts now. Well we are, but not in the same sense. Professor Dumbledore left long ago," said her husband.

"Oh. Yes. It just feels like we're still students here, in a warped sort of way. Do you understand?"

"Of course." Harry looked at the clock on his bedside table and almost cried out in alarm. "Hermione! It's gone 8 o'clock! Breakfast starts in ten minutes!"

At this both jumped straight out of bed and began dressing in their robes.

Once ready, they began to run down the stairs to the exit when suddenly Hermione stopped short, causing Harry to stumble blindly into her back. "The letter!" she cried, and after squeezing past a frustrated husband, ran back up. She returned a few seconds later- breathless but triumphantly clutching the parchment in her hand.

"Are you ready now?" Harry said.

"Yes, yes," replied Hermione. "Come on, we'll be late!"

As they hurried down the revolving staircase, Harry fired questions at his wife.

"So, why are you writing to Ron then?"

"I wasn't just writing to Ron, actually. It is addressed to "The Weasley Family"

"Are you sure you two broke up?" he said suspiciously.

"Of course! Harry, that was over 40 years ago! Anyway, I'm married to you, remember?!"

"Yes, well…"

"Let's just forget about this and go have breakfast shall we? I'll drop off my letter afterwards," said Hermione.

Harry cheered up at the thought of breakfast, salivating at the thought of a steaming bowl of porridge.

As they approached the Great Hall, two teenagers ran out to meet them.

"Hey, Mum!" said the girl, who looked about 16.

"Hey Dad!" cried the other, a smaller boy of 13.

Hermione gave them each a quick hug. "Morning. Lily, why has your brother got porridge on his hat?"

The boy pulled off his hat and examined it. Spotting the lump of porridge on the point, he licked it then placed it back on his head.

"Ew! James, you are so gross!" shrieked his disgusted sister.

James grinned and went to lick Lily's hat too.

Harry was about to join in when Hermione shouted "That's enough! Back to the question, James, how on earth did you manage to get your breakfast on your hat?"

At this James stopped his giggles and fell quiet. "I dunno, I just… did."

His sister began to protest violently. "Mum, that's not true. Druicien Malfoy put it on there when James wasn't looking! He stole a whole bowl full from the kitchens!"

Harry, who had been looking worriedly through the throng of students in the Great Hall, cried out at this revelation. "How dare he?! Wait 'til I get my hands on those Malfoys, I'll… I'll…"

"Stop it Harry! I can't see Ruby anywhere, can you? Hagrid must have left her to get ready, I suppose, " said Hermione, worriedly.

Suddenly a small girl of about 6 jumped out of a nearby suit of armour. "Ha! Hi Mummy, Daddy, James, Lily!" she yelled.

Her father picked her up and swung her round. "You know sweetie, you kinda had us worried for a minute." He grinned and his youngest daughter smiled back. She was almost identical to Harry with long black hair and emerald green eyes. Her brother was the same, his dark hair always in a mess. Lily however, was different. Her long hair was sandy brown (like Hermione's) yet almost red, and there was a smattering of freckles upon her nose and cheeks. Everyone presumed this to be due to her namesake, Harry's mother, having red hair and freckles.

Still clutching his youngest daughter, Harry walked into the Great Hall, followed by his wife and other children. Lily and James reclaimed their seats at the Gryffindor table, whilst Ruby wriggled out of her father's arms and wandered off to talk to Nearly Headless Nick.

Their parents walked casually up to the High Table and took their seats in the middle. Harry whispered to the Herbology teacher next to him "Morning, Neville." before beginning his morning speech.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, tonight is Halloween. Please note that this is the only time in the whole year that you will be allowed to egg people, transform your faces into horrifying monsters and beg for sweets from teachers. I hope you all enjoy yourselves and… well, I won't keep you any longer. Tuck in!"

He clapped his hands and the empty tables were suddenly filled with pancakes, toast and bowls of porridge.

Whilst the teachers, including Harry and Hermione were busy discussing lesson plans etc. trouble had begun near the Gryffindor table. Druicien Malfoy had been carefully pushing porridge into Ruby's tiny plastic wizard hat, which he had stolen from her bag. When he'd finished, he walked over to Ruby and said nastily

"If you were a proper witch you'd have your hat on. Here- I found it in the floor."

He handed her the hat and she defiantly put it on her head.

As the now-cold porridge slowly began to squelch down from the point on to Ruby's head, she started to cry. Lily and James looked up from their conversations and saw Druicien walking away from their little sister, grinning wickedly. Lily ran over to her, pulled the hat of poor Ruby's head and vaporised all visible porridge. James, seeing that his big sis had the crying-six-year-old situation under control, strode over to Druicien at the Slytherin table, picked up a nearby jug of milk and emptied it right over Druicien's head.

James was just complementing himself on his quick thinking and bravery when Druicien turned round with milk dripping down his face and a look of hatred in his eyes. It was then that James remembered that Druicien was a widely-feared sixth year and he was only a lowly third-year. He ran. Fast.