Sounds of battle filled the air of the forest as Harry, Hermione, and Ron crouched together in a small hollow beneath a tree. They knew their hiding place wouldn't last for long; once they had accidentally used the taboo of Voldemort's name snatchers had shown up at once. Their tent and campsite were already compromised, their meager possessions out of their reach forever. The snatchers knew they were there, and it was only a matter of time before they found them.

Ron's hand rested on Hermione's shoulder protectively. Light from lethal spells illuminated their faces in the shadows, and Hermione shook slightly, but she was battle-ready. She reached over and grasped Harry's hand reassuringly, communicating without words. They wouldn't stay in hiding for this battle. They would fight this, together.

Harry allowed himself, ever so briefly, to slip back into memory. It was only that morning that he had laid back on his bed, smiling as he stared at the canvas of their homely tent curling above him. Nearby Ron and Hermione had been laughing about something. They had all been in considerably high spirits since Ron's return. Even in the midst of war, even while they were on the run, they had been able to find some sort of peace, there in their small tent.

"You know I missed you, right?" Hermione had said to Ron. Harry coughed loudly, earning him a glare. "Yes Harry, I was livid the entire time, but I did miss him. Even then."

"Were you guys ever afraid that our friendship was over?" asked Ron in a timid voice. "That we would never see each other again?"

Hermione's face fell, but Harry shook his head as he propped himself up on his elbows, his smile growing ever wider. "Nothing, NOTHING, would ever keep the three of us apart."

"Not that time that Ron thought Crookshanks ate Scanners?" asked Hermione. Her face was playful with laughter as she recalled happier, simpler times.

"Not that time that Hermione shunned us for the firebolt?" added Ron.

Hermione spun on him. "Now Ron, I was justified in doing that! It could've been from Sirius Black!"

"It was from Sirius Black."

"You know what I meant. Back when we thought he was dark."

Harry had never thought that he would enjoy seeing his two best friends bickering. But, entertaining or not, he cut them off. "Hermione, Ron, it doesn't matter. None of those things pulled us apart for good. We'll always stick together, no matter what."

"We'll always understand each other more than anyone else does," Hermione said contentedly.

A worried look came across Ron's face. "Do you think that there could be anything that could end our friendship? Or at least cause a divide of some sort?" At Harry and Hermione's pained looks, he added, "Not that there will be. Just hypothetically."

"I think that we've faced the hardest thing that we ever will have to," answered Hermione, gesturing to the tent around her. "And it's only made us closer."

It was true. Even considering Ron's departure, the trio had never been closer. At Hogwarts they had been the closest of friends. On the run they were brothers and sister, more inevitably bound together than the closest of triplets.

"I don't think anything could break us apart, Ron," said Harry. And he meant it.

Back in the present, sweat ran down Harry's face as his heart pounded rapidly. Adrenaline flooded his veins as he crouched with his two best friends in that tiny hollow. He gripped his wand at his side, and Ron and Hermione did the same.

"Ready?" he asked them.

Ron managed to quirk a grin, even as snatcher footsteps pounded closer to them. "As I'll ever be."

As one they stood, and as one they charged out of their hiding place and into the heat of another battle.

As soon as they emerged spells flew from every direction. At first in close formation, Ron yelled for Hermione to duck just in time for her to avoid being hit by a killing curse, while Harry threw up a shield at their backs to block at three from a volley of curses fired. Soon they had split up, and they dodged snatchers and trees alike even as they shot a few down. The truth was that the trio were outnumbered, they were not professional duelers, and they had no escape plan. There was no guarantee that any of them would get out of this battle free and alive. The only thing they could count on was that each of them would do everything in their power to keep each other alive.

This also meant that they were each other's greatest weakness. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron fall to the ground. His focus was broken, and he turned his head as he continued to sprint. But Ron had only been hit by a jelly-legs jinx, and was holding up a shield as Hermione ran to help him.

In front of him two snatchers had fired different spells in a poor attempt to hit him, and a third streak of light shot from behind, presumably from Hermione as she yelled for him to stop. But by the time Harry turned back around it was too late for him to stop, and he ran directly into all four spells at the exact moment that they collided.

Then everything went black.

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Harry awoke to a sight even more frightening than the one he had just left. He was falling. As he went down colorful towers rose above him, just like the one on the...Hogwarts quidditch pitch? It had to be a quidditch pitch, as jersey-clad players on brooms zoomed above him. It had to be a dream, a hallucination. You always fell in those, right? All these thoughts occurred to him in a split second as gravity pulled him closer and closer to sudden death. Suddenly he was aware of screams coming from the stands, and one familiar voice that he couldn't place boomed above the rest, "ARESTO MOMENTUM!"

He felt himself slow even as he kept falling. He finally hit the ground with a shattering jolt and as his vision grayed he was swarmed with impossibly familiar faces looking down at him in concern. He looked past them, upward, and he thought he saw a large black dog running from the top row of the stands before he was conscious no more.

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Before Harry opened his eyes he became aware of his surroundings. He lay on a bed with covers much rougher and much cleaner than those he had been sleeping on in the tent. He was wrapped in some sort of hospital gown, similar to those he had become all too used to from his days spent in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. He was sure that he had been captured, and dared not to open his eyes, knowing that Voldemort's face would be leering over him. In fact he heard someone moving just above him, and his fist clenched. He wished more than anything that it was around his wand.

"Harry?" asked a timid voice that was very definitely not Voldemort's. Harry knew that it could be a trap, but it didn't keep his eyes from popping open.

Ron's face looked down at him, but it wasn't how Ron was supposed to look. Harry did a double take, his just-awakened mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Ron was...younger. His hair was lighter and his freckles were more prominent. Even sitting down Harry could tell that he wasn't as tall as he should be, and his face filled with nervousness and excitement had far too few scars.

"Harry?" the boy said again. "Can you hear me?"

Harry knew instantly what this was: a trap. It was Voldemort's way of lulling him into a false sense of security. And he wasn't going to fall for it. He had been through too many tricks, encountered Voldemort too many times, to be caught off guard by some kind of illusion. He looked the imposter straight in the eyes. "I don't know who you are or where you have me, but I can promise you that you will not get away with it," he threatened, hating the way his voice cracked.

"Harry?" Fear filled the imposter's voice. Good, Harry thought. He was getting somewhere.

"What have you done with my wand?" Harry demanded. "And what have you done with Ron and Hermione?" If the death eaters had gotten a hold of them too, Harry would blow up the entire dark side to get them back. Seeing the fake Ron's face go pale only angered him further, and he lunged for the boy.

His fist hit what appeared to be a shield charm and he screamed in frustration. If this wasn't proof that this was all being put together by Voldemort, then he didn't know what else was. Obviously it had been this Ron imposter protecting himself, or maybe the shield charm had been there all along, an invisible prison.

Or maybe it had been...Madame Pomfrey?

The mediwitch stood by the door to her office, her wand raised and her features contorted in anger.

"Mister Weasley!" she bellowed, stomping toward the Ron imposter. "How dare you anger my patient in such a way! And after what he's just been through!" The woman then turned to the still thrashing Harry and physical shoved him back down. "And you, Mister Potter! I will not allow any of you children to be this violent while they are in need of REST!"

Harry looked between the two of them, dumbfounded. Had the death eaters recreated Madame Pomfrey as well? It seemed too elaborate for them. Why would Voldemort go to such lengths to trick Harry, when he just wanted to kill him? And the woman acted exactly as the mediwitch he knew would have. Could it be possible that she was the real one? Could this be the real Hogwarts hospital wing? And maybe...He looked back at the boy who was cowering in a perfectly Ron-like way. Something wasn't right, but he would give the boy a chance to explain. Then, if his suspicions proved true, Harry would curse the imposter into oblivion.

"You must leave at once, Mister Weasley!" Madame Pomfrey spun back on Ron. Or whoever he was. "And what could you have possibly done to anger your friend in this way?"

The boy looked about ready to pass out, or tell Madame Pomfrey what Harry had said to him, or run screaming from the room, so Harry answered for him. "He didn't do anything, Ma'am. We were just playing around. Please let him stay."

The Ron-boy turned back to him with a shocked look on his face. Didn't that prove that he was an imposter and wasn't expecting Harry to behave this way? Or maybe it was just because of the sharp contrast between what Harry had said earlier and what he was saying now. Either way, Harry would find out within the next few minutes.

With a huff of displeasure, Madame Pomfrey turned on her heel and stormed back into her office. Ron turned, open-mouthed, to Harry.

"What are you on about?" the redhead said hotly, but there was still a hint of confusion and fear in his features.

"Give me my wand back and we'll talk," snapped Harry. He was shocked when the boy picked up the narrow stick off the bedside table and handed it to him. He was even more shocked when he found that it was, in fact, his own wand. It was in one piece, even less scratched than it had been before Godric's Hollow. The death eaters could have just repaired it for him, though. There was only one way to find out.

With a glance toward Madam Pomfrey's door Harry cast a silencing charm. The wand remained whole. The charm was simple, though. He would have to try a much stronger one to be sure of the band's strength. Much to the redhead's horror, he selected a glass vase full of flowers from the table and shattered it on the floor below.

"Have you gone mad?!" Ron...the boy who looked like Ron exclaimed. Harry ignored him.

"Reparo," he whispered. To his even greater shock the vase repaired in midair and landed back on the table and left his wand in one piece. "How did you fix my wand?" Harry asked, not really to anyone in particular.

The Ron-boy made as if to leave. Or run away, rather. "I'm getting Hermione," he said. "Something about that fall made you go mental."

"Wait! Ron!" Harry shouted, stopping him in his tracks. It was getting harder and harder to believe that the boy was an imposter. There was definitely something wrong here, Harry couldn't deny that. But before anything else happened he had to know if he could trust the boy in front of him. He had to know if he was really looking at his best friend.

"Ron," started Harry calmly, resisting the urge to panic. What was going on here? No theory he had come up with was adding up. "What's your middle name?"

"You really have gone mental."

"Just answer the question, Ron. Please. I need you to do this for me," Harry pleaded. Ron's face softened slightly.

"Billius."

Harry thought over the answer. Any death eater could have gotten that information. It hadn't been a good enough question. "In sixth year when you asked me what I was attracted to in Ginny. What did I tell you?"

Ron's eyes grew wide as saucers, his ears turning red. "You like my twelve-year-old sister?!" he screeched, before a deeper confusion etched across his face. "Sixth year? Seriously, mate, what are you on about?"

Harry's mind was reeling. Ron was confused when he mentioned sixth year. And Ginny, twelve? Ron did look younger, afterall, and Harry's wand hadn't been in such great shape in years. Harry noticed a mirror on the opposite wall, and he slowly crawled out of the bed, ignoring the pain that courses through his back. "Harry, what?" Ron asked, just as confused as Harry was. And if Harry's insane theory was right, then his best friend had every reason to be confused. As Harry stumbled to the mirror Ron chased after him, attempting to pull him back to the bed. His efforts were a waste, because nothing could stop Harry from getting to that mirror. And when he reached it, nothing could have pulled him away.

The reflection of a young boy stared back at him. The unkempt black hair, wire-framed glasses, and lightning bolt scar were all unchanged, but there weren't as many scars lining his face and arms. He stepped closer, and so did the boy in the mirror. The boy's face reflected his own shock and horror. The reflection was of a younger version of himself. The young Ron's face reflected next to his own, but he looked confused by Harry's reaction rather than by the reflection. "What?" Ron asked. "You don't know what you look like?"

Harry looked down at his hands. They looked smaller and less scarred, just like they had in the mirror. He had gotten a nasty cut on his arm, from a slicing curse when the Death Eaters attacked Bill and Fleur's wedding. Now he studied the same arm, blemish free. Not even a months-old scar graced the young, innocent skin. Harry's eyes remained locked on his arm, and he asked faintly, "What year is it?"

Ron hesitated before answering, and Harry imagined a befuddled expression appearing on his young face. "It's 1993, Harry."

1993. Nineteen-ninety three. Four years ago. Four years of his troubled past gone in an instant. He felt his legs go weak.

But Harry's seventeen year old mind was still in war mode, and he knew that this could be a trick. He looked up and turned to face a thoroughly befuddled thirteen year old Ron. He had never gotten a definite result from the security questions. "Your first ride on the Hogwarts express. What did Fred and George threaten to send Ginny?"

Now Ron was convinced that Harry had gone mental, but he answered anyway. "A Hogwarts toilet seat."

"How did we escape the acromantulas second year?"

"Harry!"

"Answer the question!"

"Fine. The Ford Angela showed up." His ears were bright red. Classic Ron Weasley. He stammered on defensively. "And I wasn't scared, in case you were planning on asking that. If anything Fang was the most scared out of any of us."

Harry collapsed to the floor, and with a yelp Ron hauled him back onto his feet. Harry looked into the eyes of his best friend, Ron's assured presence giving him a strange sort of relief. "Wait," Harry said to Ron, barely above a whisper, as the boy started to drag him back to bed. He took Ron's left arm and lifted his wand to the smooth skin just above his wrist. Ron seemed too shocked to resist.

"Finite incantatem," he said. Ron's arm glowed briefly blue before settling back to a blank, clear expanse of skin. The boy who looked like Ron was not disguised in any way. There was no hidden Dark Mark; this was no death eater trap. Harry was really, truly, in the presence of his thirteen year old best friend.

Ron got Harry into the bed with no further resistance. "Harry, are you going to explain any of that? Or did you go totally senile in that fall?"

Harry didn't know where to start. He looked at the young teenager in front of him, his mind whirring. This was his best friend. He would always trust Ron with any big changes in his life, Harry decided. Regardless of how old he was.

And honestly, Harry needed help right now.

"Ron, this is going to sound crazy-"

"Crazier than anything else you've said?"

"-but hear me out." Harry took a deep breath. Then he started into the most crazy story he would probably ever tell in his life.

"When I woke up this morning I was seventeen years old. It was 1997. The three of us were in the tent, trying to plan where to look for the next horcrux."

"What's a horcrux?" Ron asked, too stunned to ask anything else.

"It's not important right now. Anyway, death eaters showed up, and there was a battle, and there were spells that collided…" Harry trailed off under Ron's attentive and scrutinizing eyes. "I think I ran into them, and then I was here."

Ron didn't speak for what had to have been an eternity. Then, finally, "You're mental."

"Ron!" Harry's heart hammered in his chest. "You have got to believe me."

Ron crossed his arms, looking to be on the verge of running to Madame Pomfrey for help handling her insane patient. "You're claiming that you just time traveled or something. Which is impossible."

Harry flopped back onto the bed. "No it's not. Just ask Hermione, for goodness sakes."

"What about Hermione?"

Harry sat up again. "You really don't know about that, do you?"

"Know about what?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

"You know? Nevermind. It'll be better to tell you both when Hermione's here."

Ron looked affronted, but Harry also detected a sort of concern. "Hermione," he stated. "Maybe she could help. Or Dumbledore."

Harry's mind went off spinning in circles again. Dumbledore was alive? Of course he was, it was 1993. Harry had become so used to the reality that he lived in that he forgot how different it had been just a few years before. How many other things were different from 1997? How much had really changed in four years?

"Before we get Hermione I need you to tell me what's happening right now. What time of year is it? We're in third year, right?" Ron simply nodded a weary yes. "Okay. So what's happened in the past few weeks?"

Ron scoffed. "All that's happened recently is you being unconscious here. You fell from your broom during a match. Dumbledore slowed your fall. He's the only reason you survived at all."

"Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff? Really bad storm? The nimbus? The one where the dementors attacked?" Harry asked as the pieces started to fall into place. What he had assumed to be a strange dream of falling wasn't a dream at all. He had lived through that fall before.

Ron nodded. "You've been out cold for a week. Madam Pomfrey said that you were in some sort of shock."

Hadn't he only been out for a few days the first time? Come to think of it, he hadn't been conscious for most of the fall the first time either. The shock must've been from the time travelling. Things had already changed because of it, and his mind started turning over whether or not more could be changed.

Ron sat back down by the bed, fidgeting nervously. He studied Harry with an expression of distress, as if trying to figure him out. "When you were unconscious...was that when it happened? When you started thinking that you were a time traveller?"

"No. I think it happened when I fell. I remember some of it." Hope welled up in Harry. "Does this mean you believe me?"

Ron fidgetted again. "I don't know…"

Ron was saved from having to say anything else by Madam Pomfrey's arrival at the bedside. Harry quickly lifted the silencing charm, earning him a strange look from Ron.

"It's almost curfew. Out you go!" Madam Pomfrey made to shoo Ron from the room.

Ron threw a frantic look at Harry. "Can Harry come too?" he asked Pomfrey.

"Well of course not. He only just woke up. He's not fit to leave anytime soon." Harry groaned. The one thing he had enjoyed about being on the run was getting to tend to his own injuries and getting to heal at his own pace. He had not missed the hospital wing.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him closer. "Come back with Hermione. Bring the cloak and the map," he whispered.

"Map?" Ron whispered back. "What map?"

Harry slapped his forehead. Really, how had this much changed in four years? "Nevermind. Just promise me you'll come."

"I promise." Ron pulled away, looking at Harry warily. "Sleep well, Harry," he added for Pomfrey to hear.

"Sleep well Ron," Harry replied with a wink. Ron looked startled, and slammed the hospital doors behind him. Harry was left with his thoughts and no choice but to wait and hope.