Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: I would love to have a beta, but I am unsure how to go about that, so any help would be greatly appreciated. Also I am a bit disappointed at the lack of reviews, as I so nicely update regularly.

Harry Potter finally managed to slip away from everyone. He hated sneaking around behind his friends but he wanted to read Draco Malfoy's letter alone before sharing it. His hope was that the potential Deatheater would turn to his side and be invaluable this time around, especially since one of the horcruxes resides in Malfoy Manor in the form of a muggle journal. The blonde Slytherin was still a pompous prat, but Harry felt that was more to do with his biased father. Pulling out the parchment, he unrolled it revealing the crisp writing of his once enemy. The boy had obviously had handwriting lessons and calligraphy, probably something most wealthy purebloods prided themselves in. He sighed and began to read the letter.

Harry,

Some rumors are getting around about you a couple of goody Gryffindors, including the mudblood. Your letter confirmed that the rumor was true so it made it difficult to disregard the other information you told me. The entire Wizarding world is after you even accusing you of being the next Dark Lord, I guess it doesn't help that you are a Slytherin.

After finishing your letter my first instinct was to show it to my father. Still my own Slytherin instincts and your words stilled my actions. Your claim that I was killed by the Dark Lord who you destroyed years ago, and my own parents betrayed me to them. How is that even possible, You-Know-Who is gone, have you forgotten why you are the bloody famous Harry Potter? My father can be power hungry, but he is loyal to those who are loyal to him, why would he betray me?

I shall heed your advice for now, but I am weary considering your accomplices. I find Weasley and the mudblood Granger to be out of character for you.

Draco Malfoy

Harry ran his hands through his unruly hair and slumped against the tree behind him causing a knot to dig uncomfortably into his back. Malfoy could not have asked him a more difficult question, how could he explain away Ron and Hermione? He doubted he could convince the blonde Slytherin that he was friends with a Muggle born, and Ron wouldn't be easy either. At least the Weasleys are purebloods, although of a different class than the Malfoys, a better class his opinion but he couldn't deny the monetary differences. His best options would be to continue to lie to him, although in the end he feared the truth would come out.

His mind wandered to another time with Professor Snape, and the Wizarding's views on life debts. It really was his best option when it came to the pureblood wizard. Harry would need to weave such a tale to Malfoy that would convince the Slytherin that he owed the two Gryffindors a life debt and that was what had brought them into the group. It wouldn't be hard to convince Draco that the Gryffindors had saved him from death; after all it is one of the qualities the house is known for. The real situation is telling the tale in such a way as to not wound the youngest Malfoy's pride.

Sighing, the Boy-Who-Lived slid his body down the tree and tucked his head in between his knees. He was going to have a long evening ahead of him, and the whole thing was causing his head to ache. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to curl into a fetal position and deny the prophecy. At seventeen he had witnessed more than most and he was weary to his very soul. Lesser people would have allowed depression and doubt to consume them completely, but Harry continued to fight against the darkness and hopelessness that strived to gobble him up. His pride and anger rarely allowed him a moment to weep for his misfortune or dwell on it, so the raven haired boy shook off his dire thoughts and pulled out some parchment and a quill. He has work to do.

Draco,

I am glad you did not go to your father; however I must remind you that I had spelled the letter and it is no more than ashes now. That said I admit that my accomplices would baffle you, especially considering my display in the Great Hall with Granger. One must keep up appearances such as they may be, being a Slytherin you must understand that.

The Dark Lord returned to his full glory in our fourth year and your father resumed his path as a submissive blind Deatheater, pushing you in a similar direction. You can understand Voldemort's desire to destroy the ruddy "Boy-Who-Lived", so I was a target, and you being my best mate one as well. Your father threatened and tortured you in fifth year looking for you to betray me, and you refused. I have never gotten the full details on that night, but the Gryffindor prefects, Weasley and Granger, discovered you near death in the dungeons. The Know-it-All literally put you back together and saved your life, since you adamantly refused to go to the hospital wing. They kept your secret and you owe Granger a life-debt, something you continue to remind us of.

Your father was not pleased with your refusal to betray me, considering his blind loyalty to Voldemort. You however are aware of my power, as a mere child I defeated the so called Dark Lord, and you have seen a bit of my power now. You and I follow no one. We seek our own paths in life and I for one will not bow to anyone. After you were disgraced by your father you managed your life yourself for a year, adequately I might add. The four of us became a powerful group until your mother tricked you…you know the end result.

I returned to destroy Voldemort for good and to save you. I have no desire to rule the Wizard or Muggle world, and have no need for money or power. I seek a life free of blind followers and full of long Quidditch matches. I am not a Dark Lord; I am Harry Potter your best mate.

Harry

Harry rubbed his nose in satisfaction at his letter. He felt he had managed to maintain a sense of smugness as well as enough of the truth mixed in with the blatant lies. He did worry about revealing the return of Voldemort in fourth year to Malfoy, but decided that it lacked the details that could cause him any real trouble. Harry was concerned that he was giving the Slytherin too much credit by implying that Draco would choose him over his father, but he touched on the submissiveness of the elder Malfoy as if it was a weakness. Rolling the parchment up and adding the proper spells and wards to it, Harry wondered how he was to get the letter back to Hogwarts. Hedwig was gone and he had no other owl to send.

Briefly his mind wandered to Sirius Black, his godfather and a fugitive of the Ministry in another life, and his own experiences with sending letters. Somehow the Animagus always managed to send Harry a different owl with each correspondence with out going into town. It wasn't something he had never thought about before, but now he regretted not asking about it. He could just go to Hermione, she seems to always have an answer, but than he would have to tell her about the letters and her own involvement in the lies he has spun. He doubted she wouldn't be pleased with his manipulation and the ease at which he manages to act so Slytherin. Still she may understand it once he explains his reasoning, besides he had already put this plan in motion, no going back now.

His mind made up, Harry stood and stretched his lean form. The eleven year old body was still malnourished and weak a fact that bothered him immensely, even if he can't recall exactly why he was so much smaller than Hermione and Ron. Trying to recall a memory he left in a pensive in the future would result in nothing but a massive headache. The only thing he could really understand was that what ever caused him to appear to be so frail left him feeling angry and sad at the same time. It was something he resolved to ask Hermione about, not knowing why he felt anger about his child hood was eating at him.

Retrieving his letters and quill and returning inside just as the sun was going down, the full moon already on display. "Ruddy hell, Lupin!" Setting off at a run he made it to the shack to find only Ron sitting on the floor doing his Animagus exercises. "Where is Professor Lupin…Hermione…full moon…?" Despite the short distance to the shack Harry had begun to panic at not finding Hermione tucked inside the building safely.

"Hermione said she was going after you and Professor Lupin apparated to the Shrieking Shack. He wanted to speak to you before he left but it got too late, he will be back in a few days and he said Dumbledore should arrive soon." Ron stood up and rolled his neck stretching the muscles. "Where have you been for the last few hours?"

Harry took a few gulps of air and allowed his heart to slow down, before looking at the red head. "I was penning a letter." He stated honestly. "Did you eat?" Best to change the subject to food when it comes to Ron, otherwise he would want details.

"No, Hermione tried to cook some berries with some sugar and what we thought was flour. Ended up that someone had grinded some bones down and placed them in the flour sack." Ron Weasley gave his best mate a sheepish grin. "I actually turned a bit green after tasting it!"

Harry began to chuckle a bit at their rotten luck, both boys' stomachs growling in hunger. "Well since Professor Lupin is gone we could break out a few of our supplies, I could use some food myself." Harry began to shift through his trunk and pulled out a tiny sack of provisions which he engorged so that he could retrieve the food. "Can you get Hermione? I'll put on the food."

Ron grinned at the prospect of having an actual meal. "Sure mate, even she will be excited to have some food!" Making his way outside he began to search for the girl that held his heart. He resisted his first instinct to call out for her, it would draw unwanted attention in the woods they are currently hiding in.

"Lumos." He lit his wand, and held it much like a muggle torch, as he weaved through the trees looking for signs of Hermione. Fearful that he still hadn't stumbled on to her, looking back at the distance he was away from their temporary home, Ron debated retrieving Harry to help him. "Hermione where are you?" He called as loud as he dared. A shuffling noise drew his attention down a short path where he discovered a light coming from a small cave. Squinting he made out the small form of the eleven year old Hermione working diligently over a simmering cauldron. "Hermione?"

Startled the muggle born jerked up trying in vain to hide her work; having just finished the last of the potion, she was in the process of bottling it up. "Hey Ron!" She tried to sound cheerful but her voice squeaked out in an unusually high pitch. Coughing a bit for effect she tried again. "Did you need something?"

Finally reaching the cave and standing across from the witch, the pureblood stared at the puke green potion simmering behind her. "What is that for?"

"What?" Hermione Granger was never very good at lying. Even as a child she could never get away with any fib, so she usually just relied on the truth. Still she couldn't help but to attempt to lie about this potion. If she didn't the boys would insist on testing the potion on them which could result in unforeseen consequences, something she could not live with.

Ron pointed angrily at the workspace behind her. "You know what!"

Having the grace to blush at her lousy attempt to hide the potion behind her, Hermione decided to switch tactics. "Oh that…urm…well it's nothing. Just a potion I was practicing, but it didn't turn out right, wrong color and such. Really a waste of precious ingredients, still that is hardly the…urm…proper dull grey color of the Wolfsbane potion, I just thought I could brew it for Professor Lupin." She hoped Ron would buy her story, especially since he knew of Lupin's condition.

Ron tilted his head in suspicion, he found it very unlikely that Hermione couldn't brew anything; she was brilliant at everything including potions. He also didn't believe that she would retreat to a cave deep in the forest as a place to brew her potion and was smart enough to know that Hermione Granger would never be so callous if she failed at something, so she was obviously lying. "I may have bought that excuse if I was truly eleven Hermione, but I know you."

Gently he pushed her aside and studied the contents in the brass cauldron. Ron had taken potion for six years, and advance potion as well so that he could become an Auror. He may come off as slow or dimwitted at times, but he wasn't. Glancing over the ingredients he recalled the properties and practical uses of them. "I don't recognize this potion, but those are not ingredients that would be useful in Wolfsbane!" He snapped angrily. "Besides even you would not bottle a useless potion!" He turned to her accusingly.

"It is none of your business Weasley!" Hermione glared angrily at the nosy boy before her. He always managed to push her buttons.

"It is my business if it involves you!" He jutted his chin out in anger his mind reeling. "Are you attempting to try this potion alone…do you have no regard for Harry and I, what if something went wrong?"

"I was thinking of "YOU" and "HARRY"! It is all I think about since I have been back here! I don't have the luxury of my parents, most of what I have of them are somewhere in a pensive in the future!" Hermione brushed the back of her hands roughly across her cheeks trying to flick the tears away. "The potion is for us…all of us…so we aren't children anymore…it was for you…"

Ron's faced paled. "An aging potion? It won't last the night, you know that."

"This one will. I have taken a few liberties with it." She daftly slipped into professor mode her tears forgotten. "I actually got the idea from Gringotts; it was fascinating really how the goblins could see the essence of Harry's soul. Of course our very soul would have been what was transferred through time, I had never really thought about it before than actually. Our bodies must still be in the future, maybe in coma like state or even dead..." She shuddered at the thought. "That's why the spell is irreversible we have no bodies in our time anymore, and in essence we stole our eleven year old bodies. It's no wonder the spell is forbidden really."

Ron stood their gaping at the bushy know-it-all. He was use to her going off on tangents and focusing on "how fascinating this was" or "how clever one was", he largely ignored it in general, but for some reason all he could do is nod his head at her lecture.

"Logically if you stole someone's body even your own you must destroy the soul that resides within it, or at least send it off somewhere. Since it is the same soul, it may merge, that's something I would like to research really. I bet Harry could find a book on souls in Knockturn Alley, not that he should be going there mind you, but with his invisibility cloak…well he has been there before…"

"Hermione, what is this potion?" Ron pointed at the simmering cauldron.

"It doesn't have a name Ron, I just made it; honestly haven't you heard a word I said?" She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"I heard that but what does it do?"

"I told you it is an aging potion." She stated matter-of-factly, and got an annoyed look from the red head. "Our souls are seventeen Ron, that's why Harry is of age to the goblins. The reason an aging potion doesn't usually last is because your soul overrides the ingredients in the potion making it null and void, and eventually your body expels what is left." She lifted a flask of the potion fingering it lightly. "Theoretically of course, no one really knows why. Still it gave me an idea; I mean a normal aging potion won't work, because we technically are not in our rightful bodies." She gestured at his young form. "I mean it is you but it's not."

Ron tore at his hair in frustration. "You already explained that! Why are you brewing this potion in a cave and hiding it from me and Harry?"

At this Hermione managed to look a bit guilty, her face paled a bit and her confidence weaned. "Well I can't very well test the potion on just anything, a rat won't work nothing will but one of us. We are unique now; I just wanted to test it…"

"You what? Are you bloody mad? Do you have a death wish?" Ron Weasley grabbed her shoulders tightly, shaking her in anger. "How could you? Why would you risk it?"

"WHY?" She tore away from his bruising grip. "Are you serious? Why? Because I hate being eleven, because I'm not eleven, because you aren't eleven, Harry isn't eleven! I'm seventeen, you're seventeen, and if we are going to survive this we need to be adults not children. How are we going to fight Voldemort and Death Eaters or find Horcruxes as children?" She fumed and paced. "I can hardly see in the ice box and my power feels dimmer and I can't touch you…" Hermione clamped her mouth shut with her hands her eyes wide.

Ron paled a bit at her tirade and practically fainted at her last few words. Mustering his courage and his face now as embarrassingly red as his hair he forced the lump in his throat down. "You want to…to touch…me?"

The smitten witch nodded her head, the words she always turned to failing her. She couldn't believe how she could blurt out something like that. Hermione Granger had loved him since third year, and she tells him by saying she wants to touch him. A hundred conversations in her head, and hours…days…of practicing in the mirror and she blurts out she wants to touch him! If she wasn't already in a dank dark cave, she would have sought one out and hid in it.

The emotions of the Gryffindor danced across his face ending with a wicked grin that was trying hard but failing to squash his laughter. His young voice burst forth in a fit of laughter and despite his best efforts he couldn't stop.

"It's not funny Weasley!" With anger her voice returned full force. She also unconsciously fumbled in her robes for her wand defensively readying a hex.

It was Ron's turn to clamp his mouth shut or at least his laughter. "I'm sorry Hermione, I just never expected you to utter those particular words in that particular order before. I had hoped you would, for years now and even imagining you doing it on our wedding night…"

"You what?" Hermione pointed her wand at his chest her anger starting to fall.

"Merlin, you must know I feel the same way?" The youngest male Weasley took a step toward the muggle born. "I have wanted to touch your hand, your hair, your cheek, your lips…" He now stood right next to her his face inches from hers, he lowered his lips to hers but caught her cheek as she wrenched away from him.

"Are you mental? We're eleven Ronald!"

He stumbled backward falling against the cavern wall, his face full of shock. "Well I don't feel eleven!"

Hermione stared at him, the cave became eerily quite at his declaration. Her mind went over the potion before her again, reading off the idea and incantations she used for it. It was logical and simple, it would work, and it had to work. Without a second thought, she carelessly tipped the flask in her hand up swallowing the fowl contents. A surge of painful white light blinded her eyes, her body felt as if it was under the Cruciatus curse, and she fell to floor in agony before her world went black.

"Hermione!" Ron fell to his knees and cradled the thrashing girl. Her eyes had rolled back into her head and she looked as if she was having a seizure. As quick as it started the tremors stopped and he held on to a pale cold body of an eleven year old Hermione Granger. "Don't die…you can't die!" He rocked the cold girl for a bit and rubbed his hands through her sweat soaked hair. "Hermione…wake up…"