Chapter 6: Unexpected Visitors

Talking about Quidditch really helped. It would help more if we could play, though. On the pitch, all you can think about is Quidditch. If you lose your focus, you lose the game. All there can be, all there is, is the Snitch. No Death Eaters, no Voldemort, no prophecy. I can forget all that, for a few hours at least. That is the greatest gift my dad gave me.

We passed through the gate and he turned to me, "Do you need help Apparating?"

"I just need the destination."

So he held out his arm for me. I reached out to grab a hold, but ended up hugging him instead.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"It was nothing," he said with an attitude that contradicted his words. Continuing on in a lighter tone, "Besides, your mother would skin me alive."

Chuckling, we turned together and arrived in a small backyard. There were tall pine trees around the perimeter, most likely to hide the small Quidditch hoops on either side and obscure from view any wizardries performed, such as Apparition. Nearer to the house was a small concrete patio with a table and a few folding chairs, perfect for sitting outside and enjoying the day. Next to it, a large garden. Half the space was taken up by more practical types of plants, such as tomato plants and watermelon vines. The other half was devoted to all shapes, sizes, and colors of lilies. Each of the slender leaves on the tall, narrow stems curved their healthy, green surfaces to bask in the golden sun rays. Not one showed ever the slightest hint of yellow or the need to droop. And the flowers! The petals curved gracefully into a perfect spray of color. Bold reds, vibrant oranges, cheery yellows, deep purples. But, by far, the most beautiful plant of all was the gleaming white lily that grew proud and tall next to the side of the house, up to the window that looked in on the small kitchen. The most amazing part of the garden was that not one inch of it was cultivated by magic.

"That garden is your mother's pride and joy, aside from you, of course." He headed towards a glass sliding door that led into the house from the patio. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute. I...want to check out the pitch."

He chuckled before disappearing inside the house. Reappearing in the kitchen window, he kissed someone out of view and began a conversation with the someone. Sure enough, the someone peeked her red head out the window at me before going about her business.

Truthfully, the pitch was farthest from my mind. I was just apprehensive. The last time I saw this house it was only ruins that were too steeped in magical energy to clear away. It had felt almost like the property was feral. I shivered, remembering how it felt.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, it wasn't until a girl spoke that I realized I had company.

"Ouch! Ron, that was my foot!"

I spun around to find a bushy-haired girl tangled in the gangly legs of a red-haired boy, the former grimacing in pain, the latter looking disoriented. The girl, or Hermione Granger as I like to call her, gingerly extracted herself from the Ron Weasley of my time. Which is part of the reason that I was left speechless.

"Harry," Hermione squealed as she launched herself at me.

"There you are, mate. We've been looking all over for you," Ron said, separating Hermione from me before she crushed me.

Mum must've looked out the window just then, because she called out, "Harry, bring your friends inside, dear."

Both of them looked questioningly at me. Grinning maniacally, I led them into the house. Boy are they going to get the surprise of a lifetime. They knew I was up to something, too, and followed warily.

We entered a quaint little kitchen not unlike the Weasley's with a small wooden table for four. Mum was bustling between the table and the stove, checking the soup still cooking and setting places. Seeing Ron and Hermione, she added a chair and put down two more places before setting a platter of sandwiches on the table.

With uncanny timing, Dad entered the kitchen, saying, "Excellent! I'm starving." Looking up, he saw us. "Oh! Guests."

"Harry..." Hermione began uncertainly. I looked back at them. Ron was staring stupidly, his mouth hanging open. Hermione eyed my parents like she normally eyed people she thought were Death Eaters and had her hand ready to whip out her wand.

"Are those...?" Ron asked.

"My parents," I said brightly, "Lily and James Potter."

"You must be Ron," said Mum, stepping forward to shake his hand. He grasped it rather limply, still not believing what he was seeing. "You have the famous Weasley hair and freckles. And who is this young lady?"

"Hermione Granger," I replied.

While Dad shook Ron's hand, Mum greeted Hermione, looking her up and down. She must have found what she was looking for because she smiled and stepped back.

Dad took her hand next. "I don't believe I know any Grangers."

"I'm Muggle-born."

Mum positively beamed at this and Dad chuckled, replying, "I bet you're the top of your class too."

"I...well...not really," she spluttered, blushing.

"Come off it, Hermione, of course you are," said Ron, rolling his eyes. Blushing even more fiercely, Hermione muttered something about Defense Against the Dark Arts.

I rolled my eyes this time, "You still get the best grades in class."

"But I couldn't teach it," she shot back.

"What's this now?" Mum asked.

"Fifth Year we had a Defense teacher who didn't teach us anything," Hermione wrinkled her nose, "so Harry taught about 25 people what that old hag wouldn't."

Mum beamed at me, "That's wonderful!" Her expression hardened, "...as long as you weren't breaking any rules."

Ha! "Actually, at the time, it was illegal."

That got a brilliant reaction from Mum and Dad. She managed to look proud and disapproving at once while Dad was torn between congratulating me and reprimanding me. It would have been quite comical had the situation been different.

Luckily, Hermione stopped both of them by saying, "Having a copy of the Quibbler was also illegal, though. The Ministry was trying to interfere at Hogwarts."

"Bloody gits," I muttered, rubbing the back of my hand where traces of my "lines" were still visible.

Mum had enough sense not to pursue the subject and was tactful enough to change it. "Why don't we all sit down and eat before the soup cools. Then you can tell us how you got here."

Thankful to get away from that subject, I quickly loaded my plate and filled my bowl. Even though I was curious as to how they got here, too, my stomach was overpowering my brain. Plus, I wanted to try my mom's cooking. Mrs. Weasley has met her match. Ron, being of the same opinion, began stuffing his face. Hermione seemed to be the only one able to spare a moment between mouthfuls for conversation.

"After we'd been, uh...separated for hours and you didn't send Hedwig, we got worried and went looking for you. When we got to where...you know, we didn't see anything."

Finally pausing, Ron added, "The place was thick with leftover magic though. It made my skin crawl."

"Then, there was a bunch of light and the we were just...here."

I nodded, "Sounds like how I got here, here being about 17 years in the past, in case you hadn't guessed already. Fawkes used our wands to..."

"Who's wands?" Dad interrupted.

"No one's!" we all yelled at once.

Suddenly, Hermione stood up. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Potter," she stumbled over the name, still not believing she was saying it, "Nice to see you, Mr. Potter. But we really must be going." She grabbed Ron and dragged him to the door.

"It was nice meeting you," Ron called over his shoulder, then winced as Hermione stepped on his foot, "I mean, it's not like we haven't met you..."

Mum cocked an eyebrow in amusement, "Did you hold a seance?"

That stopped them in their tracks. Ever so slowly, Hermione turned to face me, "Harry, you didn't..." I looked away, "You did! You told them everything."

"Actually, Dumbledore told them most of it," I mumbled, "But I might have...let a few things slip..."

Dad chuckled, "Slipped out is an understatement."

"Harry, you didn't lose your head and shout it to the whole neighborhood, did you?" she groaned.

"The room was spelled," I said, a bit weakly.

"Is it safe to assume you're going to stay a bit longer then?" Mum asked.

Hermione looked about to refuse, but she looked at me and sighed, "Yes, we will."