When Harry awoke after what had felt like hours, he noticed that there was something…off, about the room he was in. It didn't seem like it was sinister or anything to that effect, it just seemed as if there was something about this room that seemed familiar yet frighteningly alien. Like a half remembered dream that was born as you were just leaving the warm embrace of sleep. His mind was strangely clouded, and his body was sore and covered in sweat, which would be incredibly odd because he had no reason to be. He gave a sudden start, and felt his heart tighten in his chest from the pain of grief, when he remembered what had cast him into his unconsciousness. His wife, his beautiful, delicate, wondrous wife, had died. It was such an inconceivable concept that he began to desperately hope that it had all been a dream that he was just now waking from, it would explain his state of mind.

When he finally looked about the room, he came to the, rather depressing, conclusion that it had not been a dream. He was in a room that he hadn't seen in over a hundred and fifty years. But that couldn't possibly be, this building had been destroyed, burned to the ground at the climax of the war, he couldn't be at the Burrow, it simply wasn't possible to be in a building that had been destroyed and never rebuilt, and yet here he lay. Had someone found him in his slumber and moved him somewhere, possibly in an attempt to heighten his already unfathomable sorrow? He couldn't think of any enemies he had made, at least those that were still alive, that would know that this would torment him so. No, there had to be some other explanation.

He made to uncover himself, and promptly missed the edge of whatever was covering him, realizing with a sudden anxiety that his arms were shorter than they should have been. Perhaps then, he was still asleep and in some memory or other? That might have been equally as troubling, he hadn't had his usual nightmares since he had been sharing a bed with Fleur. If they were returning on the very night of her passing then this would be even more so hellish than he knew, or wished to think about. But, he couldn't be in one of his nightmares…he was never in control of his body in them, while here he distinctly had control of his limbs, albeit limited because they seemed to not fit his body as they had a few scant hours ago. He made the move to get out of bed after trying once more, and succeeding this time, to uncover his body. He realized not long after attempting to stand that his legs were significantly shorter as well, whereupon standing he fell, rather hard, and was suddenly becoming acquainted with the wooden floors.

He stood back up and turned sharply towards the snore that sounded from the other side of the small room. He knew that snore; it belonged to his old friend Ron. But that wasn't possible either, Ron was dead, killed when he was just out of his twenties by a rogue bludger that had caught him in the temple in his third year playing keeper for the Chudley Cannons.

"What the hell is going on?" He thought as he approached what could only be an intruder, calling upon his magical reserves, prepared to kill the fool that had made the mistake of impersonating someone whom he counted as a friend at one time. He shook the impostor violently by the throat, his hand glowing a fiery orange as it was held above the man's face, ready to incinerate him should he try to attack. It was around this point that he realized that his hands…they weren't, old anymore. The wrinkles they once held were gone, replaced with the smooth, taut skin of youth. His distraction proved costly, as the impostor managed to throw him off, and begin a spluttering cough that left Harry enough time to recover and reach back for the man, grabbing him by the forehead and forcing him to look Harry in the eye as he sent a powerful probe at the man's unprotected mind. He sifted through the memories harshly, hardly pausing to analyzing any of them, simply trying to find who the phony was working for. He stopped moving through the memories as one caught his attention, it was of when the two of them jumped into the tunnel leading to the Chamber of Secrets in their second year.

He retracted his probe, finding that it had only been a split second in real-time, he let go of the man's head and let him fall back to the bed.

"Who are you? How do you have those memories? Tell me the truth and perhaps, perhaps, you'll leave this place with your life." He questioned. The promise of pain in his eyes and an edge to his voice that clearly stated that he was not to be trifled with.

"Harry? What the bloody hell are you talking about mate? What memories? Why did you just try to strangle me?" Faux-Ron began confusedly.

"Why did I attempt to strangle you?" he began "Perhaps because you are an impostor, a fake who is wearing the face of a friend, not to mention that you must have kidnapped me!"

"Kidnapped? What are you talking about? We came and got you from your Muggle relatives! We saved you from that place so that you could come with us to the World Cup! Remember? Dad won tickets from the office." He responded while rubbing his neck, attempting to ease the soreness that came with near strangulation. He would probably have a nasty bruise in a few minutes.

Harry could sense no lies, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. "When we met in first year, what was the spell you tried to use on your rat?"

"What Scabbers? I don't remember! 'Sunshine meadow, daisy…' something! I was trying to turn him yellow, what's it matter?!" He asked as he tried to figure out what in the hell was wrong with his friend.

"Hmmm, he didn't get it, but he knew enough. Let's try something he would have to remember." He thought. "In first year, what were the protections on the Philosopher's Stone?" This was an easy one; if he didn't get these then he was fried.

"The protections? Umm…there was Fluffy, the Devil's Snare, the key room, the chess set…ummm oh! The flying keys!" Ron remembered them well enough, it felt like he had actually been stabbed when that stupid Queen had destroyed his horse.

"Hmm, very good, Ron wouldn't know about the dead trolls or the potions riddle, he had to stay behind before then…" Harry stopped the flow of magic when he realized that this really was Ron, or at least he was as sure as he was going to be. He kept his guard up just in case though.

"Where are we?" It was the first thing that came to mind, he could feel the wards around the place, so it had to be protected, and probably shielded against apparition in that case.

"The Burrow of course! Where else would we be? We'll be heading off to the World Cup soon enough I'd guess; it's today I think…" Ron responded, where were they? What kind of question is that?

"The Burrow? You look young enough to still be in Hogwarts, what year are you?" Harry asked after having his question answered, he still didn't believe it, but it was all he had for now.

"Umm…you don't look so old and wizardly yourself mate. Did you hit your head on something? We're going into our fourth year this year." He responded dryly, "Young enough? Me? What are you on about Harry?"

"Fourth year? We? As in you and me? I don't think so; I'm a touch older than my Hogwarts years…" He said, he was after all, nigh on two centuries in age.

"No…you're not. Are you feeling okay Harry? You look like you've had a bad dream. Go splash some water on your face and I'll get mum. She can make sure you're in good enough health." Ron said. What the hell was wrong with his friend? Older than his Hogwarts years…his mum would know better than he what was wrong with him.

Harry could hear the genuine concern in his friend's voice and decided not to question it, he would gather some more information on where they were on his trip to the bathroom before questioning him anymore. "Yeah…I think that's a good idea mate, mind showing me the way?"

"You know the way! It's right down the hall!" Rom exclaimed, seriously questioning the mental stability of his best mate.

"Oh…yeah, of course I knew that!" Harry responded before making his way for the door, stumbling a few times on his shorter-than-normal legs, and then missing the doorknob with his stubby-feeling arms. After a few curses mumbled under his breath he made it out the door, with Ron looking worriedly after him, probably expecting him to fall down the stairs with how clumsy he was being.

He finally made it to the bathroom, barely avoiding falling over the railing on the stairs, and utterly failing to maintain his dignity in doing so. He reached for the faucet carefully, making sure he got it the first time, and running his hands under the water before bringing them up to wash his face. He thought to himself as he did so about how strangely similar this house was to the Burrow he remembered. As he finished wiping off his face and drying it with the hem of his T-shirt, he looked up into the mirror and couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped his mouth before he knew what had happened. He picked himself up from where he had fallen on the floor and looked back into the mirror, hoping it had been a truck of the light as he had forgotten his glasses on the bedside table in the room he had just come from.

He couldn't believe it, he wasn't old anymore, and his face was that of a young boy, it still held the traces of baby fat that had gone missing in his seventh year. He held up his hands, remembering from earlier how they had looked so youthful, it hadn't had time to stun him so badly then, as he had to immediately go after the 'impostor'. They were just as smooth as his face. This was…this was wrong. He was an old man! He shouldn't have features like he did. They should be old, and papery and wrinkly and gnarled.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on?!" He thought desperately to himself. Had he been somehow…no…it couldn't be. This had to be a trick his mind was playing on him. Time travel, of this magnitude anyways, wasn't possible, even with magic! They had been trying to figure out how to reverse the timeline for centuries when he had become headmaster! What could have possibly caused this? A spell perhaps? No, there were no known magics capable of sending people back through a single timeline; a time-turner put you in an alternate reality, a time pocket if you will, until such a time as you made it back to the present.

How then, had he managed it? He would have had to literally rip apart space-time and thrust himself, soul and mind included, back through it. But he hadn't done anything to bring about such a reaction! Maybe Fleur, and thinking about her still brought a pang on horrible anguish to his heart, had done something? Her last words had been about having to wait a long time, but he was almost certain that had just been to warn him against killing himself. This was something else entirely, the only thing he could think of, was that when he had felt the life leave his beloved, the torrent of power that he had accidentally released had somehow altered reality. But that in itself was a somewhat arrogant notion, to think he would be powerful enough to do on accident something that had never been done before? Preposterous! But then how was he here?

"Bah! Never mind how I'm here! Can I get back? …Should I get back?" He mused to himself; he realized with a startling ferocity that Fleur was still alive right now! She wasn't the woman he remembered…yet. But she would grow into her! She didn't know who he was…yet. But she would if Ron was telling the truth and he really was headed into his fourth year! He just couldn't interfere in Crouch's plans and he would be fully capable of getting close to her through the tournament once again. Just as he had in the past…future…Bah! Whenever it technically was that he had last time.

He made his way back out of the bathroom, realizing that he had been in there for quite a bit longer than what was probably seen as normal, and made his way back to the room he had been in before. Attempting along the way to look more dignified than he had exiting, failing miserably, he would get used to his limbs eventually, but for now, he may as well be Tonks. He opened the door and saw Molly Weasley standing just inside the doorway; she turned to him with a warm smile and greeted him with one of her hugs. That alone nearly reduced him to tears, he had been there when Molly had died of old age in St. Mungos, he hadn't felt a hug like this in nearly 90 years.

"Hello Harry dear, are you feeling well? Ron said you were acting a bit on the strange side earlier?" Mrs. Weasley asked with the same concern she had always felt for the boy she considered one of her own sons.

"Yes Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine, had a bit of a strange dream. Thought I was older than I am I guess." He said

With a smile, trying his hardest to control the tears threatening to fall, and succeeding. Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical and still pulled out her wasn't to cast a few simple spells used by some healers to make sure their patient was in good health. She nodded as she looked back at Harry, apparently having been satisfied by whatever answer she had received, he wasn't particularly good with healing charms.

"Alright dear, well you get dressed and come down stairs with Ron in a few minutes; you look like skin and bones! I personally will not be sending you gallivanting across the country side to find some portkey at this ungodly hour on an empty stomach." She declared with a genial nod, as if assuring herself that the very notion was absurd.

"Thanks ma'am, I'll be down in just a few minutes, just need to get dressed and freshen up." He responded with a smile. At her nod she walked from the room to leave the boys to get dressed. He looked toward Ron, who looked at him questioningly, not totally believing his explanation, but apparently deciding against questioning him. The two got dressed in silence, during which time Harry took the time to think and came to the conclusion that nobody needed to know that he was from the future, if everything went according to plan, he could end the second war before it even started, and all it would take was for him to follow Crouch's plan as if he was ignorant to the whole thing.

As he and Ron made their way downstairs, him only almost falling down them…three times, he smiled to himself. This was going to be much better than it was before.

A/N: Hello everyone and welcome back! I want to thank everyone for the reviews and answer the only question that was really raised, that of Harry and Neville being the same age and yet Neville still being able to take over after Harry retires. I'll admit that it was just a bit of a misstep on my part, but the official response is that since either Harry or Neville could have been the "Chosen One" then they would be similar in power levels. Thanks again, and I hope to see you all again next chapter!

Ftdc123