Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.

Harry awoke the next morning, his head throbbing, his legs numb. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his right hand, his left draped over Hermione's shoulder. He moaned, hearing strange yet familiar noises hitting his ears. "Wot," he groaned, opening one eye. "Bloody owl," he griped, shutting his eyes again. Almost immediately, though, both eyes shot open and he flew to an upright position on the bed. "Shit," he gasped, looking around frantically.

"Harry, what in the name of..." she stopped, then, too, as her eyes focused, the sleep now gone from them, and her curls out of her eyes. "How did we get here?"

"No idea," Harry said on a heaved breath. He threw the maroon and gold quilt off of him and slipped out of the bed, rummaging through an open trunk for something resembling clothes. "Um, Mione, darling?" he questioned, holding up pieces of a uniform he hadn't seen in many years. "Care to explain?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw dropped opened in fuming protest. "You think I did this? Pardon me, but it was you who was babbling nostalgic nonsense last evening! You had that...oh! Harry! Did you fall asleep with the..."

"No," he said too quickly, pulling on the grey pants that surprisingly fit, by the grace of the wizarding gods. "It was on the floor. That much I..." he scratched his head, looked around the room, and asked, "This couldn't be the work of a time-turner, we...we remember...unless we were wearing the thing, we would have no idea..." he threw up his hands, giving up trying to speak, and he looked back at Hermione. He grinned slyly, padding over to the bed. "D'y'know how many nights I spent in this room, picturing you laying in my bed, just like this?" He yanked the lion-emblazoned comforter out of her hands and bent his head, his mouth sealing over one of her freshly exposed nipples.

Her eyes fluttered closed and a soft moan escaped, her head dropping backward. Her left hand held her body up as her right scratched at Harry's scalp. "Can't...wrong...school..."

"Listen to yourself," he chuckled, swirling his tongue over the perked nub. "It's like we never left." He kissed his way up her body, across her neck, and landed a deep, full kiss on her lips. After he pulled away, he nuzzled her nose and said, "Should we see what kind of trouble we've gotten ourselves into? Are you Hermione Potter, Muggle Studies Professor and Head of Gryffindor House, or are you Hermione Granger, bookworm, nerd, hero, and all-around fit bird?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away from her playfully, getting out of the bed. "Seeing as how the only thing in that trunk of yours are your school things, I suspect we've indeed been transported back in time. Problem is, my uniform is..."

"In the trunk," Harry said, pointing. "I'm serious. It's there. I don't know why, but it is." He narrowed his eyes as he watched his naked lover rifle through his things to find her clothes, and then he realized. "Sirius," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione's head popped up as she picked up her wand off the floor and conjured herself a bra and underwear, noting they were suspiciously absent from the mix of things in the chest. "You don't think he did this, do you?"

Harry walked over to her, leaned into the trunk to grab his shirt, sweater, and tie, and then nodded. "I do, actually," he turned his head toward her and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. "Maybe he heard us. Thought he'd do us a favor." He took a moment to look at her, taking her in, and he smiled. "You honestly haven't changed at all. It's one of the reasons I thought, maybe we were still..."

"Oh!" Hermione scrambled to left his sweater up a bit, her hand smoothing over the bit of skin where several thin and dark scars should live. "Harry..." she whispered, looking up at him. "You haven't..."

Before she could finish her sentence, the door creaked open and a squat-looking redheaded young man walked into the room. "The two of you have kept us all down there waiting for a solid hour! We've just about missed breakfast, but I'll thank you to not make us late for class."

Harry squinted, not realizing he hadn't put on his glasses. "Ron?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron spat, rolling his eyes and grabbing a pair of spectacles off of the side-table. "Here, you blind bugger, now can we go, before..."

"I thought you weren't coming back!" Hermione intoned just then, staring aghast at Ron, expecting him to do something crass or violent. She squeezed Harry's wrists harder, fearful.

Ron sighed. "I'd rather not've," he said with a nod. "You both know that, but...after mum got your owl, Thursday last, she made me promise to finish strong and...well, I owe it to Fred and George." He smiled at the mention of his brother's names. "Did I tell you they've named their new commodity after you? Potter's Wheel. It heals wounds without all of the nasty side-effects. They've still got bugs to work out, but it'll be brill when it's done."

"Th-th-they?" Harry asked, blinking rapidly. "What...what are you..."

"Honestly," Ron said, interrupting him, grabbing his tie and yanking. "We'll talk about it later, but I really don't want to be the only Eighth Year to get a howler for being late to class on the first day."

Harry let himself be dragged out of the bedroom and down the spiraling stairs, through the Gryffindor common room, and out onto one of the moving staircases, pulling Hermione along for the ride as well. He looked at her, one brow arched, and he tried to communicate with her, questions dancing in his mind. Ron finally stopped leading him like a dog on a leash when they reached a painted portrait of a wizard with a wonky purple hat and long red beard.

"They're all..." Ron began, his eyes turning downward. "They're all going to be asking you all sorts of things," he said softly. "You won't have to answer, but they won't stop asking. Are you..."

"I'll be fine," Harry said, hoping he wasn't lying, hoping he'd know what the answers to the questions were even if he had no intention of saying them out loud. He held out a hand to Hermione, and then smiled at her broadly when she took it. "I'm all right," he said, looking into her eyes.

Ron, though uncomfortable watching them, nodded and cleared his throat before turning to the portrait. "Thestral Tails," he said, taking a step back.

The painting swung open inward, allowing the trio to pass through to a narrow hallway. The wizard tilted his wonky hat and waved before moving back into his place, and Ron led the way toward whatever classroom they were needing. "Where..where the hell are we going?" Harry asked, annoyed, keeping hold of Hermione's hand.

With a chuckle, Ron turned to look at him. "I knew you'd regret not coming on the tour yesterday," he said, rounding a corner. "When they rebuilt, they decided the classrooms needed to afford just as much protection as the dormitories. Well, yours is...nearly impassable, you lucky tosser." He turned fully, then, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You get to sleep with that one," he said, jabbing a finger toward Hermione. "I still have to deal with Neville, Seamus, and Lee, who all think they're the bloody Knights of the Roundtable, acting like heroes just because..."

"They are," Hermione said, now understanding they'd returned to the year following the war, only not the way she remembered. "You are," she added, nodding at Ron.

Ron, though, shook his head. "The only hero among us is you, Harry," Ron told him. "And the ones who've given their lives for this castle, defending it and our entire world." He let his serious sneer curl into a small smile, then, and said, "Bloody overrun with ghosts, we are, now, though, right?"

Harry simply nodded, confused, and followed Ron into the classroom. He waved awkwardly at Professor Flitwick, who seemed to stand much taller now. He didn't let go of Hermione's hand, instead he pulled her into an empty row and sat, letting out a held breath when she sat beside her. Ron, Harry noticed, opted to sit in front of him. He watched the redhead whip out his wand, but it wasn't in preparation for any freshly learned charms. It seemed almost defensive, as if Ron was daring someone, anyone, to say or do anything to insult or bother the two people behind him.

Flitwick's beady bespectacled eyes landed on Harry, and wordlessly he pulled his wand out of the sleeve of his cloak, raised it, and bowed in his direction.

Harry slumped low in his seat, feeling as though the tribute was undeserved, after all, this had all happened five years ago. No one but Hermione knew that, though. He tugged on Hermione's hand and caught her eyes, expecting to see pity or fear, but he only saw pride and love. He'd grown so lost in her eyes that he didn't hear the applause build in the room, or the cheers of his name, or the shouted expressions of gratitude.

"Breathe," she whispered to him, her hand in his, and she sent a calming spell through her palm to his, watching as it washed over him. She smiled and asked, "Better?"

He nodded, and despite the people looking at him, he kissed her before turning to look at Flictwick. "Ready when you are, Professor." Ready for what, though, he had no idea.

Flitwick smiled, raised his wand, and sent a spark of yellow light sailing through the air. No one noticed the brightening of a shadowy corner, and no one saw the black dog sitting patiently there, with a time-turner on a chain around its neck.

There is much more to this tale. An explanation is coming. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Peace and Love

Jo