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.

"What class do we have next?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes. It had been days and still his head ached. His memories were jumbled and there were moments he swore he had no idea who anyone was, or even who he was. "Wait, do we have classes today?"

"Muggle Studies," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Ronald, don't you write these things down?"

Ron squinted at her. "Why am I taking Muggle Studies? If I have a question about Muggles, I'd just ask you or Harry." He looked down at the quill in his hand. "What was I doing?"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, his low laugh escaping with a snort. "You're working on your potions assignment. Thirteen inches, the qualities of Flobberworm Mucas and its uses? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

"No," Ron said dryly, twirling the quill around in his hand. "Back to my original question...why am I taking..."

"Because, Ronald," Hermione interrupted, "Your father wants you to work with his old department after graduation, and you have to take the class." She looked over at him, wincing at the large yellowish-purplish bruise on his forehead. She felt a bit guilty, but knew it was well-deserved. "Do you want me to..."

"You've already tried," Ron said, snapping at her. Regretting it, he mumbled an apology and said, "Healing spells haven't worked. I don't remember what happened, but it had to have been powerful magic to be unfazed by counterspells."

Malfoy, sitting on the other side of Harry, let out a roar of a laugh and gathered his books. "Come on, you two," he said, addressing Hermione and Harry. "We'll be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"How can we be late?" Harry said, tugging on his striped tie and standing. He looked smugly at Draco. "I'm the teacher."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Teaching Assistant," she corrected. "You can't legally be the teacher when you're still a student. They aren't even paying you, you know, and you..." she stopped, seeing the look both men were giving her. She smiled sheepishly and said, "I heard that, I did, I sounded like...well...me...before."

Harry held out his hand, bowing his head politely.

She let her fingers fall into his open palm and hid the fact that she was blushing, loving that he still made her blush wickedly, and she let him pull her around the table. "Off with you, too, then, Ron. I don't think Professor Slockhem will be as understanding if you're late."

"Who?" Ron asked, looking up. "Wait! Where are you all going? Where...um...where am I going?" He grabbed all of his things in one arm and ran, catching up with them as he tried to remember what day it was.

"How long is he going to be like this?" Harry asked in a harsh whisper, directing the question to Malfoy. "It's rather annoying, really."

"I don't bloody know," Draco scoffed as an answer. "I was pissed the hell off when I fired that spell at him, and I guess it was more powerful than I'd meant. Or...or less powerful. At any rate, he's completely crackers, now, isn't he? And that's good for us."

Harry sighed and rounded the corner, walking down a narrow hallway and heading toward a large painting of a golden Hippogriff. "Buckbeak's Talons," he said, backing up a bit allowing the door to swing open. He helped Hermione into the room, waited for Malfoy, and then just as he was about to head in, he crashed into Ron. "No, no, stop," he said, grabbing and tugging on Ron's robes. "You have Muggle Studies. Down the hall, make a right at the end, find the picture of...no, you'll end up in Hagrid's hut or something." He looked into the classroom. "Dean, can you take Ron, here, to Muggle Studies? He's, um, a bit wonky today."

"Today?" Dean Thomas cracked, shaking his head. "No problem, Harry." He walked over, taking Ron by the tie, and pulled him along like a dog on a leash.

Once they were out of sight, Harry entered the room and stared out at the faces of friends, former classmates, some of whom he couldn't remember talking to or about for the last five years. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "This won't be a normal..."

"Tell us again how you knew Dumbledore was hexing you and Granger?" a voice from the back called.

Another voice, one that spoke higher and more dreamily, said, "Does it get boring being so gorgeous?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione and Harry asked together, though one was angry and the other perplexed.

Harry stepped over to Hermione and pushed her gently back into her seat, keeping her from cursing the witch who'd called out, before he turned to look at the others. "I'm not...this is supposed to be..."

"How, exactly, did you defeat You-Know-Who, Harry?" another voice interrupted him. With that question, voices overlapped and questions garbled together until all that could be heard was a cacophony of gibberish.

"Silencio!" Harry shouted, waving a hand over his head. He blinked once, staring at the stunned, silent students. "Sorry, but...please...don't ask. I'm only here to help you, teach you...the way I once taught...well, we called ourselves Dumbledore's Army, but looking back on it, we really should have been fighting against him, not for him." He waved his hand again, giving them each back their voice but knowing now they'd be quiet. "You all know we really don't have much use for defensive magic anymore, but you never know...you never know when someone will turn, when a friend...you thought you could trust...may become an enemy. You need to be aware of your options, you need to be prepared to fight, so that we don't find ourselves facing..."

"Another Voldemort," Malfoy finished, staring intently at his friend.

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"Have I missed anything?" Dean asked, coming through the door again, holding something wooden and round and slightly weathered in his hands.

"Not really," Harry said, but then he noticed the object. "What've you got there?"

"Oh, it's for you," Dean said, holding it out to Harry. "Some weird-looking fellow asked me to make sure you got it. He was hanging 'round outside the Fat Lady, I passed him on my way back."

Harry turned the ball-like thing around in his hands. "Weird-looking? How?"

"He looked like a dog-man, like a min-sized dog standing on his hind legs?" Dean said, trying to explain. "Anyway, he asked if I knew where to find you, told me to give you that. Said you'd been looking for it, but it won't work without the other thing."

Harry stared at Dean for a moment. "You are complete rubbish at delivering messages."

"I'm not a bloody owl, Harry," Dean said, rolling his eyes and taking his seat next to Ginny Weasley.

Harry looked down again, and then it hit him. "Mione?" he whispered, tossing the sphere over to her. "Sort of looks like a spinning top, doesn't it?"

"And it won't work without the...other thing..." she said, catching on. "This must be the Potter's Wheel." She looked at Harry, and then turned toward Malfoy. "But he's lost the..."

"Time-turner," Draco said, slumping in his seat. "Well, that's bloody fabulous. I hated this place the first time, and now, because of his mental Godfather, I have to..." he stopped. "No, I...know why. Look, we'll figure it out later, Professor Potter has his knickers in a knot."

Hermione chuckled. "He'd have to be wearing them, though, wouldn't he?"

"Didn't really need to know that, thank you," Draco spat back, rolling his eyes. He looked at Harry and waved a finger around, drawing a symbol in the air.

Harry nodded at him, understanding, and cleared his throat again. "First things first," he said, addressing the class. "I need to see if you know the basics, so, um, Ginny and Padma, would you come up here, please?"

While the girls were moving, in the bustle and shifting of bodies and seats, Malfoy got out of his own seat and headed out the door, looking up and down the hall before stepping fully out into the corridor. "All right," he said, a shouted whisper. "Sirius, you can show yourself."

A black dog padded out of the shadows and the figure stretched and shifted into that of a man, average height, long hair and a rather tame mustache with a scruffy beard. His clothes were tattered around the hems but stately enough, and he took two soft steps toward Malfoy. "Are you all cross with me?" he asked, worried.

"Not as much as we are worried that we can't get back," Malfoy said. "I think I've already taken care of the..."

"You haven't," Sirius interrupted. "It's what I was trying to tell Harry, the night I went to him. We can alter events, I've already changed some things by going back and forth as much as I have, but here, now, though you've mangled his memory a bit, his desire for revenge is only growing stronger. Subconsciously, he still feels the need to act on those impulses and..."

"How do you know that?" Draco interrupted. "Five minutes with him, and I feel like I'm the one that's been hit in the head, so how the hell could you possibly understand what he..."

"I've been sleeping under his bed," Sirius said, again cutting him off. "It's the only way to stop him if he tries something, if you all aren't there, and...he talks in his sleep. Usually about spiders and food, but last night...last night it was about Harry, Hermione, their son, you...Ron still has plans, and they're still in his mind, somewhere. Once your charm wears off, no matter how powerfully confounded or obliviated you may think he is, he still wants them to suffer the sort of loss his family has."

"So even if we went back...home...now," Draco said, taking a breath, "We'd still be facing this?"

Sirius nodded. "We have two choices, now, Draco," he said. "The three of you go home, take your chances and hope things work out in your favor, or..." He narrowed his eyes. "You and I take care of the matter a bit more...traditionally Black and Malfoy than they would like."

"If you are even suggesting what I think you might be, you can bloody well sod off," Malfoy said with a sneer. "I promised my mother, Harry, and myself...the night the war ended...that I would leave every dark thought and belief my daft plonker of a father handed me buried in the rubble with the rest of the damage and devastation! I won't go back on my word, and I'm not about to bring back a curse that took fifty years to eviscerate, one that would make my soul as black as my father's. Have you gone mad?"

Sirius took a breath and took a step back. "No, no, you're right. Maybe...maybe there is a way to reason with him before our time here runs out. But if there isn't...make sure they know, I'm willing to do for them what I should've been there to do for James and Lily." He shoved his hands in his pockets, wrapping one set of large fingers around a round, brass object, the size of a pocket-watch. "Everyone but the three of you thinks I'm dead, anyway." He backed away from Malfoy slowly before turning on his heels and walking a bit faster, changing form again, and racing down the hall on all four of his paws.

Draco watched until he couldn't see him anymore, and then turned back toward the Hippogriff painting. "Buckbeak's Talons," he said, winning admission to the classroom. He felt his heart drop, though, a sinking feeling washing over him, as though a heavy rock had hit the very bottom of his stomach. " , God, no," he whispered to himself, suddenly looking over his shoulder. He was too late, he knew. He only hoped Sirius would come to his senses before he made more of a mess of things than he already had.

Peace and Love

Jo