Holy Moly, I cannot believe how long it has taken to get this chapter written. So many things have come up, but worst of all, my muse left me for an exceedingly long time and just decided to peak her head in to say hello. What a Witch. I appreciate all of you following and favoriting this story and sticking with me. I have no intention of abandoning any of my stories, it might just take a minute to kick my muse in the butt and get her working again.

I know that I have made you wait for it, but Prince Charming is finally waking up. Here is what is going through his mind.

All our Tomorrows, begin with Yesterday

Chapter 9

It was a dream.

It was all a dream;

The last four years of his life were just a long and unbelievably detailed and depressing dream.

The love that he had experienced, the loss, the nightmare that was Voldemort's resurrection for the second time.

The manhunt of the "light side" and the "dark side" for his loves and himself.

The desperation of those final days.

The terror in her eyes.

He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him, reaching out with his magic to sense if there was a threat to himself. A wave of his hand indicated that it was late. It was midnight, and it was the burning in his arm that had awoken him. The date was burned in his mind. It was the night of the World Cup and some arsehole had just set off the mark to scare the masses.

How he knew this to be true, he was unsure. His mind was firing a mile a minute, and nothing made sense. He could feel the pressure of her tiny hands, brushing the hair back from his eyes, wiping the tears of pain from his cheeks.

He could still feel the breath of his favorite Weasley against his cheek, the words of love spoken against his lips.

What was he thinking? Good Godric, these were his students! Well, one of his recent graduates and one of his least favorite students. What in Salazar's wrinkled sack was he thinking?

Rubbing his hands against his face and trying to dispense the thoughts running rampant in his mind he thought back to his final dream, the pain lighting up his nerves, the feel of slim fingers brushing his hair from his eyes.

How could he dream such dreams? Why would he dream such dreams?

Closing his eyes once more, he felt in his hearts of hearts that it had not been a dream.

His miracle, his queen, his shining unicorn had brought them back to the past. He knew that they were hanging on to a wish and a prayer and that the likelihood of their success was almost slim to none, but somehow, she had done the impossible. They had returned to the year 1994. To be more exact, she had returned them to August of 1994, the night of the Quidditch world cup.

The night that the entire world had begun to fall apart.

At least she had returned him to this time. Had she made it? Had he made it?

Abruptly sitting up, he felt dizzy and uncoordinated in this position, like he had been laying down for a long time and if he really thought back, it had been a long time since he had been able to sit up and not want to curl back into a ball in pain. But he could not think about that right now.

He stood and had to hold onto the footboard of his bed. It had been months since he had been able to stand on his own. If he could still brew, The Dark Lord figured he did not need to be able to walk in case he got it into his head to try and take his family and run.

Tentatively he straightened and took a step towards his mother's vanity. He had not had the heart to discard it after her passing and he was momentarily glad he had kept it as he looked upon his visage. While he still looked incredibly stressed, his hair no longer possessed the long streaks of grey that he had sprouted during the terrible year of being Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or the horrendous time following it, fighting, being captured and then their time on the run. Torture, whether mental or physical, left its own marks.

Returning to his bed, he sat and wracked his brain on how he could find out if he were the only one of them to return to this time. And if he was, did he dare try and reconnect with them in any way? Or did he let them find love together without him? Did he save the world for them and let them have their happily ever after without him? It would be the right thing to do. He was old enough to be their father for Merlin's sake. Percy was of age, but did that make it any better? He was a recent graduate, he had his whole life ahead of him and if he could at least convince him not to try and do things the same way as before, he had a much better chance of living a happier, less complicated life.

If he could somehow influence Hermione, not to get any further involved with The Boy that Would continue to Plague him, his ginger sidekick and his "little sister," she would be safe from any more harm. Perhaps then fate would bring that tiny soul back to them, when they were ready, without war and lies and hate waiting to welcome them to this world.

Laying down again and giving into the temptation to curl into a ball, he felt the tears trickle from his eyes, down his cheeks and soak the pillow his head rested upon. He knew that he should let them both go, that they were both better off without him, but how could he live without them? How could he face the darkness, the pain, and the future without them?