Times of Trouble

The only thing Hermione could hear was the blood rushing through her veins as she kept a death grip on Preston's back. The wind whipped her hair around, making it impossible to see, even if she had been willing to open her eyes.

Time was meaningless as they flew through the air. Hermione had no idea how long or far they flew. Neither did she know if the death eaters were still pursuing them. She did know that they were flying through clouds. The constant dampness was making it increasingly difficult to hold onto Preston's scales.

She could hardly believe that she was on the back of a dragon. Albeit, not a real one. But, still, dragon rides weren't exactly a common occurrence.

But then, neither was time travel.

The thought of time travel made her groan in almost physical pain. She couldn't believe that they'd not made it all the way back.

And it was all Donald Longbottom's fault.

If he had only let her help…

Hermione gritted her teeth. There was no point in thinking about it now. It wasn't like they could go back and change what had…

Hermione's thoughts trailed off as she realized what she'd been thinking. Then she began to chuckle, which, as the absurdity of their situation sunk in, turned into full-blown, maniacal laughter.

All the possibilities she'd come up with for the result of sneaking into the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius Black were put to shame by what had actually occurred.

Preston did a little dip as he caught a gust of wind and she found her laughter cut off as she became too distracted with holding on to dwell on the current situation.

She'd worry about how to get them home and why there were death eaters in the 19th century once she had earth beneath her feet again.

XXX

After what could've been hours Harry felt a slight shift in his center of gravity - leading him to assume that Preston was now descending.

It had been a very long and tiring flight without much of a view. Gripping a dragon's back and flying through cloud after cloud was not his preferred means of travel.

Though, considering the fact that both Neville and Hermione looked like they were about to die, Harry thought he was doing pretty well. Also, it was much better than staying back with the death eaters. Though he did have to wonder how they got there.

They broke through the clouds and Harry grinned as the fresh, clean night wind rustled his hair.

He'd missed flying.

Even if dragon-riding wasn't nearly as fun as flying on a broom, it felt amazing after being tied to the ground for almost two years - ever since Umbridge had locked up his Firebolt.

They landed in a large field with a bit of thud. Harry scrambled off Preston's back and then turned to help Neville and Hermione pry their frozen fingers off of Preston's scales.

As soon as they were off Preston began to, well, shift. The horrible grinding noises returned and he began contorting in very unnatural ways. It looked incredibly painful.

As cool as the idea was of being able to change into many different creatures, Harry rather imagined it was just about as pleasant as drinking Polyjuice Potion.

To distract himself from the horrifying transformation going on next to him, Harry looked around the field, which is when he noticed the house.

It looked rather familiar, but also not quite right.

The main part of the house looked to be what had once been a large stone pigpen, but there was a second floor above it that didn't quite match the main floor.

Probably because it was a bright blue stone and leaned a little to the left. While the main floor was made of a solid grey stone and didn't lean anywhere. There were three chimneys poking up haphazardly from the bright green roof.

The house looked very welcoming, but also just…wrong.

Yes, that was it, Harry decided. The house just looked wrong. It was much too short and there weren't nearly enough chimneys. Also, the colors were just weird.

"Where are we?" Neville asked from next to Harry.

"I think we're at the Burrow," Harry answered softly.

"The what?"

"Ron's home," Hermione stated, "although, this is not nearly big enough to hold the Weasley clan.

"What are ya'll talkin' 'bout? Weasley Clan? There ain't no one but Professor Weasley, Mrs. Weasley and the two babes. That ain't no clan. At least not where I come from."

"Why are we here, Preston?" Harry asked.

"Well, yeh see. Professor Weasley, he knows 'bout me. So he won't ask no questions. He's an understandin' person."

With that final statement about Professor Billius Weasley's character Preston marched off across the field to the Burrow, scattering chickens and ducks as he went.

Harry shared a questioning glance with Hermione and Neville before shrugging and following Preston.

They were heading at the Burrow - his second favorite place in the entire world.

What could go wrong?

XXX

A warm summer breeze rustled the sun-drenched branches overhead, making Aberforth smile.

While he loved going to Hogwarts and spending time with the other Gryffindors, he always enjoyed summer the most. There was something so relaxing about having nothing to do on a warm summer day. There was no homework or other responsibilities to take up his time. All he had to do was relax and make sure he stayed far enough away from the house that Mum never gave him any chores.

And when he was away from home there was no one but him, oh, and maybe Ariana. Though lately she'd become much too popular with her classmates to have time to lay around in a field with her older brother.

Funny to think that the rising star of the school, the girl predicted to be the greatest witch of all time, was none other than his baby sister.

He'd been disappointed to see that she was put in Ravenclaw, but now he knew that it was the right fit for her. She was much too clever for Gryffindor or Hufflepuff and not cruel enough to be in Slytherin, not like Albus.

Albus had changed so much, Aberforth barely recognized him.

At Hogwarts he was always surrounded by a group of Slytherins. And not just any Slytherins, no, they were the nastiest, most 'pure' group of Slytherins at the school. Despite this (or maybe because of it), all of the teachers adored him. They thought he would be the greatest wizard since Merlin and treated him accordingly.

Ha!

If they only knew that he still picked his nose when he thought no one was looking, or left his room in such a state that even Mum refused to touch it.

At least Ariana didn't let their beliefs about her abilities affect her attitude. She was still so sweet and nice, while Albus was the opposite.

Well, at least next year he wouldn't have to watch everyone fawn over Albus. He'd graduated and was currently preparing to go do research with Nicolas Flamel.

Yes, it would be a very relaxing summer, followed by the best year at Hogwarts so far.

He was sure of it.

XXX

Albus reached up towards the ceiling and stretched. As he did so he stared out the window at the small village of Godric's Hollow.

God, he hated this village.

He knew why his parents had wanted to move here, and he even agreed with them, but he still hated this place - probably because they had to move here because of Harry Potter.

Even just thinking about that boy put a frown on his face and ruined any pleasure he might gain from the warm summer breeze wafting in through the window. It had been six years since Harry Potter had left and yet it sometimes seemed like it had been no time at all.

Looking back at it now, Albus was not happy with some of the things he'd done - like keeping that letter from Harry and Neville or hiding in trees instead of getting to know Harry Potter and his friends.

If he'd been smart he would've read the letter and put it back where he'd found it. That way no one could even guess that he'd read it. Also, hiding in trees was not respectable. It was much better to listen in on people using magical means. And as for making friends with Harry Potter…well, that would just make taking revenge later all the easier - for a friend had more access to your back than a foe.

And, oh, sinking a metaphorical knife into Harry Potter's back would be so sweet. Even if he had to wait almost a hundred years to gain revenge, he would. It just gave him more time to prepare.

Chuckling to himself he bent his head back to the book he was studying on mythical charms and protections as that soft summer breeze played with his hair and promised him the greatness he so desired.

XXX

One thing the folks of Godric's Hollow could always count on was the 4:52pm train. It was never a moment late or a moment early.

Except for today.

There had been a mix-up in the coal delivery system and so the 4:52pm train didn't arrive until 5:17pm. Which, while not extremely late, was late enough that everyone waiting on the train had given up and gone back home.

This caused much sadness and surprise as weary travelers gathered their things and departed the train, expecting to find family and friends waiting, they found no one.

Only one traveler did not seem bothered by this – a young man of about seventeen with longish blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

He looked around once at the empty train station, shrugged to himself, put down his carpetbag and pulled out a letter. After quickly scanning the letter he retrieved his bag and walked down the small village streets.

Whistling cheerfully to himself he watched the village people go about their daily lives. Halfway through the village he stopped a middle-aged woman pushing a cart of apples.

"Excuse me, mistress, but can you direct me to Mistress Bagshot's house? I'm afraid I've never visited my great-aunt before and I'm hopelessly lost."

He spoke in a rich and cultured voice that immediately marked him as a foreigner.

The woman stared at him disbelievingly, "Boy, what-"

She cut herself off as soon as he smiled.

"Please help me, mistress? I'm sure she's worried since my train was late."

The woman's face grew flushed, "G-go up past the pub and turn left. It's the third house on the right."

He tipped his hat at here, "Thank you, mistress."

He turned to follow her directions, not noticing how her gaze followed him.

Within a few minutes he had reached his destination.

He let himself in through a nice wooden gate and walked through a pleasant garden. The door was opened a moment after knocking to reveal a small, but powerfully built older woman.

She frowned up at him, "Gellart, is that you?"

He smiled down at her, "Good evening, Aunt Bagshot. I'm so glad you invited me."