In the 16 years since Voldemort's death, Harry Potter's life had been relatively boring. Sure, he had gotten married, had a few kids, and worked his way to the top of the Auror food chain at the Ministry of Magic at a suspiciously young age. That was nothing. He missed the danger, the excitement, the ever-present sense of doom that followed him like a raincloud in the days he was forced to dodge Voldemort's many assassination attempts. Now a man in his mid-30s, he was tired of the monotony he had ironically craved in his younger years. Things were too easy, too happy and he no longer wished to extol the virtues of 'Wizarding World Peace', as was the Ministry's slogan these days.

Not even his three children could pull Harry away from this need for adrenaline. They were all at Hogwarts now, probably blowing up the castle as he sat at his breakfast table reading The Daily Prophet. The newspaper had rid itself of much of its corruption in the last decade or so but chose to fill its pages with fluff pieces instead. There were only so many articles about household cleaning potions and the Celebrity Crush of the Month a man could read before he chose to turn his own wand on himself and utter Avada Kedavra.

He longed for a lone Death Eater to come creeping out of the shadows and attempt to kill him once more. He sighed wistfully.

Even his wife, Ginny, wasn't helping his boredom. She traveled so much for her new job with the International Quidditch Association that they barely saw each other. At least she had quit her job at the godforsaken Daily Prophet.

He threw the newspaper down, took one last swig of his morning pumpkin juice, and crossed the kitchen towards the fireplace. It was time to go to work. He threw some of his dwindling floo powder supply into the fireplace and watched as the flames turned green. He was even bored by magic these days, something he never thought possible. Harry took a deep breath and shouted "Ministry of Magic" and he disappeared from his kitchen, swirling through the grate and peering into strangers' homes. He saw one family laughing as the youngest son blew steam out of his ears, red in the face. Harry missed the days of his children's accidental magical episodes. "At least someone's enjoying themselves", he thought bitterly to himself.

Nanoseconds later, he arrived in one of the Ministry's hundreds of stone fireplaces to report for Auror duty. He stepped out of the grate and joined the march of identically-robed employees on their way to their offices. Everyone was walking practically in-sync with one another, people laughing and smiling at nothing. Harry hated them all. A few acquaintances whose names he could never remember waved in his direction and Harry half-heartedly raised his hand in response. He really wanted to duel someone right about now.

He passed the giant statue of Albus Dumbledore that was situated in the center of the Atrium. Harry had commissioned it right after the war with his own money. The statue seemed to pity Harry, or maybe that was the boredom playing tricks on his brain.

Harry got on the elevator, mercifully not overrun with people, and pressed the button for Level 2, where the Auror Office was located.

"Level 2: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement", the cool female elevator voice said as the doors opened. Even the automated voices hadn't changed over the years. Harry remembered his Ministry break-in like it was yesterday and felt a pang of nostalgia in his chest.

Harry stepped out and made a sharp right, the Auror Office's open floor plan spanning out in front of him. As Head Auror, Harry had his own office in the back, which he was thankful for at this moment so he could avoid small talk and get to work on his mountains of paperwork. He wished that someone had told him that he would run out of bad guys to chase one day.

When Harry was halfway through his third form, someone knocked on his office door three times – Ron. He entered the office before Harry even had time to say he could.

"Hey, mate", the redhead said as he flopped down on one of Harry's plump visitor's chairs and put his legs up on the desk. "How's it going?"

Ron had also done well in the Auror Office since the end of the war. He and Harry had both elected to enter the work force instead of returning to Hogwarts, even though Hermione begged and begged them to join her for their last year of school. They both had a bloodlust they couldn't fulfill at the castle. Ron was less interested in leadership and action than Harry these days and had recently elected to head up the Training division, handpicking new aurors.

"Fine", Harry replied, looking up at his friend. "I've just been trying to get through all of this." He gestured to the piles of paper that surrounded him. "Can you believe how much paperwork we've built up in the last decade?" He had been putting this part of his job off for some time now and there was no avoiding it anymore.

"Better you than me, mate", Ron laughed. "How's my little sister? I haven't spoken to her in ages."

"She's doing well, happy with the new job. I feel like I never see her anymore. She's always at Quidditch matches or travelling to different countries. She was gone when I woke up this morning", Harry looked up to rub his tired eyes.

Ron looked at Harry for a moment before lurching out of his chair, jumping up, and grabbing a fistful of his robes. "Come on. We're going to go find something to shoot spells at", Ron said as he dragged Harry out of his office and past the cubicle farm.

The long-time friends marched out of the Ministry and into a London side alley. All of a sudden, there was an ominous rustling in the dumpster ahead. Harry and Ron, two trained aurors and no strangers to danger, whipped out their wands and assumed their battle stances, their hearts racing with adrenaline. Harry was excited to deal with a real criminal.

From behind the dumpster walked Hermione.

"Hi, boys!" she chirped cheerfully, as if digging around in a dumpster was perfectly normal.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell were you doing behind a dumpster?" Ron shouted at his bewildered wife. Harry had to agree with Ron's sentiment.

"I lost my favorite scarf the other day and I thought it might have been thrown out", Hermione said matter-of-factly. The lack of excitement in their lives had really done a number on her mind – she was starting to slip.

Ron and Harry exchanged nervous glances. "Hermione…" Ron said carefully, placing his hand on her tiny shoulder. "You're wearing your favorite scarf right now."

Hermione looked down at herself and she was, indeed, wearing the scarf in question. "Oh. So I am. That's strange", she said confusedly. She looked at Harry and Ron for guidance.

Harry took the initiative because Ron looked rather shell-shocked. "Come on, Hermione. Let's get you home." He grabbed her hand and apparated with her, Ron not far behind, and all three were at Ron and Hermione's house within seconds.

Ron took Hermione upstairs so she could rest while Harry stayed in the living room, contemplating Hermione's memory loss. For someone who relied so heavily on her smarts, losing one's mind is no easy task. Harry could hardly believe it was happening to Hermione. Then again, his memory had been fuzzier than normal lately, though he chocked that up to getting older – if you can call 34 old.

Ron came down the stairs, shaking his head with a worried look on his face. He sat down on the chair opposite Harry's and took a deep breath. "She's been acting strange the last week or so. Forgetting her keys, stuff like that. Today was…", here he closed his eyes. "Today was much worse."

"Ron, I think my brain might be going the same way", Harry said, eyes wide with horror. "I can barely remember what I had for breakfast, let alone anything that happened last week, or the week before that. Life has been pretty monotonous lately, but that can't be a reason to lose memory, can it?"

Ron sat in his chair, thinking for a moment. "No. It can't."

A half hour later, Harry had apparated to his own home and immediately sent an owl to the Ministry, alerting choice personnel that Harry, Ron and Hermione had all taken ill for the day. He had too much to think about and his brain was exhausted. He occupied his time mostly by reading in his study and getting a few odd jobs done around the house. It was too quiet. He ate a Muggle TV dinner while watching a few of his favorite programs and decided to turn in early. He had run out of things to entertain himself with.

A few hours later, Harry woke with a start, covered in cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. He looked around wildly. "Where am I? What year is it?" he thought to himself.He didn't recognize the room he was in. He jumped out of bed and grabbed his wand, sure that he had been kidnapped by Voldemort or his Death Eaters. He slowly crept around the house with his wand in a tight grip in case any enemies came around the corner. The house was empty. He lit his wand to take a look around and determine his location.

The light emitting from the tip of his wand landed on some family photos – his family photos, only, he didn't recognize the kids. Wait, was that Ginny? Was he married to Ginny? He was too young to be married! He was only 15 years old for Merlin's sake! He couldn't possibly be a married father of three!

Harry ran quickly up the stairs into the bedroom he had woken up in and ripped open the closet – it looked like those were his clothes, or at least clothes that he would wear. He looked at the nightstand and spotted his favorite picture of his mum and dad sitting on top. Was this his house?

More confused than ever, Harry got dressed at lightning speed and decided he needed to get out of there. He had to find Ron and Hermione; if he was in this predicament, they likely were as well. Harry stopped running around when he realized he had no earthly clue where they were. Taking a chance, he slowly walked over to the fireplace, grabbed the floo powder on the mantle and threw it into the grate, watching the flames turn green. For a second, he forgot about his confusion and got caught up in the magic of it all.

He stepped into the fire and shouted "Ron and Hermione's house!" hoping it would lead him to his friends. A few seconds later, he arrived in a living room he had never seen before, but the photos on the wall told him that it had to belong to Ron and Hermione. What is going on? Is this the future?

Harry had just begun looking around for a sign of one of them when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Harry braced himself for the unknown and stuck his wand out in front of himself just in case. He relaxed when he saw that it was Hermione, but she looked old. Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging over the fireplace and saw that he, too, looked old.

More confused than ever, Harry ran over to Hermione and grabbed her hand.

BOOM.

A female voice started talking, almost in a whisper, manipulating him to do her will.

For reasons that have very little to do with literature and far more to do with me clinging to the plot as I first imagined it, Hermione with Ron.

In some ways Hermione and Harry are a better fit.

But Hermione's always there for Harry.

Harry looked Hermione in the eyes. She looked to be hearing the same voice he was. They moved closer together, their hearts racing – all they knew was that they had to obey the voice, whoever it was.

"STOP!" Ron came bounding down the stairs and wrenched his wife and best friend apart, just as their lips were about to meet.

Harry fell over from the force of Ron's push and from the sheer volume of his voice. He blinked his eyes quickly and sat up. "What just happened? How did I end up in your living room, Ron?"

Harry looked up. Ron was staring at him while checking on Hermione, who looked as though she had just woken up from the world's longest nap.

"Was I sleepwalking, Ron?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "Was I sleeping on the stairs?" She looked horrified. "Did Harry and I almost kiss?" Her voice went up an octave. She was definitely horrified.

"You both were running towards each other and babbling nonsense!', Ron exclaimed. "Some rubbish about belonging together."

Harry and Hermione exchanged incredulous looks. Hermione suddenly groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Harry, have you been drinking pumpkin juice in the morning for the last week or so?", she asked.

Harry was caught off guard by the strange question. "Hermione, what does my breakfast have to do with the fact that we almost just kissed?"

"Just answer the question!", she threw her hands up, impatient as always.

"Yeah, I have. Why do you ask?", he said.

"I have too. Ron, didn't George tell you about a new idea for the shop the other day?", she turned to her husband. "A potion that tastes like pumpkin juice and alters for whoever the buyer chooses?"

Ron's eyes grew wide with recognition. "And acts as a love potion? Damn it, George!" He grunted angrily before apparating away, red in the face.

Harry and Hermione chuckled. "Sorry I almost snogged you", Harry laughed.

"No offense, Harry, but you're not my type", Hermione said good-naturedly. "I have a thing for redheads."

Harry said good night and made his way home where Ginny was waiting for him, back from her work trip.

"Hi, stranger!" she smiled as her husband stepped out of the fireplace. "How was your day?"

"Boring", Harry smiled.