Hi, so this story follows four generation of Hogwarts; Marauders, Fred and George, the trio and then Rose and Scorpius. It's just a four-shot kind of thing that came to my head.

This is the third part. You don't have to read the first two parts to understand it. :) I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, I just love Harry Potter.

The Book for the Future: Third
4th April 1997

Ronald Weasley was pleased to be back in his common room, after seeing nothing but the boring walls of the hospital wing for the last few days. This was the reason he gave for staying up far later than was normal for he, Harry and Hermione. The other two just sat and looked tired; Harry was simply putting up with his friend, glad he survived, while Hermione was just glad to not have to pretend to hate him anymore.

"It's nice to be back." Ron said, for the fourth or fifth time that night, not to anyone in particular but just to the walls of the almost-empty common room.

"Yes, it's nice to have you back." Hermione replied, honestly. Ron glanced up at her, and she blushed at the words that had just come out of her mouth; their eyes lingered on each other's for a few minutes more than was normal for friends.

"I'm turning the fire off; it's too warm in here." Harry said, jumping up and making Hermione and Ron look at him awkwardly, as if they were just waking up.

Harry ignored this, and bent over the fireplace as best he could without setting himself on fire. He looked down at the flames for a second, before turning around and facing his best friends again. "Hermione, how do I turn the fire off?"

Hermione smiled to herself and walked towards him, Ron following a little slower than normal.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione said a spell under her breath and the flames below them vanished.

"Wow Hermione, that was good."
"Ronald, we were taught that in our first year; it wasn't impressive."
Ron decided not to tell her the thought that ran through his head; that everything she did was impressive to him.

Harry, Hermione noticed, was looking into the fire even once the flames were gone, staring into them thoughtfully.

She knelt down next to him; she could almost guarantee he was remembering Sirius' messages in the fire. "Harry," she began, not sure what she was planning on saying next.

Harry, thankfully, then shook out of his own thoughts and looked around, trying to distract himself from his thoughts of his dead Godfather.

"Has that brick always been loose?" Harry asked, to no one in particular, before reaching up and knocking the brick to the floor.

Ron watched as Harry stood and reached into the gap that the loose brick had left, and pulled a large, dusty, red book out.

"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked, taking it from him before Harry could even look at it. Then Harry thought; Hermione was the only one of them that really looked natural with a book in their hands.

Instinctively, Hermione turned and curled up on the nearby sofa. Ron walked over and sat next to her, looking over her shoulder as she turned the first page.

Harry couldn't be bothered, he returned to gazing into the fireplace almost longingly until his best friend's voice rang into his ears.

"Harry, you might want to see this." Ron said, reading the first page again, incase his eyes had deceived him.

"Why?" Harry asked, deciding not to turn around.

"I-it's by the Marauders." Hermione replied quietly.

"Sirius?" Harry jumped up, turning so fast that he gave himself a headache. Guilt hit him quickly; he realised that the mention of the marauders had made him think of his godfather, and not his Dad; that wasn't right, was it?

"Y-yes." Hermione replied, reluctantly moving away from Ron and leaving Harry a gap between the two of them on the sofa. Harry sat down, taking the book from her as he did so.

"'This book is to be added to by generations of marauders'" Ron watched his best friend read, looking at Hermione warily; he felt like he was intruding on some sort of family moment.

Harry was resisting the urge to turn the page straight to Sirius' entry, and instead read through Lupin's entry quietly. He could feel Hermione's breath on his neck as she read too, and knew Ron would be reading aswell, but neither of them commented as Harry turned the page.

James Potter II

Hermione breathed in sharply, feeling tears spring to her own eyes even though she couldn't quite explain why; she watched as Harry skimmed his fingers across his father's name.

"He hoped to change the world." Harry read, even though he was aware that the other two had beaten him to it. They didn't respond, so Harry continued to read the entry; it was as if reading it out loud made it more real. "Fear: to lose the loyalty of my friends…"
Harry's voice seemed to fade and he closed his eyes; Ron knew what he was reading and couldn't imagine what he was feeling. He knew what it felt like to be reliant on your friends, and he knew how much it would have hurt James to know he was so betrayed.

"He wrote to you." Hermione said quietly, pointing to the message on the page but being careful not to touch it.

Harry opened his eyes again and sighed.

I do hope my child is reading this, and I hope that you're happy. And that you're reading this instead of your homework, just like I would be. I won't tell you off, I promise. Oh, and I hope you're in Gryffindor as well; if you're not then Lily cheated on me.

Harry smiled to himself, as Ron laughed under his breath. "He was funny." Ron mumbled, and Harry turned and smiled appreciatively at his friend while Hermione raised her eyebrows condescendingly.

Even though he was desperate to stay and read the same page over and over again, Harry forced himself to turn the page.

Peter Pettigrew

"Harry, just turn over; don't read it." Hermione suggested sensibly. "What good would it do-?"
"He was scared of dying." Harry had already read, and was shaking his head angrily.

"Coward." Ron commented.

Hermione sighed and turned the page for Harry; she sensed that if he didn't he would have ripped it out.

"Sirius." She read quietly, without thinking, before turning and seeing Harry's eyes shining.

Shaking his head again, Harry read the words in front of him without a word.

"'If my child's reading this; you were a mistake.'" Ron read aloud, before commenting "He was funny too."

"Yeah, was." Harry sighed, turning the page and expecting to see a blank page, after all there were no marauders left.

"'Entries of Honorary Marauders, not related but big fans.'" Hermione read aloud. "Fred and George found it too-"
"And never told us." Ron said, sounding a little angry. "It's Harry's Dad; you'd think they would mention-"
"Maybe they forgot?"
"Yeah, maybe." Ron sighed, reading the entries of his brothers.

He didn't understand why they thought he had the right to write in there; he wondered if Harry was angry with them, since they weren't Generations of Marauders at all, and he was.

Harry wasn't angry though; he read Fred and George's entries with a smile on his face and laughed out loud at their jokes.

"Trust them to compete, even in a book." Hermione smiled. She turned the page again, to find a wordless page. "I guess it's your turn to write in here, Harry."
"Only if you will too." Harry replied to his friends, not wanting to sit on his own and write his hopes and fears with the other two just watching.

"Ok." Hermione replied cautiously, pulling a quill out of her pocket and holding it out to Harry.

"You first." He commanded.

She obeyed, writing her full name across the page and then the word hope.

To encourage equality across the world, between purebloods and muggles or halfbloods, and between humans and house elves.

She read back what she had written, and realised it sounded awfully like an essay she had written not too long ago. She added two more dots to her full stop and continued to write.

"'…And happiness would be nice, as well.'" Ron read her entry outloud, thinking about how classically Hermione-ish it was; thinking of the rest of the world before herself.

Harry watched as she wrote her fear. "'Losing the magic in my life.' What does that mean?" He asked dumbly.

She looked up from the paper, straight into Ron's eyes.

"It means that he wins." She lied, still gazing at her 'best friend'. The truth was that she meant him; she was scared of losing him.

Message: I hope at least one of the people reading this in the future hasn't only got magical blood running through their veins.

"That's perfect, Hermione." Ron smiled as he read what she had written.

"Thank you." She replied, before writing again and turning the page quickly. The two boys watched her confusedly, and she looked up and explained "Spelling mistake."

Secretly, though, she had added something to her message. And if you're my child I hope you have red hair.

Thankfully, Hermione thought, Harry didn't turn the page back, he just took the pen from her and wrote his own full name.

It was all too easy for him to write his hope, fear and message; he thought about these things far too often; what he was most scared of, what he hoped for, and what he would say if he survived this.

"You hope for normality?" Hermione asked, once Harry had passed the book to Ron minutes later.

"'Fear: Death, not mine but of anyone I know; this book already has too much death in it.' That's nice, mate." Ron commented. "Your message sounds like something Dumbledore would say, though." He continued, as he read Believe what people say; love is the most powerful magic we just have to believe in it.

"It's good though," Hermione sighed. "Because if the worst happened, and in a few years everything's different, they might not know what love is anymore, really. Maybe reading that will change something."
"I wasn't even thinking about that." Harry admitted. "I was just being hopeful. It's your turn to write anyway, Ron."

Ron nodded, looking down at the blank page in front of him.

It suddenly felt as though Hermione and Harry's eyes on him were spotlights; everything he wrote would be read and judged by them.

Hermione watched as Ron scribbled his entries down, turning away so they couldn't read over his shoulder, before slamming the book closed and putting his hand to his head dramatically.

"I suddenly feel really tired. We should go to bed." He said hurriedly, standing with the book still clung within his fingers.

"Well, ok, but Ron what did you write-?"
"I was in hospital two days ago because I was poisoned, I really think I should go to sleep." Ron told Harry impatiently, leaning over and practically throwing the book into the hole in the wall and putting the brick back.

"Ok." Harry shrugged, turning and going towards the boys' dormitory stairs. "'Night Hermione."
"Night Harry." Hermione replied, eyeing Ron as he acted strangely. "Are you feeling okay?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. We're not going to read that book again though, are we? I mean, we'll tell our kids about it but not- Wait, not our kids!" He corrected himself all too quickly for Hermione's liking, as if the idea of having children with her was completely absurd; of course it was. She hated herself for writing what she'd written now; in the future people would read it and think she was pathetic.

Ron felt his face flush at his mistake, and watched as Hermione blinked back confusedly. She must have thought he was completely stupid.

"Ron, what did you write?" She asked quietly, hoping for honesty.

"I wrote about Quidditch; Hope that the Chudley Cannons win this year, Fear that the Chudley Cannons lose, Message that the Chudley Cannons rule."

She hoped he was lying, while he hoped that she believed him.

In the end they both looked each other awkwardly for a moment or two, before saying goodnight and rushing up their own stairs to their beds.

They didn't know that later that night, while Harry dreamt of being reunited with his father and godfather, both Ron and Hermione dreamt of the same thing; of the two of them being together.

Ronald Billius Weasley
Hope: That things will turn out alright in the end. I don't care if I do better than my brothers anymore; I just want them all to survive. And Harry, and Hermione.
Fear: That I lose her.
Message: If I'm gone, if any of us are gone; we fought to make the world better. If I'm dead, I hope she's still alive. I hope I died saving her.