The sun beamed down through the golden trees. Leaves gently drifted down from the branches. The world seemed to have settled into a peaceful slumber, and as four particular individuals arrived at one particular house, it was as though time itself had simply decided to stop moving forward and instead pause serenely out of sheer contentedness.

"Open," Harry Potter commanded. The front door of the house clicked and swung open silently. He gestured to the open doorway, and his wife and two friends stepped inside ahead of him.

The three-story house was an open, friendly place. Large windows let generous amounts of sunlight into the bigger-on-the-inside rooms. The furniture, covered in a unique fabric, would twist and wriggle pleasantly under you until you were as comfortable as could be. A screen porch rested on one side of the house, allowing whoever sat on its glider to observe the outdoors without risk of insects or pests, and yet still receive the soothing touch of a cool autumn breeze.

This was the place where Harry Potter and his wife, Ginerva "Ginny" Potter, lived with their three children. The Potters were a happy family. Harry worked as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic, and his children were proud to have a veritable war hero as a father. Every night, Harry would tell his children stories of his adventures before bed. His children were enraptured every night without fail. Over and over again they asked him to tell the stories of his career as an Auror, each time the same expression of wonder coming over their young faces. But their favorite story of all was the story of how he had defeated Voldemort and saved the world. Night after night after night they pleaded with him to describe the final battle, and he would merely smile patiently and tell it again. Sometimes, to humor them, he would stand up and act out parts of the battle, making his children laugh as he pretended to be Voldemort and put on a bug-eyed expression at the moment of his defeat. Then Ginny would lean in and gently admonish him for behaving so. Afterwards, the children would head to bed, and Harry and Ginny would tuck them in for the night. And every night, as he left his children's rooms, he would gently close their doors, and be practically overcome with the thought of how truly fortunate he was.

But now his two eldest had gone off to Hogwarts. His youngest, still too young to begin her first term, had opted for a week-long stay at a friend's house. The day afterwards, Harry had walked through the house. The place seemed much larger somehow, and its emptiness was uncomfortable to say the least. Ginny had taken it the hardest. More than once, Harry had found her sitting next to the children's beds, staring forlornly at them. It was at these times that Harry would come in, sit down next to her, gently put his arm around her, and tenderly remind her that they were not gone forever, that they were going to Hogwarts, the greatest school of magic ever created. And, he would add in a loving whisper, that Lily would be back in less than a week. This would cheer Ginny up, and then they would go about their normal duties.

However, until Lily returned, the house retained its strange, empty feel, and try as he might to console Ginny, Harry battled his own loneliness. It was a strange thing to walk down the hallways, once so full of joy and life, and to hear nothing but cold, almost echoing footsteps on the hardwood floors. Harry tried his best to distract himself with his work. The position of Head of the Auror Office generated a workload that would have overwhelmed a lesser man, but to Harry, it was merely a slight diversion from the real problem. Somehow, whenever he signed a form, or filed a report, or stamped a piece of paper that had just arrived on his desk, he took no more notice of it than one would of a fly buzzing in the far corner of a far room.

He hadn't expected this. When Albus and James had stepped on the Hogwarts Express only a few weeks ago, Harry had felt right then and there that he must be the proudest father who had ever lived. He remembered thinking that it would be an adjustment to come home from work and find himself greeted by only two loved ones instead of four. Still, he had told himself, it would not be for naught. The boys were off to begin their education, and that was all mattered. Even so, more than once Harry had found himself calling their names, and receiving nothing but silence. It was in this time that Lily become exceptionally important, in that she would help both her parents to feel better when they were missing the boys. But then came that fateful day when she received an owl inviting her to spend the week at her friend's house (Harry could never remember which one, although he would never admit it to anyone. Lily had a multitude of friends, so many that Harry had difficulty remembering all their faces and names. It seemed, however, that Ginny had no such trouble). Ginny had given her permission, and off Lily went. It was soon afterwards that the true loneliness sank in.

In light of this, Ginny had suggested inviting over their old friends Ron and Hermione Weasley for a social call. Harry agreed immediately. And so they had written to the Weasleys, who, upon accepting the invitation, had arranged for their son Hugo to have a play date, and then arrived via flying car. Ever since Muggles had created their own flying cars, owning one had become legal according to the Ministry of Magic, so long as the flight mechanism was "mechanical" (to borrow a Muggle term) as opposed to magical. Ron had been ecstatic upon buying his own only a short time ago, and as Harry and his friends settled into the house, Harry thought for a brief moment that he could see the same smile on Ron's face that he had worn when he had flown the car off the dealership lot for the first time.

"Accio," Ginny whispered. Without a sound, a bottle of chilled butterbeer and four drinking glasses glided into the room from the kitchen. The drinks poured themselves and floated up to the seated guests.
Ron took a deep swing. "I never realized just how much better the homemade kind is."
Ginny smiled. "My own recipe."
"So," Harry said, taking a seat himself. "How is the new car working for you?"
Ron's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Hermione sighed good-naturedly. "You had to ask." Contentedly, she settled into her chair.
Ron immediately launched into a detailed explanation of the car. Happily, he explained how the hover-conversion enabled the flight mechanism to run on the same substance as the normal method of propulsion, something Muggles referred to as "gasoline". Politely, Harry and Ginny both plied him with questions over the car's exact capabilities, and Ron answered every one of them. Hermione sat by silently, smiling but looking rather bored. In between questions, Harry recalled that, though the properties and workings of magic were fascinating to her, the so-called "science" and "technology" of the Muggle world held almost no interest for her.
Presently, the conversation moved on to other topics. Ginny and Hermione gradually took over, discussing the finer points of spellcrafting. Harry and Ron sat by quietly, occasionally commenting on the passage of the conversation, but mostly remaining silent. Eventually, Ginny and Hermione got up as Ginny wished to show Hermione her kitchen (she had augmented it with a few spells of her own design), and Ron and Harry were left alone.
"Harry stood up. "Would you care to join me?"
He led the way out onto the side porch, Ron behind him. The two sat down on the glider, calmly observing the day.
At long last, Harry spoke. "What have we become, Ron?"
"What?" Ron was in the middle of refilling his glass from the flying butterbeer bottle.
Harry ignored him. "We've come so far in such a short amount of time. We've gone from the two scared little kids who ran into each other on the Hogwarts express to… this." He gestured vaguely at everything.
Ron took a drink. "What about it? Are you saying you're not happy?"
Harry was silent. Then: "'Here we are on top the world…'"
Ron perked up. "That's a line from the Tale of the Mapmakers."
"It is. I just thought it seemed oddly appropriate." Harry turned to Ron. "What is left, Ron?" We've accomplished everything. Now we have nothing left, no goals to achieve."
"What brought this on?"
Harry thought. "It's been weighing on my mind for some time now." He clenched his fist. A strange headache pounded through his head, and he rested it in his unoccupied hand.
Ron seemed not to notice. "Don't talk like that. We've done enough. Now is the time for us to lay down our burdens and enjoy the fine things in life." He raised his glass. "To success."
Smiling, Harry likewise raised his glass. "To good health and just rewards." He and Ron clinked their glasses.
Voices drifted in from the adjacent room. "Shall we?" Harry said.
As he and Ron joined their wives back in the room, Harry thought for a moment. Ron was right. There was no point worrying about anything. He had a loving wife, fantastic kids, a successful career, and the best friends in the world. All was as it should be.
Suddenly Harry was hurled back against the wall. A scream was torn from his lungs as his vision exploded in a whirlwind of colors. A howling wind rushed through the room. His scar burned with the heat of a thousand fires, burned like it hadn't in 19 years. Through the pain he forced his eyes open.
The world had transformed. Gone was the living room. Gone were his friends. Instead, he beheld a raging vortex of energy, one that swept across the landscape in an endless gust of almighty wind. The blinding light of the storm burned his eyes, and he strained to shut them again. His head felt like it was splitting open. He tried to scream. But his lungs were empty.
"Harry!" Out of the maelstrom Harry heard his voice being called. Hermione. Her voice sounded distorted and warped as she called his name again. Then he saw her.
Clinging desperately to the ground, Hermione crawled out of the chaos of the energy storm towards where he was pinned to the wall, immobilized. She called his name one final time, straining dreadfully to be heard above the terrible howling.
"Hermione!" Harry screamed back. His own voice startled him, and had he not be caught in the storm, he felt surely he would have laughed. "What's going on?"
"It's the end of us, Harry!" Hermione cried. "It's a temporal incursion!"
As if to underline her words, a piece of a house flew by, spinning as Harry saw it crumble to dust.
"What is it?"
"Time is dying!" Hermione screamed. She reached Harry and began clawing her way up the remains of the rapidly-deteriorating wall.
Harry said nothing. The maelstrom was increasing in intensity, and he could no longer fill his lungs from the strength of the storm. Wordlessly, he looked desperately at Hermione, his eyes begging for any, ANY glimmer of hope.
Hermione read his eyes. "I have an idea!" She raised her wand, forcing it against the scar on his forehead. Frantically she began whispering an incantation Harry couldn't hear over the chaos. Then his eyes widened in horror.
Hermione appeared to be aging rapidly. Her hair because streaked with grey. Her skin began collecting folds as she kept whispering fervently. At last she drew back and shouted "That's it! That's all I can-" In that instant, Harry was no longer looking at Hermione, but a bare skull, it's eye sockets gaping, it's jaw hanging loosely down in a sardonic smile. Harry tried once more to scream. But he had no air to scream with. Then the skull disintegrated into dust and blew away in the winds of the maelstrom.
Harry looked up. A great dark void appeared to be sweeping across the landscape, consuming everything in its path. It reached Harry, and his whole body shuddered as a chill, a vast, empty, absolute coldness touched his flesh. Harry felt himself fading, wasting away into nothingness. In the split second before he ceased to exist, a single tear slid down his cheek.

At long last I have updated this chapter. Thank you again for your patience. I am now working on Chapter 3 "The Oncoming Storm". Thank all again. Please enjoy the new material.