---

“Not another move, Potter.” Severus Snape’s voice echoed through the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. Harry Potter stood with his back to Snape, instead facing his lifelong enemy, Lord Voldemort, who glared at him from where he stood between Harry and an ancient stone arch with a lightly fluttering veil. Harry’s wand was raised, while Voldemort’s lay broken at his feet.

“What are you going to do, Snape?” Harry asked without turning around. “We both know you can’t kill me - that Unbreakable Vow your master made you take is enough to prevent that.” He didn’t have to turn around and look to know that the former professor was surprised. “Oh yes, I know all about that. You didn’t really think you were the Order’s only spy, did you?” Harry didn’t actually know who the new spy was, but his information had proven extremely useful - particularly when he had revealed that Lord Voldemort’s intense desire to personally kill Harry had caused him to force his servants to swear with an Unbreakable Vow that they would leave Harry for him.

“It doesn’t matter, Potter. I don’t have to kill you,” Snape said mockingly, before adding in a menacing whisper, “I only have to leave you defenseless and allow you to die.”

Across the room, Ginny Weasley - no, Ginny Potter, she reminded herself - recent graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, shuffled sideways, trying to get a clear shot at Snape. A painful broken leg, coupled with her desire to take Snape by surprise, prevented her from moving very quickly. As she thought of her new last name, a slight smile formed on her lips. She and Harry had gotten married only the night before, in a small ceremony at a Muggle church in Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry had said that he wanted a Muggle ceremony because it would make avoiding the Wizarding press so much easier, but Ginny had a strong suspicion that he saw it as a way of connecting with his mother, who was Muggle-born.

Ginny silently winced in pain as she slid along the stone floor. After destroying the last of Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes, Harry had made the disturbing discovery that he was incapable of casting the Killing Curse, despite the fact that he needed to kill Voldemort personally in order to fulfill the prophecy and end his reign of terror. Hermione, who now lay unconscious a short distance from Ginny, had come up with the idea of Harry luring Voldemort to the Department of Mysteries and pushing him through the veil. Until now, everything had gone more or less according to plan. Of course, Hermione being unconscious, and Ginny and Ron both suffering from broken legs hadn’t been part of the plan, but at least they were all still alive. And Harry finally had the upper hand - all it would take would be one good push, and Lord Voldemort would finally disappear forever. The only thing that could turn the tide against Harry now was Snape.

Without warning, Snape flicked his wand at Harry’s back. Harry, seeming to sense what was coming, lunged forward at the same instant, shoving Voldemort with all his might. The once-powerful wizard stumbled backward and fell, with a look of shock on his face, through the veil, never to return. As Voldemort disappeared, Snape’s spell hit Harry in the back, causing him to collapse on the dais. He cast another spell at Harry, which caused a blue glow to surround him for a second. When the glow faded, Harry vanished.

“NO!” Ron’s shout echoed through the Death Chamber and Snape’s head immediately snapped around toward him.

“Sectumsempra!” Ginny shouted, slashing at her former professor with her wand. His eyes widened in shock as his chest was viciously slashed open by a curse he had personally created.

“Reducto!” Ginny shouted, still pointing her wand at him. There was a satisfying crunching sound as the bones in Snape’s face were reduced to powder. “Reducto! Sectumsempra! Reducto! Cruci-”

“Expelliarmus!” Ron’s voice rang out, and Ginny’s wand flew from her hand.

“Ron, no!” she shouted hysterically as tears ran down her cheeks. Snape had just sent Harry to his death. She wanted to make him pay; she wanted him to suffer.

“Getting yourself chucked into Azkaban won’t bring Harry back,” Ron argued as he choked on his own tears. He dragged himself over to his sister and collapsed next to her as their former professor quickly bled to death across the room.

* * * * *
Ginny Potter awoke in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with a splitting headache. She looked blearily around the room and immediately focused in on her mother.

“Mum?” she called weakly. Her voice was scratchy, and she suddenly realized that she desperately needed a drink of water. Her mother seemed to realize it too, because she immediately pressed a glass of water into Ginny’s hands.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently as Ginny sipped her water.

“I’ve been worse,” Ginny answered truthfully. “How are Ron and Hermione?”

“They’re fine,” Mrs. Weasley reassured her. “They’re both still in the hospital as well, but there won’t be any lasting damage.”

“And Harry?” She held her breath.

Mrs. Weasley’s face took on a pained expression. “We were hoping you could tell us that, dear. We know he was in the Death Chamber, along with you three, You-Know-Who, Snape, and Bellatrix Lestrange, but when we arrived, Harry and You-Know-Who were gone.”

Ginny swallowed hard and recounted the battle as best she could. When she had finished, both of her parents looked stricken. “What is it, Mum? Dad?” she asked at last, dreading the answer.

“Ginny, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but the end of your story just isn’t possible,” said Mr. Weasley. “The only spell I know of that could even approach what you described is Portus, but... well, it can’t exactly be used on living creatures.”

“And what if it was?” Ginny asked, dreading the answer.

“It wouldn’t work,” her father answered, shaking his head. “But the point is, even if Severus did manage to turn Harry into a Portkey, somebody would have had to touch him to activate it. I’m afraid, Ginny, that your mind is probably blocking out something that it doesn’t want to deal with. Ron said he wasn’t really in a position to see what happened; he only knew that Harry lunged at You-Know-Who, and then they both disappeared. I think-” he blinked back his tears and continued, “-I think that we have to accept the possibility that You-Know-Who pulled Harry through the veil with him.”

“No!” Ginny shouted, sitting up quickly. A wave of nausea hit her and she promptly threw up on the floor.

“Ginny Weasley, lie back down this instant!” her mother ordered.

“Don’t call me that,” Ginny growled as she refused to lie down.

Mrs. Weasley’s hands flew to cover her mouth in horror. “Oh Ginny, I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you did,” Ginny shot back angrily. “My last name is Potter, mother; don’t forget it again. Harry’s alive, and he will come back. I know he will.”

“Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley. Ginny could tell by her tone that she didn’t mean it.

That night, however, as she lay in the solitude of her hospital room, Ginny Potter cried like the little girl her mother thought she still was. The courage and assurance that she had felt during the day faded with the setting of the sun, and all she felt was emptiness. Harry was gone. He may not have followed Voldemort through the veil, but did it really matter? Hadn’t Snape said he would render him defenseless and send him to his death? Yes, he had. And then Ginny had killed him for it, without stopping to think that maybe, if she had captured him alive, he might have been forced to reveal what he had done with Harry. In the end, the truth was worse than if Voldemort really had pulled Harry through the veil; the truth was that Harry’s own wife had as good as killed him. With this thought echoing in her mind, Ginny cried herself to sleep.

---

Marcus Williams was an old-fashioned man. He didn’t believe in concrete high-rises or big corporations, which was why he lived as far from the city as he could manage. He was up at the crack of dawn every day, and he worked in his fields until sundown, but it was a good, honest life and he enjoyed it.

This particular morning, when he headed out into one of his wheat fields on his old, rusty tractor, he noticed a dark shape - like a large animal - lying in the middle of the stalks of wheat. Curious, Williams jumped down from his tractor and hurried across the field, all the while keeping a wary eye on the spot where the dark shape lay. As he drew closer, he realized that it was making noise. It sounded almost like a baby crying, but not quite. Finally reaching his destination, Williams stopped cold. There, in the middle of his wheat field, lay a bruised and bloodied young man who was curled up in the fetal position and bawling like a newborn baby. The man wore a black robe, as though he had just come from a costume party, and he was clinging to a polished stick as if his life depended on it.

“Come on now, son,” Williams prompted gently. This only made the young man cry harder. “We’ve got to get you inside,” he tried again. Still, the stranger made no response other than his continued cries. Finally, seeing no other option, he picked the stranger up in his arms, noting with alarm that he seemed to flop about with no more muscle control than an infant. Unable to drive his tractor with the flailing young man, he began the long walk back to his home.

“Janet!” he called as he approached the house. His wife, Janet, hearing the urgency in his voice, rushed outside to see what was the matter. “Janet, I found this bloke out in the wheat field,” he called over the stranger’s cries. “Help me get him in the truck; he’ll need the hospital for sure.”

Janet Williams wasted no time in throwing open the door to their old pickup truck and helping her husband hoist the strange man inside. She cradled his head in her lap as Marcus started the engine and headed for town.

“Marcus, have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked suddenly.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “A grown man appeared in the middle of my wheat field, bawling like a baby, and there was no trace of any wheat being trampled anywhere around him. It’s like he just dropped out of the sky.”

“Not that,” Janet said distractedly. “I’m talking about this.” She pointed to a strange, lightning bolt-shaped scar on the young man’s forehead. “It almost looks like it was put there deliberately.”

Marcus snorted. “Who knows what young people do to themselves these days?”

While Mr. and Mrs. Williams explained to the hospital staff how they had found the stranger, he was placed on a stretcher and wheeled away, still crying loudly.

“All of his vitals are normal,” reported one of the Emergency Room nurses.

“Not his brain activity,” pointed out one of the doctors. “Look at it; it’s all over the place. If he’s stable, I want him sent in for an EEG immediately.”

The nurse nodded and set about carrying out his orders.

After several hours of tests, “John Doe Wheatfield,” as the nurses had dubbed the stranger, was placed in Intensive Care and given a feeding tube through his nose, as it was apparent that he was unable to feed himself. As the test results began coming in, the Resident in charge of him frowned and stepped out into the hallway.

“Dr. Summers?” he called, seeing one of the more experienced doctors in the hallway.

“What is it, Matt?” asked Dr. Summers.

Matt Walters scowled. He hated it when the older doctors insisted on calling him by his first name, as though he were just some kid with a summer job. However, this wasn’t the time to dwell on that resentment. He gestured for Summers to enter ‘Wheatfield’s’ room. “Take a look at these test results on John Doe.”

Summers casually looked over the stack of papers before laying them on a side table. “He’s a vegetable?” he asked.

“No,” Walters corrected him, pointing to the EEG analysis. “Look here. His brain activity’s normal, but it’s normal for a newborn baby. He’s not in a vegetative state; he’s in an infantile state. But the amazing thing is that, like an infant, he’s learning at an accelerated rate.”

They both glanced over to see the young man sucking his thumb as he slept peacefully.

“Then he’s got a chance of recovering,” said Summers. “Good for him.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” asked Walters.

Dr. Summers shook his head. “That’s why I like this job: you find something new every day.”

* * * * *
“Dr. Walters?”

Matt Walters looked up to see a young uniformed police officer approaching him in the hospital corridor. “That’s me,” he said.

“Are you still in charge of the patient called-” the officer checked the clipboard he was carrying, “-John Doe Wheatfield?”

“Yeah, he came in about a week ago,” answered Walters. “Do you have some information for me?”

“I’ve got a name,” said the officer. “Potter, Harry J., formerly of Little Whinging, Surrey. His only living relative is a cousin, but we haven’t had much luck locating him.”

“How’d you find his name?” asked Walters.

“Fingerprints. He doesn’t have a criminal record, but his prints were put on file years ago by his primary school. I guess we were lucky there - not many schools were doing that back when he would have been there.”

“Thanks, officer,” said Walters. “If you turn up anything else, let us know.” Walking over to the nurse’s station, he said, “Nurse, I’ve got a name change for you. Wheatfield, John Doe’s real name is Potter, Harry J. Get the documentation updated for me, will you?”

“Of course, Doctor,” replied the nurse. “Harry J. Potter you said, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

* * * * *
Harry Potter was so excited that he could hardly sit still. Of course, that was normal for him, as he was only five years old - either that, or he was twenty-four; the nurses could never seem to make up their minds. He sat in the hospital room that had been his home for as long as he could remember, and tapped loudly on the tile floor with his shoes. Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the door opened.

“Harry?” asked a kind-looking woman. She was older than the nurses who usually took care of Harry, and he immediately decided that she looked like an excellent grandmother.

“Yeah?” Harry said hopefully.

“My name is Agatha Miltweed, but you may call me Auntie Aggie. You’re going to come and live with me; isn’t that exciting?” She spoke to Harry just as she would have spoken to any other child, and that made him glad. He liked having a grownup’s body, of course - what five-year-old wouldn’t? - but things were always easier when people didn’t try to treat him like he was as old as he looked.

Harry nodded his head enthusiastically in answer to her question, causing her to laugh.

“Well, hop to then,” she instructed, and she led him out of the room and to her waiting car.

Harry’s eyes widened in awe. “I really get to ride in a car?” he asked, hardly daring to believe his luck. “I’ve never seen a real one up close before - just on the telly.”

“Of course you get to ride in the car, dear,” Auntie Aggie said kindly. She helped him situate himself in the passenger seat and fastened his safety belt for him. Satisfied, she walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Harry couldn’t stop staring during the drive to Auntie Aggie’s house. Everything was so new and exciting and... dirty. His five-year-old mind filled with the possibilities as he imagined life outside of a sterile hospital.

When they arrived at their destination, Auntie Aggie helped Harry unbuckle his seatbelt and said, “There are lots of people who live in this house, Harry, but I don’t want you to worry; I’m sure you’ll make friends with everyone.”

Harry ran to the front door, laughing and jumping in the air as Auntie Aggie followed behind him, smiling serenely. She led him to his bedroom and showed him that he already had a closet full of slightly-used clothing. As he admired the faded t-shirts and jeans, she asked him casually, “Do you know what you had on when that old farmer found you, Harry?”

“I think they said I was wearing a Halloween costume,” Harry answered. He wasn’t fully paying attention, as he was busy feeling the fabric of all his new clothes.

“Anything else?” asked Auntie Aggie.

“Er- my glasses, I guess.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were holding something?” she pressed.

Harry finally looked up. “No. Why? Was I?”

Auntie Aggie held out a polished wooden stick that was about a foot long. “You were holding onto this like it was something very important, Harry. I think you’re old enough to have it now. But be careful with it; it’s your only link to your past, and you wouldn’t want it broken.”

Harry reverently took the stick from Auntie Aggie, and was surprised to feel warmth suddenly flowing into his fingers. Whatever this stick was, it was cool! He grinned at her, and she smiled fondly back at him before excusing herself and closing the door on her way out. Harry absentmindedly sliced through the air with his stick, and stumbled backward in surprise when red and gold sparks shot from the end. He examined the stick carefully, his eyes still wide with surprise, but found nothing at all out of the ordinary. He tried it again, and another shower of red and gold sparks shot across the room.

Grinning madly, Harry ran from his bedroom. He had to find Auntie Aggie and tell her about this. He had to show her this! It was just like magic! As he bounded down the stairs, he heard scuffling in the living room, and stopped to listen.

“No!” a man’s voice was shouting. “No, you can’t take me there! It’s true I tell you! True!”

“Robert, you stop that nonsense this instant!” snapped a woman. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was Auntie Aggie, although her voice didn’t sound nearly as kind as it had earlier. Two large men in white lab coats began dragging the man named Robert toward the front door.

“You have to believe me!” Robert shouted. “It’s magic, I tell you! Real magic! I can show you; you’ve just got to let me go so I can do it.” Nobody but Harry seemed to be listening to Robert’s words. Why weren’t they listening to him? Why weren’t they giving him a chance to show them?

After the two other men had successfully pulled Robert from the house, Harry cautiously walked into the living room. “What happened to that man, Auntie Aggie?” he asked in a frightened voice.

She looked up at him and smiled weakly. “Robert’s fine, Harry. He just has trouble telling the difference between what’s real and what’s make-believe sometimes.”

“But he said he could do magic,” Harry pressed. “He was going to show you, but nobody would let him.”

Auntie Aggie sighed heavily and sank down onto the sofa, patting the seat next to her. Harry sat down beside her and waited expectantly for her to answer. “He couldn’t have shown us, Harry,” she said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no such thing as magic.”

Harry stared at her for a moment. “But there is!” he insisted. “Watch, I can show you.” He raised his wooden stick, but Auntie Aggie’s hand shot out and stopped him from sweeping it downward.

“Listen to me, Harry,” she said in a pleading voice. “I don’t want anybody taking you where they took Robert. I don’t mind you pretending that your stick is a magic wand, but please don’t let anybody know. There are people who would look at that as a reason to send you away and lock you up, and I don’t want that for you. I know you’re a good boy, Harry. I’m only trying to protect you.”

Harry slowly lowered his stick, stunned at Auntie Aggie’s words. Would people really send him away for thinking he could do magic? He had only just gotten here, and he didn’t want to leave. But surely they wouldn’t send him away if he showed them that he didn’t just think he could do magic, he really could do it. Then he remembered Robert, and realized that no one would give him a chance to show them.

He would keep it a secret. No one could know - not even Auntie Aggie. He nodded his head, and then stood and bounded up the stairs to his bedroom, where he closed the door and proceeded to spend the next few hours shooting red and gold sparks across the room.

---

A/N: I want to apologize now for what is probably an abundance of Americanisms in this chapter and the next. I’m afraid that when it comes to a hospital setting, etc., my knowledge of the British way of doing things is practically nonexistent.

---

Harry Potter drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his squad car. He had been with the London Police Department for two years now, and was expecting a response to his application for the Prime Minister’s new Anti-Terrorism Force any day. Almost fifteen years had passed since an old farmer had discovered him lying in a wheat field. He had no memory of that, of course, but various doctors and nurses had explained his unique situation to him enough times that he knew all the stories by heart.

In many ways, his life had begun the day that the old farmer had found him. Harry’s primary doctor had almost immediately predicted a full - though painfully slow - recovery, and he had been right. Harry was now, for the most part, a normal thirty-three-year-old. His maturity was still lacking at times, due to the fact that he was emotionally only fifteen, but he had thankfully been able to pass both the psychological and academic exams necessary for joining the police force. For as long as he could remember, he had felt a need to make the world a safer place, so police work had always seemed the most natural career option for him. In addition, the fact that he had “grown up” in state-run group homes had helped him develop a network of shady connections that frequently came in handy during investigations.

“It’s about time, Jensen,” Harry grumbled as his partner, Mark Jensen, climbed into the passenger seat. “What took you so long? I thought you just had to grab this Miller bloke’s address.”

“I did,” Jensen replied, “but one of the secretaries sidetracked me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “None of them are that pretty, Mark.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Just because you’re still a teenager doesn’t mean the rest of us walk around thinking with our hormones all the time. Anyway, she only stopped me because she wanted me to pass something along to you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he guided the car out into traffic. “Parts of my mind may be fifteen, Mark, but my body definitely isn’t, and the body’s where hormones come from - even I know that. What did she have for me?”

“A London address for a Mr. Dudley Dursley.”

Harry’s head whipped around. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, and watch where you’re going!”

Harry had to slam on the brakes to avoid ramming into the car in front of him.

“Keep driving like that and I’ll have to write you up,” Jensen joked.

Harry shrugged. “The judges all like me better than you. They’ll let me off.”

“There’s that teenage attitude again.”

They drove on in silence until they reached their destination and Harry pulled the squad car over to the curb. “This is it, right?” he asked.

“Looks like it,” Jensen confirmed. “Miller’s wanted for dealing drugs, but he’s got no history of violence, so it should just be a routine arrest.”

Harry nodded and they both got out of the car. As they approached the front door of the alleged drug house, Harry surreptitiously touched the polished stick that he always wore strapped to the inside of his left forearm, concealed by the sleeve of his shirt. It was his only link to his past life and he liked to keep it close to him, but that wasn’t the main reason he never let it out of his sight. The truth was that this simple stick seemed to give him almost supernatural power, and he had learned years ago that he could make strange things happen when he held it. He had never shared this with anyone, of course; Auntie Aggie had done a thorough job of making him terrified of mental hospitals, and he had no desire to give anyone an excuse to lock him away in one.

The first time Harry had held his polished stick, which he had soon begun referring to in his mind as his ‘magic wand,’ it had immediately felt warm in his hand. After more than a year of playing around with it, he had discovered that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could use it to make things move. As the years went by, he became more and more comfortable with his wand, and now he was even able to use it to deflect bullets when necessary - all while it was safely out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt.

They reached the front steps and Jensen knocked on the door. As they waited, Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Something isn’t right here,” he whispered.

Jensen looked at him strangely. “You’re too tense, Potter. Lighten up a bit.” As he reached out to knock again, the flimsy front door exploded outward from a shotgun blast. Harry somehow managed to prevent any of the pellets from hitting either of them, and they charged into the house with their pistols drawn. Miller raced down the hallway, firing behind him, but Harry didn’t even bother trying to duck out of the way - he knew his magic wand would protect him. As he burst through the back door, he holstered his pistol as he saw Miller discard the shotgun and begin climbing the back fence. Harry aimed his hidden wand at the man, concentrating on making him slip and, just as he had expected, it worked. The large man fell to the ground in a heap. Harry was just tightening the handcuffs around Miller’s thick wrists when Jensen finally appeared behind him.

“You are one lucky-” he began.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Harry cut him off. Together they hauled their prisoner to his feet and dragged him back through the house and out to the squad car.

That evening, after filing a mountain of paperwork at the end of his shift, Harry didn’t return directly to his flat. Instead, he drove to the home of his cousin, Dudley Dursley. Fighting his nervousness, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and rapped smartly on the door. A moment later, the door was opened by a hulking man with curly blond hair. He took one look at Harry and his eyes seemed to bulge out of his face. His gaze flicked to the scar on Harry’s forehead and then back to his face.

“Are you Dudley Dursley?” Harry asked politely. The blond man responded by punching him squarely in the jaw. Harry reeled, not having been prepared for the blow, and stars exploded in his vision. The man was shouting something, but Harry was too disoriented to understand the words. The door started to close, but he managed to block its progress with his foot as he regained his bearings.

Enraged, the blond man threw another punch, but this time Harry was ready for it. He dodged sideways, caught the arm, and twisted it behind the other man’s back, shoving him roughly against the wall.

“Are you Dudley Dursley?” Harry demanded not nearly so politely this time.

“You know I am,” the large man growled.

“Why did you attack me like that?” Harry pressed his cousin’s face harder into the wall.

“Because it’s your fault they’re dead!” Dudley shouted, struggling in vain to free himself.

Harry was taken aback, but did not loosen his grip. “My fault who’s dead, Dursley?” he demanded.

“Who else, you freak? My parents! They both just mysteriously dropped dead one day while I was away at university. The doctors said it was natural causes, but I know it was you. You and your crowd.”

Harry breathed a heavy sigh. The man’s parents had been dead for at least fifteen years, the doctors all agreed that they had died of natural causes, and still he insisted on blaming his long lost cousin. Harry felt a sudden surge of pity for him.

“I’ll tell you what,” Harry offered. “If you don’t attack me again, I’ll just go away, and I won’t even press charges for you punching me. Sound fair?”

Dudley didn’t answer, but Harry released him anyway, although he remained on his guard. As soon as he was free, Dudley wheeled around and threw a wild punch, which missed Harry by a good six inches. When he reared back to try again, he suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of Harry’s service pistol. He gulped audibly.

“Hands on your head,” Harry ordered. With no choice but to obey, Dudley complied. Harry positioned himself behind the larger man and fastened handcuffs rather tightly around his massive wrists, pinning his arms behind his back.

“W-what are you doing?” Dudley stammered, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Arresting you for assaulting a police officer.”

“What? But I had no idea you were a police officer,” Dudley insisted.

“I’m in uniform, idiot,” Harry responded as he pulled the front door closed and escorted his cousin to the backseat of his squad car.

After depositing Dudley at the police station and filing even more paperwork, Harry finally returned to his flat. The first thing he did was check through his mail to make sure he hadn’t received a rejection letter from the Anti-Terrorism Force. His curiosity satisfied, he checked his voice mail and discovered that an interviewer from the Prime Minister’s office wanted to meet with him the following morning. Grinning to himself and fervently hoping for the best, he climbed into bed, anxiously anticipating his interview the following morning.

* * * * *
“Sit down, Potter, sit down,” said the interviewer as soon as Harry entered his large office. He was slightly overweight and balding, and had a large brass nameplate on his desk that read EVERETT MARTIN. Harry looked around the office as he sank into a straight-backed chair across the desk from Mr. Martin. It was almost completely decorated in black leather and mahogany; Harry immediately decided that the rich furnishings existed for the sole purpose of intimidating interviewees. Unfortunately, this realization did nothing to help calm his nerves.

“Good morning, sir,” Harry said after a long silence.

Martin shook his head. “No need for ‘sirs’ at the moment, Potter; this is just an informal interview. I was wondering if you’d answer a few questions for me.”

“Of course,” Harry answered at once.

“Your file says you’re thirty-three years old, is that correct?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

“Don’t look a day over twenty-five,” he muttered. This was perfectly true, although Harry thought that he would probably look closer to his own age if he still wore glasses. His vision had been corrected with laser surgery before he had joined the police force, however, and his youthful appearance had helped him to fit in with the other new recruits, most of whom were in their early twenties.

“I understand that you dropped out of the sky with the mind of an infant when you were nineteen years old. Any idea why that happened?”

Harry shook his head. “None, sir. The doctors that looked after me never seemed to find any satisfactory theories, either.”

“Yes,” Martin muttered to himself. He cleared his throat and said, “Your fellow police officers say you’re lucky. Why do you think that is?”

Harry chuckled in spite of his nerves. “Probably because I’ve been shot at more than anyone else in the department during the last two years, but nobody’s ever been able to hit me.”

Martin’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Indeed. That is lucky. I have also heard that you wear a polished dowel strapped to the inside of your left forearm.”

Harry’s sharp intake of breath eliminated the necessity of asking if this was true.

“Why do you do that?” asked Mr. Martin.

“I- well, it’s sort of my good luck charm, really,” Harry explained. “I was holding onto it for dear life when that farmer found me in his wheat field, or so they tell me. It’s my only connection with my past.”

Martin pursed his lips and nodded slowly. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, “Between you and me, Potter, if that’s where your luck comes from, you make sure to keep it on you at all times.”

Harry smiled with relief; he had half-expected the man to demand that he stop carrying his ‘magic wand,’ and that wasn’t something he was willing to do.

“I hear you also have a reputation for being able to spot things that others can’t,” Martin continued.

Harry nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “There have been plenty of times when I’ve spotted a person lurking in the shadows that my partner didn’t see. There was even one time, out on Grimmauld Place, when I was able to find an old house that my partner at the time still swears isn’t there.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Martin. “I don’t mind telling you now, Potter, that I’ve already requested your transfer to our office, effective immediately.”

Harry grinned.

“I thought that might make you a little less nervous,” Martin said with a chuckle. “Your first assignment won’t be extremely large, of course, but I’ve selected it especially for you. You see, there has been a long series of unexplained incidents in a little village out in Devon. Nothing serious yet, mind, but we fear that it could escalate at any time. Up until now, everything’s been so minor that I wouldn’t normally look into it - public toilets exploding, spontaneous infestations of vermin, strange and unexplainable sightings, that sort of thing.”

“So why take an interest now?” Harry asked, wondering why an anti-terrorism office would be interested in what sounded like the antics of delinquent children.

“The Prime Minister paid a visit to this particular village about two weeks ago, and some... odd things happened.”

“Odd, sir? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

“He was walking down the street and his hair turned purple,” Martin whispered. “One second it was brown, and the next it was purple. Thankfully, they were able to keep it out of the papers. Anyway, his security people spotted a pair of teenagers who seemed to know what was going to happen in advance, but they disappeared before they could be brought in for questioning. The next day, the Prime Minister went to get in his car - he drives an antique Bentley, you know - and he found that the inner tubes had been removed from all four of his tires. Do you have any idea how much work that takes, Potter?”

“No sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“It takes hours. And the car wasn’t moved one inch. There were no fingerprints. But there was a witness who said he saw two teenagers running away from the scene late the previous night - a boy and a girl, matching the description we got from the P.M.’s security personnell. As I said, this could be nothing more than a couple of teenagers out to have a little fun, but there’s always a chance that it’s somebody with a grudge against the Prime Minister. If that’s the case, then they’re taunting us with their ability to get close enough to him to dye his hair or steal his inner tubes without being caught. Once they’re satisfied that we can’t catch them, they’ll attempt an assassination.”

“I see,” Harry muttered. Suddenly, exploding public toilets didn’t seem quite so mundane. If he was able to expose an assassination plot, that would easily cement his position on the new task force. “Out of curiosity, why was I hand-picked for this assignment?”

“Because you’ve got a reputation for being able to spot things that others can’t. Both times these teenagers were spotted, the witnesses claimed they just vanished into thin air. Obviously, that can’t be true, so maybe someone with your talents will be able to shed some light on the matter. The details are all in the file on your desk, which is out in the main office and has your name on it.”

“Who will I be working with on this case?” Harry asked.

Martin shook his head. “We’re not the police, Potter. This organization is only two months old, and we’re grossly understaffed for what the P.M. and Parliament want us to be doing. Until I tell you otherwise, you’ll be working alone. Contact the local police department if you need backup, and let us know if they give you any trouble.”

Harry understood this to be the end of the conversation and stood up to leave. His mind was reeling at what had just happened. He had just gotten the job he had been hoping for, and he was to start on his first case immediately - alone. “Thank you, sir,” he said as he shook Mr. Martin’s hand. “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t. Talk with Mary up at the reception desk. She’ll get you set up with identification, an expense account, and the rest of that rubbish. Welcome aboard.”

Harry left the large office and found his desk. It was in a cubicle, which Harry normally would have hated, but since he would be doing mostly field work, it didn’t seem to matter. He sank into his chair and began flipping through the file on his desk. He examined the artist’s sketches of the teenagers and read through the descriptions. Both had red hair and light eyes, and appeared to be about the same age. Based on the information before him, Harry guessed that they were probably siblings or, if not that, cousins.

He flipped a few more pages until he found the general case description. “Ottery St. Catchpole,” he muttered to himself as he read the name of the village he was assigned to visit.

---

Harry Potter’s first few days in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole were pleasant but uneventful. He spent his time getting to know several of the shopkeepers and chatting with the locals in pubs and tea shops. He also made sure to always wear a hat of some sort to hide the scar on his forehead. It wasn’t that he disliked his scar - in fact, he had always found it rather cool. However, part of what made it so cool was the fact that it was so distinctive. It was too distinctive, too easily recognizable for undercover work. It was much more difficult for criminals to steer clear of ‘the man in the hat’ than ‘the man with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.’

On Harry’s third day in the village, he learned that there would be an art exposition that evening for aspiring local artists. Figuring that this would be as likely a place as any for the culprits to strike next, he decided to attend. He was not disappointed. Halfway through the event, just as the host was introducing a rather good painting of a large river otter, his hair spontaneously turned yellow, then bright green, and finally electric blue.

The room erupted in pandemonium as Harry’s eyes darted about in search of a pair of redheaded teens. Spotting them a short distance to his left, he began pushing his way toward them through the crowd. They noticed him a little sooner than he had anticipated, and fled outside through the doors of the auditorium. Harry gave chase, and soon began gaining on them as they raced through the darkened streets of the village. He may have been approaching middle-age, but he prided himself on being in top physical condition.

“Quick, where’s the cloak?” the girl shouted as they rounded a corner ahead of Harry.

“I thought you had it!” the boy shouted back at her. They both glanced over their shoulders and spotted Harry a short distance behind, coming around the corner at a full sprint.

“Run!” they shouted in unison, their voices frightened as they sped toward the edge of the village.

As the teenagers turned down a dirt road heading out of town, Harry began to worry that he might lose them in the darkness. Concentrating on slowing them down, he aimed his concealed wand at them, causing them both to trip and fall. Before they had a chance to recover, he was on top of them, pulling them to their feet. Only then did he notice that each teen held a polished stick similar to his own. He immediately snatched the sticks away, just in case they could be used against him.

“Hey!” yelled the boy.

“Give those back!” the girl shouted at the same time.

“Why?” Harry snapped. “So you can use them to turn my hair blue?”

Both redheads froze.

“What are your names?” Harry demanded.

The teenagers remained silent.

“What are your names?” Harry repeated, a bit louder this time.

“Who wants to know?” the boy shot back.

“I do,” Harry responded, flashing a badge at them. “Now, do you want to tell me your names, or shall we head back into the village? I’d imagine a night in jail would be enough to loosen your tongues.”

The girl, who looked reasonably frightened, stammered, “I-I’m Lily. This is my t-twin brother, Brian.”

“Okay, Lily and Brian, do you mind telling me why you’ve been harassing the good people of Ottery St. Catchpole?”

“We were just having a little fun,” the boy grumbled.

Harry let out a disbelieving grunt. “Do you live nearby? Perhaps we should have a little chat with your parents. I’m sure they won’t be at all thrilled to find out that their children’s idea of fun is playing malicious pranks on unsuspecting people. Why don’t you take me to your house?”

Lily opened her mouth to answer, but Brian cut her off by hissing, rather loudly, “Lily, no!”

Lily glared at her brother. “We only have to make it to the end of the drive,” she responded in a whisper that was still plenty loud enough for Harry to hear her. When her twin didn’t react, she gave an exasperated sigh and added, “He’s a Muggle.”

Brian’s eyes widened in comprehension, and he turned to Harry. “This way,” he said in what would have seemed an intimidated voice had Harry not just overheard his conversation with his sister.

Although somewhat confused by the exchange he had just witnessed, Harry followed them down the winding dirt road, keeping a close eye on the pair as they reached a long drive stretching out to their left. As one, the twins sprinted about five steps up the drive before slowing to a walk once more. Harry shrugged and continued following them.

“What was with the running a few steps back there?” he asked after a moment.

The twins turned around and stared at him in shock. “Why’s he still following us?” Brian whispered.

“Because I plan on having a talk with your mother and father,” Harry reminded him. Both teens paled at his words and suddenly looked terribly frightened. Brian recovered first and tried to cover his reaction with an air of false bravado.

“Good luck with that one,” he scoffed. “Our dad died before we were born.” Lily, who looked hurt by her brother’s comment, elbowed him rather hard in the ribs.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry said softly. “I never knew either of my parents, so I know how it feels. I do need to talk with your mother, though.”

Lily nodded shakily and began walking toward the house once again, although both twins now seemed reluctant to turn their backs on Harry. They walked on in silence, the teenagers occasionally glancing nervously back at their escort, until a large ramshackle house that was at least four stories tall came into view.

“It’s just the two of you and your mother living here?” Harry asked in surprise.

Lily shook her head. “Mum was only eighteen when dad died,” she said in a reverent voice. “Actually, he died the day after they got married - it’s a really sad story.” She shook herself. “Anyway, she never moved out of her parents’ house, so we all live here with our grandparents. It’s nice.”

Harry nodded absently as they approached the house, and then watched with more than a little curiosity as Lily and Brian took off for the front door at a dead sprint. They disappeared inside, slamming the door behind them, and he shook his head in confusion. For a pair that was subtle enough to be able to remove the inner tubes from the Prime Minister’s tires without leaving any evidence, they were certainly behaving rashly. Perhaps they simply didn’t know how to react when caught, but for some reason, Harry doubted that was it.

Deciding that there was nothing else he could do at the moment, he approached the front door, knocked loudly, and waited for someone to answer. After a moment, the door swung inward, revealing a very attractive woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She had long red hair, just like Lily, but her eyes were dark brown. Harry guessed she must be the twins’ cousin, or possibly a young aunt. When her eyes met his, she caught her breath.

“Is something the matter?” the woman asked after a moment. Her voice sounded strained, and Harry noticed that she was clutching a polished wooden stick in her right hand.

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Harry. “I’ve been assigned by the Prime Minister’s office to investigate some strange goings on in the village, and they all seem to lead back to these two.” He gestured toward the twins, who were cowering in the background. “Is their mother home?”

“You’re looking at her,” said the woman. Harry tried his best not to look surprised; he’d never met anyone other than himself who looked that much younger than their real age. The mother glared at her children and said, in what Harry thought was a very forceful voice for such a petite woman, “Upstairs, now. We’ll discuss this later.” As the twins hurried up the stairs, she invited Harry inside.

“Thank you,” he said as he stepped through the doorway and into the living room. Out of habit, he removed his hat and held it in his hands as he waited to be invited to sit. After the twins’ mother shut the door, she turned back toward him and her gaze fell on his lightning bolt scar.

“Oh Merlin, Harry!” she gasped, and fainted dead away.

Harry rushed over to her and began gently patting her cheeks, hoping that she hadn’t hit her head too hard when she fell. Her eyes began to flutter, and finally opened, fixating themselves on his face. She began to cry.

“It’s you,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. “It’s really you. So many years... thought you were dead... you’re really here,” she finished in a whisper.

“Er-” Harry interrupted as he attempted to extricate himself from her embrace. “What’s going on, Mrs...?”

She pushed him away, a look of horror on her face. “But... you mean you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Harry asked in exasperation.

Her tears began flowing anew as she whispered, “You don’t remember me?”

“Sorry, no. Have we met before?”

“Met before?” she shouted, her sorrow abruptly giving way to anger. “I’m your bloody wife, Harry Potter! It’s me! Ginny!”

“Calm down, ma’am,” Harry said soothingly. Clearly, this woman was mentally unstable, if not outright insane.

“Don’t you ma’am me!” Ginny shouted, and Harry was suddenly very glad that she had dropped her stick when she fainted. He didn’t even want to think about what she might be capable of doing to him with it.

“Look, can we just talk about this rationally for a minute?”

“Fine,” Ginny snapped, furiously wiping her tears and folding her arms in front of her. Her face was still flushed, and her eyes seemed to bore into him as she waited for him to speak.

“There must be some mistake,” said Harry. “I’m not married. I’ve never been married. Your daughter-”

“Our daughter,” Ginny interrupted.

“Your daughter told me that her father died the day after you were married.”

“That’s because that was what we all thought,” Ginny insisted. “There was the battle- and then Snape- and you disappeared. You don’t remember any of it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, Mrs...?”

“Potter,” Ginny ground out from between clenched teeth.

“Fine. Mrs. Potter, what makes you think I’m your husband? You haven’t seen him for what, fourteen years?”

“Fifteen,” Ginny corrected through clenched teeth. “And I don’t think you’re my husband, Harry; I know you are. I can tell you how you got that scar on your forehead. I remember when you got that little line of scars on the back of your right hand that spells out ‘I must not tell lies.’ I know how you got that scar on the inside of your right elbow.”

Harry tried not to let his shock show on his face. The scar on his forehead was noticeable enough, but the scars on the back of his hand were barely visible anymore; the fact that she even knew of their existence was nothing short of disturbing. She had made a mistake mentioning the scar on the inside of his elbow, however.

“I’m not sure what you’re playing at,” Harry said harshly, “but you’ve managed to slip up in your game. I don’t have a scar on the inside of my elbow.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you? Why don’t you check? I’m willing to wait.”

“I don’t have to-” Harry began angrily.

“What’s the matter?” she interrupted. “Afraid that I’m right? Afraid your wife knows your body better than you do, even if she hasn’t seen you in almost fifteen years?”

“This is ridiculous,” Harry muttered as he unbuttoned the cuff of his right sleeve and began rolling it up. “See? There’s no-” He stopped abruptly as he rolled the sleeve up a little further, uncovering a small scar on the inside of his elbow. It was less than an inch long, and so faint that he would never had noticed it if he hadn’t specifically been looking for it.

“You see, Harry?” Ginny asked quietly. “I know this must be difficult to accept if you don’t remember me, but I do remember you. I’m telling you the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry gasped, as his heart began pounding heavily in his ears. “I have to go. I’m not your husband, Mrs. Potter - or whatever your name really is. I don’t know what kind of game this is, but I don’t appreciate being played around with like this.” He scrambled to his feet, allowing the twins’ wands to clatter to the floor, and bolted from the house with the sound of Ginny sobbing and calling his name ringing in his ears.

---

“It was him, Mum,” Ginny told her mother quietly the next morning at breakfast.

Molly Weasley laid a comforting hand on her grown daughter’s shoulder and spoke as gently as possible. “I know you want Harry back, dear - we all do. But the dead simply don’t come back to life.”

“He’s - not - dead,” Ginny ground out through clenched teeth. “He was in this house last night. Brian and Lily met him, only they didn’t know who he was, of course. But even he didn’t know who he was. I mean, he knew his name, but he had no idea who I was, and he acted like I was mad when I tried to tell him.”

“Well, dear, even if it was Harry, you must understand how difficult it would be for him to accept the idea of being the father of fourteen-year-old twins.”

Ginny grabbed her mother by the chin and forced her head around until they were looking one another in the eye. Then she spoke very softly and very clearly. “Listen closely, mother, because I’m not going to tell you this again. Harry Potter was in this house last night. I let him get away, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find him again. My husband is alive, and I don’t care if it takes the rest of my worthless life, I WILL make my family whole again.”

She stood and opened the back door. “I’m going to see Hermione. I’ll be back later,” she called over her shoulder as an afterthought. Then she stepped out into the garden and Disapparated.

“Did I just hear Mum down here?” Brian asked as he entered the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“She just left to go see your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione,” his grandmother answered.

“What was she on about last night?” Lily asked as she sat down across from her brother. “That bloke that claimed he was from the Minister’s office was here, and she sent us to bed. But a few minutes later, I heard her screaming Dad’s name like her life depended on it. She hasn’t done that for a long time.”

“Lily, dear,” her grandmother said hesitantly, “your mother’s a bit confused at the moment. You see, she insists that the man who brought you home last night was your father.”

Lily dropped her fork. “Was it really Daddy?” she whispered, suddenly sounding very much like a little girl.

“Don’t be stupid, Lily,” Brian answered. “You know Mum; she gets crazy sometimes when she’s missing Dad.”

“But if she really thinks it was him-”

“Dad’s dead, Lily!” Brian snapped.

“Brian Potter!” Molly shouted. “You apologize to your sister this instant.”

“Sorry,” Brian mumbled insincerely.

Lily just glared at him with tear-filled eyes. “Why are you so quick to write him off?” she whispered. “Haven’t you ever wanted a father?”

“Quick to write him off?” he answered disbelievingly. “Open your eyes, Lily; he hasn’t been seen since before we were born. And if I had to choose between a dead father who would have loved us, and one who’s alive but abandoned us for fifteen years, I’d rather he was dead.”

Lily shot up out of her seat and slapped her brother across the face. When she spoke, her voice shook with suppressed rage. “Never let me catch you saying that about Dad again.”

“That’s quite enough from both of you,” Molly snapped. “Now I don’t want to hear another word about any of this, especially in front of your mother. I never should have mentioned it to you in the first place.”

“I’m glad you did, Gran,” Lily whispered as she sank back into her chair and began pushing the food around her plate.

Brian just rolled his eyes as he gingerly fingered the growing welt on his cheek.

* * * * *
Immediately after appearing in the village of Hogsmeade, Ginny rushed to the home of her brother and sister-in-law and began pounding on the door. Thankfully, it was a Sunday, so they were both likely to be home.

Ginny’s older brother, Ron, answered the door in his dressing gown, his three-year-old son, Tom, in his arms. Every time she heard Tom’s name, Ginny had to stifle a giggle as she remembered how Ron had argued against the name, insisting that he would never name his child after Voldemort. Hermione had insisted that she liked the name anyway, however, and as usual, she got her way.

“What’s up, Gin?” Ron asked in a sleepy voice.

“I have news,” Ginny said. “Is Hermione home?”

“Course she is; you know how she likes to sleep in on Sundays. Step inside and I’ll go wake her for you.”

Ginny followed her brother into his cozy living room and sat down to wait for Hermione. After only a few minutes, Ron and Hermione returned, both still clad in dressing gowns.

“How are you, Ginny?” Hermione asked as she sat next to her husband on the sofa.

“I’m not really sure,” Ginny replied. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go on...” Hermione prompted.

“I saw Harry last night,” Ginny said quickly. Tears began leaking from her eyes and she swiped at them furiously. “He came to the Burrow, but he didn’t even know who I was. He told me-” she drew a shuddering breath, “-he told me he was never married and that I’m not his wife.” She broke down in sobs.

Hermione moved to kneel in front of Ginny’s chair. “It’s all right, Ginny,” she soothed. “You know Harry would never really say those things. It was only a nightmare.”

“No!” Ginny shouted, jerking away. “It was not a nightmare. It was real. I fainted when I saw him, and he was still there when I woke up. He found the twins making trouble in the village and brought them home, but he insisted that he wasn’t my husband.”

Ron and Hermione shared a worried glance. “Are you sure it wasn’t just somebody who looks a lot like Harry?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Of course I’m sure!” Ginny shouted. Calming her voice somewhat, she added, “He had Harry’s eyes, Hermione. And he had the scars. Not just the lightning bolt, but the ones on his hand that spell out ‘I must not tell lies’. He understood the twins when they were speaking Parseltongue, for Merlin’s sake; they came running into the house terrified that they’d been followed home by a Dark wizard!”

Ron got to his feet. “You know what, Ginny? I’ve had about enough of this. Every few years you show up at our house trying to convince us that you’ve seen Harry somewhere. You tell your kids that their father’s dead, but you’ve never really accepted it yourself. He’s dead, Ginny. Either Snape killed him that night or he fell through the veil after Voldemort.” Tears were now streaming down Ron’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Harry was my best friend, Ginny, and I miss him every day, but he’s gone. He’s not coming back. Not ever.”

Ginny slowly got to her feet and stood toe-to-toe with her brother. She glared at him for a moment and then, with no warning whatsoever, punched him squarely in the jaw, sending him stumbling back a step. “If I ever hear you say that my husband is dead again, you’ll be getting a lot worse than a fist to the jaw,” she hissed in an icy cold voice. Then she turned and stormed from the room with Hermione running after her.

“Ginny!” Hermione called. “Ginny, wait!”

Ginny spun around, drawing her wand and leveling it at her friend’s face in one fluid motion. “I haven’t used the Bat-Bogey Hex in a long time, Hermione, but right now I am sorely tempted.”

“I believe you, Ginny,” Hermione said softly.

“What?” She lowered her wand a fraction of an inch.

“I said I believe you. Ron was out of line and he knows it.” She took a deep breath. “If you say it was Harry, that’s good enough for me. It was Harry.”

“You really believe me?” Ginny asked weakly as she lowered her wand completely.

Hermione only nodded and rushed forward to wrap her arms around her sister-in-law. “Now we just have to figure out what happened to him,” she whispered.

Ginny nodded and pulled out of the embrace. “What do you think could have happened to him?” she asked. “Where has he been all this time? Why can’t he remember me?”

Hermione’s eyes suddenly lit up with realization. “I think I just figured it out,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I never thought of this before, but- Snape didn’t turn Harry into a Portkey, Ginny - that would’ve been impossible. He turned Harry’s robe into a Portkey! It all makes sense, don’t you see? As soon as the Portkey was created, it was activated because Harry was already touching it and it wasn’t on a timer. That means that the first spell Snape hit him with must have been a Memory Charm that made him forget all of us. He must’ve been trying to get around the Unbreakable Vow by sending Harry off somewhere where he’d get killed, but Harry managed to get away somehow.”

“We should go look for him,” Ginny exclaimed, tugging on Hermione’s arm. “He’s probably staying somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Hermione shook her head firmly. “He needs to figure some of this out for himself, Ginny. You know what he’s like; if you try to force him, he’ll just resist that much more. The best thing to do is just make sure you’re there waiting when he comes back.”

“When he comes back?” Ginny asked dubiously.

Hermione placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ginny, you and I both know that Harry can’t resist a good mystery, especially when it involves his past. Remember the lengths he used to go to, to try and find out about his parents?” Ginny nodded. “This is the same sort of thing. In fact, I can almost guarantee you that Harry was up all night brooding and replaying your conversation over and over in his mind. Today he’ll start trying to verify your story, looking for evidence other than just your word.”

“You really think so?” Ginny asked, her voice full of hope.

“I’m sure of it.”

* * * * *
Harry Potter spent all night pacing the floor of his motel room in Ottery St. Catchpole, stewing over his encounter with the family of redheads. The woman - Ginny, she had called herself - had definitely known some things about him that she shouldn’t have. Her knowledge of the scar on the inside of his elbow bothered him the most. Not only did no one ever see it because he always wore long sleeves to hide his wand, he had never even noticed it. On the other hand, Harry wasn’t one to minutely search his body for old scars, and someone had seen the wand despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. Everett Martin, the man who had ‘hand-picked’ him for this particular assignment, had known about the wand, which meant he might know about the scar as well. Perhaps this was some sort of test that had been arranged by his employer. Yes, that had to be it.

With that thought on his brain, he was able to calm down enough to formulate a plan. Ginny claimed to be his wife. If that were the case, then he would have had a wedding band, which he knew he did not. Just to be sure, though, he decided to pay a visit to the old farmer who had plucked him from a wheat field so many years ago. It was only right for him to at least go and thank the old man anyway, regardless of whether or not he got any information out of the visit. After that, he could start searching for marriage records from fifteen years prior. If he really was married to that woman, then the record would probably be with one of the local churches.

As that thought crossed his mind, realization slapped him hard in the face: a part of him believed Ginny’s story. Part of him probably even wanted it to be true. He would be a father, a husband - part of a family for the first time in his life.

Just as quickly, however, reality set in. He didn’t know anything about that woman or her children. He didn’t even know for sure that they were really hers. They could have all been hired by the P.M.’s office to test his sanity. Or they could be exactly who they claimed to be. As the sun rose on Sunday morning, Harry discovered that he still wasn’t a bit sleepy. He settled his account at the front desk, grabbed a quick breakfast, and sped away from Ottery St. Catchpole in the direction of the home of an old wheat farmer.

By the time he arrived, it was evening, and his lack of sleep the previous night was beginning to catch up with him. Tiredly wiping his eyes, he strode to the door of the little cottage and rapped smartly on it with his fist. He heard shuffling feet on the other side, and after a moment, the door opened a crack.

“Who’s there?” asked an old man’s voice.

“My name’s Harry Potter,” Harry replied. “Are you Marcus Williams?”

“Aye,” answered the old man.

“I believe you pulled me out of your wheat field about fifteen years ago,” Harry said.

Recognition dawned in the old man’s eyes, and he threw the door open wide, exclaiming, “Come in, my boy, come in!” He turned and shouted down the hallway, “Janet, the lightning boy’s come to pay us a visit.”

Harry chuckled at the nickname and followed Mr. Williams into a small sitting room. They were soon joined by a short, white-haired old lady who Harry assumed to be Mr. Williams’ wife, Janet.

“It’s so good to see you up and about,” gushed Mrs. Williams. “We still talk about the day we found you from time to time, don’t we Marcus?” Mr. Williams nodded in agreement.

“I really want to thank you for rescuing me that day,” Harry said, suddenly feeling very ungrateful for not having come by to thank them years ago. “You saved my life.”

Mr. Williams shrugged it off. “Anyone would’ve done the same,” he said. “So, what have you been up to, lad?”

“I’m working for the Prime Minister’s office,” Harry said proudly. “I was just hired a few days ago.”

Mr. Williams let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that,” he muttered.

“And did you ever find your wife?” Mrs. Williams asked suddenly.

“What?” Harry asked, startled.

“Well, you were wearing a wedding band when we took you to the hospital,” she replied. “I remember lying awake at night on several occasions, just hoping she’d be able to find you. That would be an awful situation to be in, wouldn’t it? Just not knowing....”

Harry nodded mutely. He hadn’t even needed to ask about the ring; Mrs. Williams had just known.

“Did you find her?” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to her. After shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he said, “I never knew I was married until this week. My ring must have disappeared at some point while I was recovering.

Mrs. Williams gasped. “That’s right! That was when they were having problems with that thief in the hospital, don’t you remember, Marcus?” Her husband just looked at her blankly, and she let out an exasperated sigh. “My sister had a heart attack at a dinner party in town a few weeks after Marcus found you,” she explained to Harry. “When they rushed her to the hospital, she was wearing a beautiful emerald necklace and a diamond ring, but when she woke up the next morning, both were missing. They caught the thief eventually - it was one of the night janitors, if I remember right - but none of the jewelry was ever recovered. That’s probably what happened to your ring.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Probably,” he muttered.

He spent another half hour chatting amicably with Mr. and Mrs. Williams before pleading exhaustion and departing for the nearest town, where he collapsed on a bed in a cheap motel.

---

Harry began his Monday with a visit to the local library in search of old newspaper articles. It seemed a little too convenient that Mrs. Williams had been so quick to recall both his wedding ring and the circumstances that could have led to its loss, and he reasoned that she could have easily been coached by someone who was trying to test his sanity. After spending all morning bent over a microfilm reader, he finally found some hard evidence. According to the newspaper article he’d found - which was dated only three months after Mr. Williams had discovered a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter in his wheat field - various items of jewelry had been disappearing from hospital rooms for over a year before the culprit was caught. Satisfied that the story about the thief, at least, was true, Harry turned to the rest of the puzzle.

Assuming he actually had been married, there would have to have been a marriage record filed with the government. If the marriage was performed in a church, then that particular church should also have a record. He drove to a local government office, where he requested a copy of his marriage record. He was able to give an approximate date, since Lily had claimed that her parents were married the day before her father ‘died,’ but without knowing the county where the marriage was performed, it was impossible to conduct a search. Acting on his best guess, Harry told the girl behind the counter to check Devon.

The computer hummed happily for a moment before she looked up, smiling brightly, and said, “Here we are. Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley, August 28, 1999. Would you like a printed copy?”

Harry felt his heart stop beating, and all he could do was nod in response to the girl’s question. It was true. Ginny had been telling the truth. Just as that thought entered his brain, however, another possibility presented itself. If this was a test set up by the Prime Minister’s office, it would have been ridiculously easy for them to plant a false marriage record in the government’s computer database. With this thought on his mind, he took the printout and returned to his car.

“A church record would be harder to falsify,” he muttered to himself as he started up the engine. Determined to find the truth once and for all, Harry pulled out into traffic and began driving back toward Ottery St. Catchpole.

When he arrived late that night, the little stone church that had been listed on the civil marriage record was locked up tight. Resigning himself to the reality that he would have to wait until morning, he checked into a roadside inn and tried valiantly to get some sleep.

* * * * *
By the time Harry was able to visit the church, it was already noon on Tuesday. He was escorted into a small record-keeping room by a pudgy clerk who seemed to take this intrusion upon his usual routine as a personal insult. The clerk pointed to the books of marriage records, which were organized by year, and instructed Harry to put everything back exactly as he found it. Then he left to carry out his normal duties.

Left alone in the musty record-keeping room, Harry immediately reached for a thick loose-leaf binder labeled 1999. He flipped it open and began searching through the yellow carbon copies for the correct date. As he found the page, he felt his pulse slow once again. There it was, the same information he had found in the civil record, but this time hand-written. He stared at his own signature, trying to decide whether it was good or bad that it looked almost exactly like his signature did now. He didn’t know. It was quite possible that he had subconsciously begun signing his name just as he had before losing his memory. The problem was that it was equally possible that whoever was testing him had planted this particular carbon copy, and that the signature he was staring at was the work of a skilled forger.

Harry grunted in frustration as he placed the binder back on the shelf and sank into a straight-backed wooden chair.

“Is there any way to really know?” he asked himself aloud. At this point, he was left with only two options. He could send a report to Mr. Martin back at headquarters and hope for the best, or he could go back to Ginny’s house and demand proof that her story was true. It took less than a minute to make up his mind.

Twenty minutes later, Harry parked his car in the drive of Ginny’s parents’ house which, according to a large sign in the yard, was called the Burrow. After taking a deep breath and automatically touching his wand for luck, he got out of his car and walked to the door. It took him a full thirty seconds to calm his nerves enough to be able to knock.

The door was opened almost immediately by Lily, who gasped when she saw him. She invited him in, and when he removed his hat, her eyes flicked to the scar on his forehead and she gasped again.

“Is your mother home?” Harry asked.

Lilly nodded mutely before backing into the kitchen while keeping her eyes glued to his face. She returned a moment later, followed by her mother and brother.

“Children, would you leave us alone for a few minutes?” Ginny asked in a tense voice.

The twins headed out the front door, Brian purposely bumping Harry with his shoulder as he passed.

“What brings you back to the Burrow?” Ginny asked carefully.

“I- Er- I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have run off the other night without giving you a chance to explain. I’m just a little jumpy sometimes, since I know absolutely nothing about the first nineteen years of my life.”

Ginny nodded. “Would you like to sit down?” she offered. Harry thanked her and sat in a comfortable, though threadbare, armchair.

“I should apologize too, Harry,” Ginny said as she sat across from him on the sofa. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you the way I did. I just- It’s been so long, and I was so shocked to see you, and I- I sort of lost it.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Yeah, I noticed. Look, could you do me a favor?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Ever since I ran out the other night, I’ve been trying to figure out if what you told me is true. I’ve checked marriage records, and I even went and talked with the old couple who found me and took me to the hospital all those years ago. Everything I’ve found says that I married one Ginevra Molly Weasley on 28 August 1999, but I’ve also found a way to explain away each bit of evidence. Today, I finally realized that the only way I’ll ever know for sure is to see what kind of proof you can give me.”

“What do you have in mind?” Ginny asked.

“Could you show me our wedding pictures?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Ginny broke into a broad grin. “Now that is something I can do.” She pulled a polished wooden wand - similar to Harry’s but much shorter - from her shirt pocket and pointed it at a photo album on a top shelf.

“Accio,” she whispered, and the album flew off of the shelf and into her waiting hand.

Harry was out of his chair and backing toward the door in a flash. “What was that?” he asked in a low voice.

Ginny suddenly paled. “Sweet Merlin, I forgot you didn’t know. I’m not exactly sure how to say this, but- well, I guess you already saw, didn’t you? I’m a witch, Harry.”

Harry laughed. “A witch? Like you fly around on a broomstick and boil all sorts of rubbish in cauldrons?”

Ginny sighed and closed her eyes. “Take a look out the window.”

Harry turned around and stared out the front window in shock as he saw Brian and Lily chasing each other around the front yard on flying broomsticks. “What’s going on here?” he finally choked out.

“Harry, please come sit down,” Ginny pleaded. “It’s just magic; it doesn’t hurt anybody in and of itself. It’s only evil when evil people put it to evil purposes. Besides, it’s not as if you can’t do it too.”

Harry unconsciously touched the wand that he wore strapped to his left forearm. He had always known he was able to do strange things with it, but... magic? Was that what it was when he relied on his wand to deflect bullets or cause fugitives to trip and fall as they tried to flee? What else could it be? Hesitantly, he stretched out his arm toward the photo album, which Ginny still held, and concentrated on making it fly to his hand.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Ginny asked. The album flew out of her hands.

“Magic,” Harry whispered in amazement as he caught it.

“How did you...?” she asked in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be able to do that without a wand.”

Harry walked over to the sofa and sat down next to her. After handing the photo album back to her, he began rolling up his left sleeve to reveal his hidden wand. “I’ve never told anyone I keep it there,” he said quietly. “I’m not really sure why I told you now.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny whispered. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Ginny said, “Before we look at these wedding photos, I need to warn you: Wizarding photos move.” She flipped open the cover, and Harry was stunned to see a younger version of himself, lightning bolt scar and all, waving happily up at him. As they slowly turned the pages, Ginny patiently explained who each person was. Harry was fascinated as he watched younger versions of himself and Ginny dancing around the front yard of the Burrow and kissing in the starlight. When they finished, he looked up sadly at her.

“I wish I could remember,” he whispered as he felt tears sting his eyes. “I can tell just by looking at the pictures that I was so in love with you back then, but now... there’s nothing. I’ve actually spent a lot of my time the last couple of days hoping you were telling me the truth.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve always wanted a family, and now that I have one I’m a complete stranger to them.”

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the front door slamming open. A tall man with flaming red hair came storming in, shouting, “This has gone far enough, Ginny! For the last time, Harry is-” his eyes fell on Harry, and he froze mid-sentence.

“Yes, Ron?” Ginny prompted with a smirk. “Harry is... what, exactly?”

“Right here,” Ron said in a dazed voice. “Harry’s right here. He’s back.”

“He can also hear and understand every word you’re saying,” Harry added, causing Ginny to giggle. He stood and offered his hand to Ron. “I’d introduce myself, but I think you already know who I am.”

Ron shook his hand but didn’t respond, so Ginny said, “This is my brother, Ron. He was your best mate at school.”

“You don’t remember me?” Ron asked in a bewildered voice.

“I don’t remember anybody,” Harry answered with a shake of his head.

“Oh,” said Ron, sounding rather put-out. “Hey, what happened to your glasses?”

“What? Oh, right,” Harry said. “It’s been so long since I needed glasses that sometimes I almost forget I used to wear them. I had laser surgery about three years ago.”

Ron opened his mouth to ask what exactly laser surgery was, but he never got the chance because his parents walked through the front door at that very moment. Mrs. Weasley took one look at Harry, screamed, and stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth in surprise. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley had the presence of mind to catch her, and he had her righted in no time. The room broke out in chaotic chatter as everyone began trying to either ask or explain what was going on. However, when Brian and Lily appeared in the doorway, everyone fell silent.

“Brian, Lily,” Ginny said in a tremulous voice, “I want you to meet Harry Potter - your father.”

Tears immediately began flowing down Lily’s cheeks, but Brian remained stoic. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he spoke. “My father is dead,” he said shakily. “And if he’s not, he should be.” He immediately staggered backwards under the force of his sister’s punch to the nose.

“I warned you,” she spat, punching him again even as blood gushed from his broken nose.

Ginny ran to separate her children, shoving them roughly apart. “Lily, I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s no excuse for hitting your brother. Up to your room. Now.

“And as for you,” she growled at her son from behind clenched teeth, “if I ever hear anything like that out of you again, you’ll wish I’d left your punishment to your sister.” As an afterthought, she pointed her wand at his nose and whispered, “Episkey,” instantly repairing the damage. “Now get up to your room, and I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.”

“But it’s barely two o’clock!” Brian protested.

“Look me in the eye, Brian,” Ginny ordered. He reluctantly complied. “Do I look like I care?”

“No, ma’am,” he said dejectedly as he trudged toward the stairs.

“Well, that certainly was awkward,” Harry said, running his hand nervously through his hair as soon as Brian had closed the door to his bedroom.

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” said Molly. “He’s just at a difficult age right now.”

“He’s not the only one,” Harry muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ron.

“It means that I didn’t behave much better when I was here the other day.” Thankfully, he was saved from having to elaborate further when a woman’s excited voice called out from the kitchen.

“Ginny! Ginny, are you home?”

“In here, Hermione,” Ginny called.

“Ginny, you’ll never believe what I was able to get from work,” Hermione continued as she crossed the kitchen. “I think it’s just what we need for when Harry-” She stopped abruptly, having entered the living room and spotted the very person she was talking about. The fact that her bushy hair was brown, rather than red, led Harry to assume that she must be a family friend, or possibly an in-law. “Harry?” she breathed a moment later. “Is it really you?”

“Everyone seems to think so,” Harry said with a shrug. “And you are...?”

“Hermione,” she answered quickly. “Hermione Weasley. Of course, you would have known me as Hermione Granger, because Ron and I didn’t get married until after you disappeared.”

“He doesn’t know you at all, Hermione,” Ron told her. “He doesn’t know any of us.”

Harry just stood there, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze. After what seemed an eternity, he finally asked the room at large, “So, what do we do now? We all seem to at least agree on who I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still have no idea who any of you lot are.”

Hermione was the first to respond. “Why don’t we all have some tea, and you can tell us what you remember?” This idea seemed acceptable to everyone, and they were soon gathered around the kitchen table, sipping on steaming mugs of tea.

Surprisingly, the first person to speak was Mrs. Weasley, and she didn’t mention Harry at all. “Ron, where are your children?”

“Fred and George are watching them at the shop,” Ron answered. “I sort of ran out when I got Brian’s owl saying that the ‘Harry Impersonator’ was back, but you know Fred and George; they won’t mind.”

“Brian,” Ginny muttered, shaking her head. She sighed. “I suppose I’ll really have to punish him this time. Lily too; she can’t just go hitting her brother like that, just because she knows he won’t hit back.”

Ron choked on his tea, causing Ginny to blush.

“You have to admit, you did deserve that,” she said.

“No more than Brian did,” Ron countered. “And at least I wasn’t looking Harry in the face when I said he was dead.”

“How come everybody thought I was dead in the first place?” Harry asked. His question was followed by nearly a full minute of silence as the others exchanged looks across the table, clearly trying to decide who should speak first.

“Harry,” Hermione began tentatively, “how much do you remember, exactly?”

“Nothing; I told you that,” Harry answered. “How come you won’t tell me why you all thought I was dead?”

“It’s complicated, Harry,” Ginny replied. “Besides, I doubt you’d even believe it.”

“Try me,” he responded dryly. “I’ve already found out that I can do magic, I’m married to a witch, and I’m the father of twin fourteen-year-olds who fly around the front yard on broomsticks. Do you really think I’m in a doubting mood?”

“He’s got a point,” said Ron.

“So? Anybody care to tell me why everyone thought I was dead?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “The short version of the story is that you were battling a Dark wizard.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing.

“Not just any Dark wizard, Hermione,” Ron interrupted. “He was the most evil wizard in a thousand years, at least.”

“That’s not the point,” she replied irritably. “The point is, Harry, that Lord Voldemort - the Dark wizard you were battling - ended up between you and a magic veil. Your plan was to push him through the veil, because that was the only way to kill him.”

“Hang on,” Harry said. “This powerful Dark wizard could only be killed by me shoving him through a veil?”

Hermione nodded. “How the veil works is still a mystery, even to those of us who spend most of our time studying it. The only thing we know for sure, really, is that anyone who passes through it dies.”

“So it’s a veil that kills people. Okaaaay. Go on.” Ginny was right; this story was already getting difficult to believe, and it had barely begun.

“The only problem was that Professor Snape-”

“Will you please drop the ‘professor,’ Hermione?” Ron interrupted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Severus Snape, who was one of Lord Voldemort’s followers, was behind you, just waiting to curse you. Why am I telling this story, anyway? I was already unconscious by this point.”

“Because you tell it better than Ginny or me,” Ron answered. “Just tell him what happened.”

Everyone turned back to Hermione. “You told Snape that you knew he couldn’t kill you outright, but he said it didn’t matter because he planned to leave you defenseless and just let you die on your own. You stalled for a moment, but then you lunged forward and pushed Voldemort through the veil. Ron couldn’t see what happened next, but Ginny said Snape hit you in the back with two spells - one that made you collapse, and one that made you glow blue for a second and then vanish.”

“I killed Snape right after that,” Ginny whispered. “I saw you disappear, and suddenly I couldn’t think of anything but revenge.”

“Afterward, nobody really believed what Ginny said about you glowing blue and disappearing,” Ron added. “We all figured Snape’s curse had made you fall through the veil after Voldemort, and Ginny’s mind had just blocked it out.”

“We searched for you anyway, of course,” Mrs. Weasley reassured him. “Unfortunately, we didn’t know where to look, and it was as if you had simply vanished off the face of the earth. The more time that went by, the more likely it seemed that Ginny had been imagining things, and you really had fallen through the veil.”

“Well...” Harry said after a moment. “That’s certainly an... interesting story. You were right, Ginny; it is a little hard to believe.”

“Why don’t you tell us your story now, Harry?” Hermione suggested. “What really happened to you that day? Where have you been for the past fifteen years?”

“I’m afraid my story isn’t nearly as exciting as yours,” Harry said, “but I guess it’s only fair. As far as I know, my life began on 30 August 1999 when a farmer found me in the middle of his wheat field. I was bruised and bloodied, apparently, but I didn’t have any serious injuries. He said I was curled up in the fetal position, bawling like a baby, and clinging for dear life to a polished stick.

“He and his wife took me to the local hospital, and the doctors decided that I was in an ‘infantile state.’ Basically, I had the mind of a newborn baby. Ever since then, I’ve been growing up all over again. I managed to pass enough exams to get into the Police Academy, and I started with the London Police Department two years ago. Just last week, I was hired by the Prime Minister’s new Anti-Terrorism Force.”

Hermione gaped at him. “Really, Harry?”

“Anti-what force?” Ron asked. Ginny and her parents looked confused as well.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “The closest thing in the Wizarding World would be the Aurors,” she answered. Although Harry had no idea what Aurors were, this explanation seemed to clarify things for everyone else.

Ron snorted. “No memory at all, and you still can’t pick a different career.”

“So that was Snape’s plan,” Ginny muttered suddenly.

“What was Snape’s plan?” Ron asked.

“He wiped out Harry’s memory to make him completely defenseless, and then sent him out into the middle of nowhere, where he’d have no possible chance of surviving.”

“But he did survive,” Hermione added, “and now he’s back.”

“And he can still hear and understand everything you’re saying about him,” Harry said, annoyed that they had begun discussing him as though he wasn’t there. “Look, not that this isn’t fascinating and everything, but it’s not like this is going to make my memory come back.”

“Of course it isn’t, Harry,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Your memory was magically Obliviated - and extremely thoroughly, I might add. There are a number of people in the Wizarding hospital, St. Mungo’s, for exactly that condition.”

“There’s no cure,” Ginny said softly, her gaze focused on her empty mug. She swallowed hard before looking up at Harry with tears shining in her eyes. “I’ve lost you all over again, haven’t I? You’re alive and you’re here, but I’ll never be your Ginny again, will I?”

Harry felt his heart break for this woman who was trying so hard to put her family back together, and he found himself wishing that he could fill the role that should have been his from the start. He shook his head sadly as he realized he couldn’t do it; it would be a sham, and he knew it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he got to his feet.

“Harry, wait,” Hermione called as he made his way to the front door.

“I won’t string her along like this,” Harry called over his shoulder as he left. He crossed the yard and climbed into his car with Hermione hot on his heels.

“Harry, will you just wait and listen to me?”

“No, you listen to me,” Harry said as he started the engine. “It kills me to see how much pain I’ve caused you all - especially Ginny - but I can’t just pretend I belong here. You all seem very nice, but we’re strangers. And everyone was better off before I showed up.” He slammed his car door and sped out of the drive and up the dirt road toward town. He had barely traveled two hundred yards when a loud crack echoed through his car.

“Harry Potter, don’t you dare run away from that family!” Hermione shouted. Harry jerked the wheel in surprise and slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with a tree at the side of the road.

“How did you do that?” he demanded. “You just appeared out of thin air in the passenger seat of my car!”

“I Apparated,” she snapped, as though that somehow explained everything, “and I’m fully prepared to curse you and drag you back there if I have to.” Her eyes flashed with anger and she had her wand aimed at his face.

“What do you want from me?” Harry asked. He was pretty sure he could wrest the wand from her grip if he had to, but he had no idea how fast her reflexes were and didn’t really want to risk being turned into a toad.

“I want you to try to remember.”

Harry growled in exasperation. “Do you think I haven’t spent the last fifteen years trying to remember? You said it yourself: my memory’s been obliterated.”

“Obliviated,” Hermione corrected.

“Whatever!” Harry shouted. “The point is, my memory’s gone and there’s no cure. End of story. Get out of my car.”

“No. And if you’d given me a chance to talk back at the house, I would have told you that Ginny was wrong - there is a chance that you can be cured.”

Harry had his mouth open to shout at her, but stopped himself at this revelation. “Go on,” he said slowly and in a slightly calmer tone.

“That’s better,” said Hermione. “The whole reason I went to the Burrow today was to tell Ginny that I’d found something that might restore your memory. You see, I work in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, and we study all sorts of things there. One of the other research groups has been working on methods of correcting previously irreversible memory loss. They recently came up with a new Memory-Restoring Potion, and it’s just been approved for use on human patients.”

“Memory-Restoring Potion?” Harry asked skeptically. “Like witches’ brew or something?”

“Something like that, yes,” Hermione replied without batting an eye. “All you have to do is drink this.” She pulled a large glass bottle of murky gray liquid from her pocket. “All of it. Then go straight to bed. When you wake up, your memory should be restored, good as new.”

“Should be?”

“Well, there’s always a chance that your memory is too far gone to be salvaged. Even if that’s the case, though, there aren’t any negative side-effects, so it’s still worth a try.”

Harry took the bottle and examined its contents. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree to immediately drink a magic potion given to me by a complete stranger,” he said at last.

“I’m not a stranger, Harry; I’m your friend,” Hermione growled. “You and Ginny deserve a second chance. Your children deserve a chance to get to know their father. You’ve been out of their lives for fifteen years, Harry. You owe it to them to try.”

“Why?” he shot back. “What makes you think I owe any of you anything? It sounded to me like you were the ones who abandoned me, not the other way around. I think you owe it to me to let me walk away and go back to the life I’ve made for myself.”

Tears were now shining in Hermione’s eyes, but she bravely blinked them back. “You’re right,” she said in a soft voice. “You didn’t abandon us, and we did give up on you when we never should have. But please don’t throw your family away because you’re angry with us. I can’t blame you for not trusting the potion, no matter how much I promise you that it’s perfectly safe. I do hope you’ll decide to take it, though.”

She spoke with such conviction that Harry couldn’t bring himself to completely disbelieve her words. After another long moment of examining the potion, he said, “I’ll think about it. Do I need to refrigerate this or anything?”

“No,” Hermione said with a relieved smile. “Just remember to drink the entire thing when you decide to do it.”

“I never said I’d drink it,” Harry said quickly.

“I know; you said you’d think about it. But I’ve known you long enough to know that it amounts to the same thing. We’ll all be here for you when you need us.” The air inside the car was rent with another loud crack, and she was gone.

---

The next morning, Harry Potter returned to London and filed a report stating that he had been unable to find anyone matching the description of the teenagers involved in the disturbing events with the Prime Minister. It hadn’t taken him long to decide not to report having met the twins; after all, claiming that they had carried out their pranks using magic would not help him on a psych evaluation. Unfortunately, the day after he submitted his report, another unexplainable event occurred in Ottery St. Catchpole.

The local branch of a major bank reported that its vault had been stuffed with rubber chickens the previous night. No money was missing, there was no evidence of any of the locks having been tampered with, and the surveillance video turned up nothing. Although there were no official suspects, Everett Martin was convinced that it had been the same redheaded teenagers who had somehow managed to dye the Prime Minister’s hair and steal the inner tubes from his automobile. Consequently, Harry Potter had no choice but to drive back out to Ottery St. Catchpole the following morning.

He spent a week holed up in the inn, afraid to go outside lest he be spotted by Ginny or a member of her family. During that time, the bottle of murky gray potion sat on top of his television, and he frequently found himself staring at it, wondering if it might really have the power to restore his memory.

By the end of the week he was growing desperate. He had to find a way to convince his superiors that there was nothing worth investigating in Ottery St. Catchpole, but there was no way to do that if the twins kept up their pranks. The only way to stop the pranks involved talking with their family, and that simply wasn’t an option. He had to file a report soon, though, or it would look like he wasn’t even trying. Of course, that was the truth, but he still didn’t want his boss to find out.

Eight days passed, and the Memory-Restoring Potion called to him louder and louder each time he paced the room. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d be out of a job. What would he do then? He wasn’t qualified for anything other than police work, but he could probably find a job as some sort of unskilled laborer. He shuddered at the thought. He had seen the way those men worked from paycheck to paycheck, never able to do more than barely make ends meet. They were the sort of men who ended up locked away in tiny rooms at old folks’ homes, never to see the light of day again. No, he couldn’t go down that road.

He looked at the potion again. Was it worth the risk? He didn’t think Hermione was the type of person who would poison him, but was he willing to stake his life on that? He left the potion where it was and continued pacing.

On his ninth night in the little inn, he got a telephone call from the P.M.’s office demanding that he make some progress within the next two days. The caller hadn’t been angry, and she certainly hadn’t threatened to sack him, but her demand set him even more on edge. As he hung up the telephone, his eyes fell on the bottle of potion. Impulsively, he picked it up, twisted off the cap, and drank the entire potion without even stopping to breathe. It tasted like sulfur, but at the moment, he didn’t care. Remembering that Hermione had emphasized that he needed to drink all of the potion, he carried the bottle to the sink and filled it with water. Then he swirled the water around to pick up any spare droplets of potion and drank the bottle’s contents a second time. The room began swirling around him, and he stumbled toward the bed, collapsing onto it just before the world went black.

When he awoke hours later, he sat up and looked blearily around the dim bedroom.

Where am I? he thought. How did I get here? The last thing he remembered was pushing Lord Voldemort though the veil in the Department of Mysteries, so how had he ended up in this shabby bedroom?

No; that isn’t right. I’ve been living in this room for over a week, and the last thing I remember is drinking that stupid memory potion.

His head began to pound. I have to find Ginny, Ron, and Hermione and make sure they’re okay.

I just saw them two weeks ago; they’re fine.

But the battle was only last night. Who knows how they’re doing now?

Suddenly realizing that he was arguing with himself over two very different memories of what had happened the previous night, the voices associated with both memories came to the same conclusion: he was losing his mind.

By now, his head hurt so badly that he couldn’t see straight. He pressed on his temples with the palms of his hands, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the throbbing pressure. Once again, both voices came to an agreement: he had to find Hermione.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry stood and staggered to the door. He leaned heavily on it before throwing it open and stumbling to his car. His headache was now so bad that he couldn’t even see well enough to fit his key into the door, much less actually drive. Allowing the other voice in his mind to take over for a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, turned on the spot, and vanished.

His vision still swam before him when he opened his eyes, but he managed to make out the distinctive shape of the Burrow and stumble toward it. He couldn’t even hear his knuckles pounding on the front door because the pounding in his head was so much louder. The door swung open and he stumbled inside, not caring who had let him in.

“Get Hermione,” he moaned as he collapsed facedown on the sofa and blacked out.

Ginny ran to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of Floo Powder, and shouted, “The Department of Mysteries!” as she thrust her head into the green flames. After an eternity of spinning around and around, she found herself staring at a blank brick wall.

“Hello?” she called. “Is anybody here?”

A tall, thin man with thick glasses walked into view. “May I help you?” he asked in a nasal voice.

“I’m looking for Unspeakable Weasley,” Ginny explained. “There’s an emergency at home, and she’s needed right away.”

“I see...” the man muttered, and he walked away. After what seemed hours, Hermione appeared.

“What’s wrong, Ginny?” she asked with no small amount of concern.

“He came back,” Ginny said. There was no need to explain who ‘he’ was. “He just showed up and started banging on the front door, and when I let him in he said to get you and then he passed out on the sofa,” she continued in one breath.

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. “The potion,” she whispered to herself. In a normal voice, she added, “I’ll be right there; don’t do anything until I arrive.”

Ginny nodded and withdrew her head from the flames. She anxiously approached Harry, who was still clutching his head despite the fact that he was unconscious. She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Hey there. Don’t scare me like that.”

Behind her the fireplace burst into green flames, and Hermione stumbled out. She immediately rushed over to Harry, rolled him onto his back, and pulled a vial of lumpy purple potion from a pocket in her robes.

“What’s that?” Ginny asked as Hermione began pouring the potion down Harry’s throat.

“Painkiller,” Hermione replied. “He’s probably got an insanely powerful headache; this should help take care of it.”

Sure enough, less than a minute after receiving the painkiller potion, Harry began to stir. Soon, his eyes fluttered open and he sat up.

“What did you do to me, Hermione?” he asked groggily.

“Nothing,” she insisted. “You took the potion, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded. “I think it made me lose my mind. I feel like there are two different people inside my head.”

Ginny gasped, and Hermione whispered, “Of course....”

“Care to enlighten us mere mortals, Hermione?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked at Ginny. “I gave Harry a new Memory-Restoring Potion that was just approved by the department a couple of weeks ago,” she said. A sharp intake of breath and a shocked facial expression told her that Ginny had understood. “Of course, I’m not technically allowed to do that, since it will probably be years before the politicians even allow St. Mungo’s to start using it, but....”

Her gaze returned to Harry as the rest of her thought remained unspoken. “Right now your brain is trying to decide which set of memories constitutes reality, and which is fantasy. It will take some time for it to get used to the idea that both sets of memories are equally genuine.”

“But why are there two voices in my head?” he asked. “You said there weren’t any side-effects.”

“Actually, I said there weren’t any negative side-effects if the potion didn’t work,” Hermione corrected him. “One of the effects of the Memory-Restoration Potion is a temporary pseudo multiple personality disorder.”

“Come again?” said Harry.

“There are currently two versions of Harry Potter in your head: one recently defeated Lord Voldemort, and the other just met me a couple of weeks ago. Is that right?”

Harry nodded.

“That means the potion worked. Now we just have to give your brain time to sort though everything. In the meantime, I’ll go fetch some more of that painkiller; I’m sure you’ll be needing it.”

Harry spent the entire day stretched out on a bed in the Weasleys’ house. Ginny made sure to keep the door to his room closed, and he was fairly certain that she and Hermione were the only ones who even knew he was there. Most of his time was spent sleeping, and when he was awake, his battling memories gave him terrible headaches. Thankfully, Hermione had brought him plenty of that purple headache potion, but it helped a little less each time he took it.

Around noon on the day after his memory returned, Harry suddenly remembered that his office was expecting a progress report by that evening. Panicked, he asked Ginny for something to write on when she brought him his lunch. She rummaged through a dresser drawer and produced a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of black ink.

Fighting the urge to give in to his headache and just close his eyes, Harry managed to scribble out an extremely short note:

Martin-

Located suspects.
Currently watching them and waiting for their next move.

H. Potter

When he had finished, he wrote a number at the top of the page and asked Ginny to have Hermione fax it the number he had written. She agreed, and he collapsed onto the bed, squeezing his eyes shut against the excruciating pain in his head.

* * * * *
Harry was awakened by someone placing a soft kiss on his lightning bolt scar. Only one person ever did that: Ginny. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her in the darkness. She returned his smile.

“Happy Birthday,” she said in a soft voice.

Harry blinked and sat up. “What? How long have I been in this bed?” He reached for his glasses, only to remember a second later that he hadn’t worn glasses for years.

“One week today,” Ginny replied. “How’s the headache?”

“It’s-” Harry stopped. “It’s gone,” he said in amazement.

Ginny’s eyes lit up. “And you still remember everything?”

Harry nodded. “Just because the headache’s gone, that doesn’t mean my memory’s any easier to figure out, though,” he said. “I mean, I remember marrying you a few days ago, but I know that was really years ago. It’s confusing.”

“But you do remember,” Ginny said with tears of relief shining in her eyes. “Do you mind if I turn on the light?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t see any reason not to.”

She turned on the light and sat down next to him on the bed. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, taking his hand. She leaned toward him, her lips slightly parted, and closed her eyes.

Harry responded, leaning toward his wife to kiss her for the first time in far too long. Just before their lips touched, however, he realized with a jolt that he really didn’t even know this woman. He dropped her hand, and pulled back suddenly.

Ginny’s eyes snapped open. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said far too quickly. She arched an eyebrow at him. “Okay, it isn’t nothing; it’s something. It’s just- you’re going to think this is stupid.”

“How about if I promise not to act like I think it’s stupid, even if I really do?” Ginny offered.

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Okay,” he said at last. He took a deep breath. “Only half of my brain remembers and accepts that I’m married. When I tried to kiss you just now, the other half was screaming at me that you’re a stranger.” He saw Ginny fighting the tears that were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes and quickly added, “Don’t worry; I’m not going to run away again. But it’s probably going to take longer than you’d like for me to get used to this.”

Ginny nodded bravely and blinked rapidly, causing her tears to vanish.

Harry reached for her hand again and held it tightly. The feeling it gave him was a paradox - comfortable and yet uncomfortable at the same time. For her sake, he didn’t let go. “It’s probably time for me to leave this bedroom,” he said at length.

“It’s going to shock everyone all over again when you turn up downstairs,” she warned. “Hermione and I are the only ones who know you’re here, and nobody else knows anything about that potion she gave you. I’m afraid Brian will probably be pretty harsh.”

Harry waved away her concern. “He’s only one immature teenager; right now, I’m two.” Ginny looked at him strangely, and he hastened to explain. “In my mind, I’m two different versions of the same person. One just turned nineteen, and thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread because he managed to defeat Lord Voldemort and lived to tell about it. The other is a cocky fifteen-year-old who’s been a police officer since he was thirteen. I don’t care how stubborn Brian can be, I can be twice as bad if I have to.”

Ginny laughed. “Then let’s hope you don’t have to.”

“Speaking of Brian, where’d you come up with that name, anyway?” Harry asked suddenly.

Ginny smiled fondly and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. For half of him, the sensation was the most comforting thing he could imagine. For the other half, it just made him want to pull his hand away. For the sake of her feelings, he kept his hand where it was.

“When I found out I was pregnant with a boy and a girl, I decided right away to name my son Harry, after you. Luckily, I had several months to change my mind. When you ‘died’ defeating Voldemort, Harry suddenly became the most popular boy’s name in the Wizarding world.” She giggled. “I even heard of a few poor baby girls that were named Harry.”

Harry winced. “Ouch.”

Ginny nodded vehemently. “I didn’t want my- our son to have the same name as everyone else, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he’d have a hard enough time living up to everyone’s expectations for Harry Potter’s son without having to deal with sharing your name as well. So I decided to name him James, after your father. Once that was settled, I decided our daughter would be named Violet, since all the women in your mum’s family were named for flowers.”

Harry smirked at her. “So what happened?”

“Lily was born first, and I knew right away that I had to name her after your mother. She already had your eyes - your mother’s eyes - and a few wisps of red hair. I knew she’d grow up to look just like your mum, and once I realized that, I couldn’t not name her Lily.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said. “What about Brian? Where did his name come from?”

“Ah,” Ginny laughed. “The moment I saw him, I knew I couldn’t name him James - it didn’t suit the way he looked at all. Besides, Lily and James Potter are supposed to be a married couple, not brother and sister.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“When I first saw Brian, he had a mop of red hair on his head, and was just staring up at me with these startlingly blue eyes. Not dark blue, like most babies’ eyes, but bright blue - just like he has now. I swear his eyes were twinkling at me, and I couldn’t help being reminded of Professor Dumbledore. Then I remembered you telling me that Dumbledore was a redhead when he was younger, and I knew I had to name Brian after him. Well, I wasn’t about to name my son Albus, and if I named him Percival, everyone would think I’d named him after Percy.”

“Couldn’t have that,” Harry interjected, causing her to grin at him.

“Dumbledore’s next middle name was Wulfric, which was definitely not an option,” Ginny continued. “So finally, I settled on Brian. It came from Dumbledore and it’s a normal enough name, but it isn’t so normal that it’s ridiculously common among fourteen-year-old wizards the way Harry is.”

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Shall we go face the rest of the family?”

“If you’re ready.”

Harry dropped her hand as they stood and headed downstairs.

“Mum,” Ginny called as they arrived in the living room, “look who I found!”

Molly Weasley stepped through the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it now, Ginny?” she asked in a tired voice. She looked up and saw Harry, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m back, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said quietly. “And I remember you now.”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t seem to need any proof. She raced toward him, sobbing, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “How many times do I have to tell you, Harry?” she asked in a choked voice. “Call me Molly.”

Harry grinned. “I’m back, Molly. And I’m not going anywhere.”

By the end of the afternoon Harry had met with Arthur, Ron, and Hermione, and they had all welcomed him home, although Hermione seemed to be the only one who really understood Harry’s predicament with the two sets of conflicting memories. As they sat around the living room filling him in on everything he had missed, something in the pocket of his trousers began to vibrate and buzz.

“That thing in your pocket’s been doing that off and on for a couple of days now,” Ginny commented.

Harry swore under his breath as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Is that a fellytone?” Arthur Weasley asked excitedly.

Harry nodded and held a finger to his lips for silence.

“Finally you answer,” came the tinny voice of Everett Martin. “Where the devil have you been, Potter? We haven’t heard one word from you since that pathetic excuse for a fax you sent last week.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been extremely busy trying to figure out exactly what’s going on out here,” Harry answered, keeping his response intentionally vague.

“And have you figured it out?” Martin demanded.

Harry hesitated. “I think so, but I can’t discuss it at the moment. I’m with the family, sir.” He hoped Martin would understand what he meant.

“With the family? With the family of those teenagers, you mean?”

“Yes sir. I’ll send you a full report first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.”

“You’d better, Potter.” Martin hung up.

“Who was that?” Hermione asked.

“Work,” Harry answered.

“What do you need to report on?” asked Ron.

Harry grimaced. “Lily and Brian.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “But what do the Muggles want to know about them for?”

“You never did tell me what they were doing that night you brought them home,” Ginny added.

Harry sighed deeply. “They’ve been pulling pranks on the Muggles in the village,” he said quietly.

“They’ve been WHAT?” Ginny shrieked, springing to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Calm down, Ginny,” he said, pulling her back down onto the sofa. “Sure, it needs to be stopped, but look at it this way: if they hadn’t been pulling pranks on the Muggles, you’d all still think I was dead.” That seemed to calm Ginny down considerably, so he added with a chuckle, “Actually, I think Fred and George would be impressed. They pranked the Muggle Prime Minister - twice in fact. That’s what got me involved.”

“What did they do?” Ginny asked, rolling her eyes.

Harry grinned. “Nothing too bad. They turned his hair purple while he was walking down the street, and later that night they Vanished the inner tubes from his car’s tires.”

“You’re right,” said Ron. “That isn’t too bad. So why are they making such a big deal about it?”

“Because they’re worried about somebody being able to get close enough to the P.M. to do that sort of thing without being detected. They think there’s a problem with their security, and Mr. Martin - the man I was just talking to - is convinced that the twins are terrorists who are toying with us to see how close they can get without getting caught. He’s expecting an assassination attempt any day now.”

“Sweet Merlin,” Ginny whispered. “What are you going to do?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately, whenever my head’s been clear. I actually tried telling them that I couldn’t find the redheaded teenagers they were looking for, but then there was that thing at the bank-”

“What thing at the bank?” Ginny interrupted.

“Er- they sort of filled the vault of a local bank with rubber chickens,” Harry said while trying not to laugh. He was much more successful than Ron, who began howling with mirth.

“You were right, Harry,” he gasped when he had gotten control of himself enough to speak. “We’ve got to tell Fred and George about that one.”

“There’s probably no need,” Ginny said while trying to hide a smile. “I’ll bet they supplied the rubber chickens. And none of you had better tell anyone that I found this funny, either.”

When the laughter had died down, Ron said, “I’ve got a question. If Lily and Brian have been using magic to prank the Muggles in the village, how come they haven’t gotten into trouble with the Ministry?”

“Because they’re fast,” Harry replied. “They pull their prank and then they disappear, and nobody can prove who did it. They’re not the only witch and wizard in the area, so the Ministry can’t be sure who’s behind it.”

“I’m impressed, Harry,” Hermione said with a small smile. “That makes good sense. Now, you were telling us what you plan to do about the anti-terrorism people looking for the twins?” she prompted.

“Right,” said Harry. “I tried just telling my superiors that I couldn’t find them, but then the rubber chickens happened and they sent me right back out here. I guess that turned out to be a good thing, because I don’t think I would have been desperate enough to drink that potion otherwise, but the point is-” He stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. “The point is, I think I’m going to have to quit my job.”

“What? But why?” Hermione demanded. It seemed that Ginny, Ron, Arthur, and Molly had all been stunned into silence.

“They only wanted me because I’m a wizard,” Harry explained. “Of course, they don’t know I’m a wizard - I didn’t even know I was a wizard at the time - but they hired me because I can do things that other people can’t do. I can see dark figures lurking in the shadows with no trouble at all; I can locate the sources of unexplained phenomena, like when we had reports of people appearing out of thin air between numbers eleven and thirteen on Grimmauld Place; and I can even follow a couple of redheaded teenagers home without losing track of them when they turn into the drive of a house equipped with Muggle-repelling charms. They expect me to find things that other people can’t, but I can’t exactly go telling them that magic is what’s preventing other people seeing them. I have to quit.

“It’s not such a big deal, really; I mean, there’s no way Ginny’s even made a dent in the combined Potter and Black family savings. I’ll just live off of that until I can find myself a proper Wizarding job.”

“But you love your job,” Ginny said quietly. “I’d hate to have you quit because of us.”

Harry shook his head slowly. “Somehow, now that I remember fighting Death Eaters for two years straight, I don’t think I want to be an Auror anymore - wizard or Muggle. And now that I remember about magic, my job just doesn’t seem all that exciting. To be honest, I just want to do something normal that will let me be close to all of you so we can get re-acquainted. Suddenly I’m sick of always being on call, and having to chase about the country whenever somebody tells me to.”

“In that case,” Ginny began hesitantly, “I do know that McGonagall is looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have you. I mean, it’s not like your skills are rusty or anything - you remember defeating Lord Voldemort like it was just last week!”

“What happened to the last teacher?” Harry asked. “I thought the jinx Voldemort put on that job would disappear when he died.”

“It did,” Ginny reassured him. “Professor Flitwick retired at the end of last term, and the Defense teacher decided to switch to Charms.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Well, I’ll need to think about it, but it could be an option.”

“It would give you a chance to get to know Lily and Brian,” Hermione said. “After all, they’re leaving for school in a month, and you won’t get to see them if you stay here.”

“What if we don’t want to get to know him?” Brian asked. Everyone turned to see him and Lily standing in the doorway.

“I’d watch what you say if I were you,” Harry said conversationally. “That is, unless you don’t mind being beaten up by a girl.”

“Harry!” Ginny hissed, but he ignored her. Brian just glared at him.

“What have I ever done to you?” Harry asked, his tone a bit sharper.

Brian laughed harshly. “What have you done? Not much; just abandon us before we were even-”

“Silencio!” Ginny’s icy cold voice cut across her son’s sentence and, even though he continued speaking, no sound escaped his throat.

Harry whirled on her. “I can handle this myself, Ginny.”

“Yeah, like a fifteen-year-old,” she shot back. “Don’t stoop to that level, Harry. Besides, I know how to deal with my- I mean our son.”

“Am I really acting like an idiot teenager again?” Harry whispered. Hermione nodded, and he swore under his breath.

Brian was staring murderously at his mother and his mouth was still moving furiously, even though he still wasn’t making a sound. She crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed his ear, twisting it downward. He shouted in protest, but again was unable to make any noise. Ginny began pulling him toward the staircase.

“I don’t know where you learned this idiocy, Brian, but it has to stop,” she hissed at her son. “Now go up to your room and stay there until you’ve learned to be civil to your father. I am extremely close to hexing you right now, so please don’t push me any further.”

Brian glared at her for a moment before storming up the stairs.

“I seem to have quite an effect on him, don’t I?” Harry observed.

“It’s not you, Harry,” Ginny said quickly.

“Actually, it is,” Lily interrupted in a quiet voice.

“Not you too,” groaned Ron.

“Lily, where are your cousins?” Hermione asked suddenly. “Weren’t you and Brian watching them?”

“They’re just out in the garden,” Lily answered. “Joshua’s reading under the apple tree, and Tom’s chasing garden gnomes.”

“You stay here, Hermione,” Ron said. “I’ll go keep an eye on them.” Hermione smiled gratefully at her husband as he headed for the back yard.

“What did you mean, it is me?” Harry asked Lily.

“Don’t answer that,” Ginny interrupted before her daughter had a chance to respond.

“Ginny! I want to know.”

“Harry, Brian’s being an emotional teenager. Period. It’s not your fault.”

“But Mum-” Lily began.

“Would you like to join your brother?” Ginny snapped.

“What’s happening to you, Mum?” Lily whispered in a hurt voice. Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her room.

Ginny sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands. “What is happening to me?” she asked no one in particular. “I haven’t always been like this, have I?”

“Of course not, dear,” Molly said while wrapping an arm around her. “But you’ve all got a lot of new feelings to sort out right now and it’s going to take some time to adjust.”

“But how long will it take?” Ginny moaned as she turned to bury her face in her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t want my children to hate their parents.”

Harry wanted to do something to help, but he was at a loss. A part of him wanted to trade places with Molly, and let Ginny lean on him for support, but deep down he knew he wasn’t ready for that. He had already put her through enough, and he was not going to cause her more pain by leading her on.

* * * * *
“Mr. Martin?” Harry Potter asked, poking his head into his superior’s office. “Do you have a minute?”

Everett Martin waved him inside. “What can I do for you, lad? Have you made any progress?”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered. “I found the teenagers responsible, and I’ve thoroughly interviewed them and their mother. I’m convinced that they’re just very creative pranksters with a little too much time on their hands.”

Martin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, but how can we be sure?” he muttered.

“I’m sure, sir.” He swallowed hard; this was not as easy as he had imagined. “I- Er- I’m not exactly sure how to say this, but....”

“Go on, lad; spit it out. I haven’t got all day.”

“You know how I don’t know anything about the first nineteen years of my life?” Harry asked.

Martin nodded.

“Well, while I was out in Ottery St. Catchpole, I found out that I’m married.”

Martin stared at him. “That is interesting.”

“Yeah, well not half as interesting as finding out that the twins who were pranking the P.M. are my children.”

“You’re sure?” Martin asked in a skeptical voice. “Has there been time for a DNA test and everything already?”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no need. That’s the other surprising bit of news: my memory came back. I remember growing up in Little Whinging with my aunt and uncle, and going off to boarding school, and getting married.... But getting my memory back hasn’t made my life very easy. I had headaches for a week straight that were so powerful that I was hardly conscious the whole time. That was when we lost contact.”

“I see,” said Martin. “I’m glad your memory’s returned, and that you’ve discovered your long-lost family, but that really doesn’t have any bearing on your employment.”

“I’m afraid it does, sir,” Harry disagreed. “It’s going to take a lot to make up for lost time with my family, and I can’t afford to commit myself to such a demanding job as this one. I wanted to explain to you in person why I’ve submitted my letter of resignation with my written report.”

“Resignation?” Martin asked in disbelief. “But surely you’ll still need a job - you’ve got a family to support now, after all.” Harry could tell by his tone that he didn’t believe for a second that Harry had really discovered his forgotten wife and children. He laughed softly.

“Actually, it turns out that my parents were quite rich and my wife has handled the inheritance admirably. If I don’t want to, I never have to work another day in my life.”

Martin sighed. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to let you go. I’ll accept your resignation as of the thirty-first of this month. In the meantime, your next assignment should be on your desk.”

“I’m not sure you understand, sir,” Harry said. “I’m resigning as of today - as of right now, in fact.”

“You can’t,” explained Martin. “You must give thirty days’ notice.”

“I must do nothing,” Harry replied coolly. “That was nowhere in the contract I signed. Besides, if I decide to disappear, I guarantee you’ll never find me even if you search all the days of your life.”

“That’s a mighty bold claim, Potter,” Martin ground out.

“Maybe, but we both know it’s true. It’s nothing personal, Mr. Martin, and I wish you and everyone else in the office the best, but this is something I have to do. Good day.” Harry stood and strode out of the large office and down onto the street. As he crossed the large lobby, he noticed two men following him. He rolled his eyes as he ducked into a deserted alleyway and Disapparated.

---

September first was, as always, a flurry of chaotic activity at the home of Molly and Arthur Weasley. Already-short tempers became even shorter as Harry, Lily, and Brian scrambled to finish packing their trunks. After a hurried breakfast, they all headed outside in preparation for the trip to London.

Harry wore a narrow-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead to hide his scar. His return to the Wizarding world had, so far, been kept extremely quiet - so quiet, in fact, that Ron was the only one of Ginny’s siblings who knew he was still alive. He had no delusions about remaining anonymous forever, of course, but he did hope to be able to arrive safely at Hogwarts before the media frenzy began. Thankfully, Headmistress McGonagall had been very understanding of that desire during their interview a few days previously. On the other hand, Harry got the impression that she would have agreed to almost anything in order to get a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Apparently, most of the Wizarding public still believed the post to be cursed, and he was the only serious applicant.

As they all lined up outside and began loading their trunks into the luggage compartment of Harry’s car (which had been magically enlarged to ensure that everything would fit with ease), Harry noticed for the first time that Ginny had her trunk packed and ready to go.

“Are you coming too, Ginny?” he asked in surprise.

She just laughed at him. “Did you really think I was going to stay home with Mum and Dad while you three went off to Hogwarts?”

“Well, I-”

“Besides, I think McGonagall might have gotten a bit upset with me if I didn’t show up,” she continued as though he hadn’t tried to answer.

Harry quirked an eyebrow as he lifted her trunk. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because she wouldn’t have anybody to teach Charms,” she answered with an innocent look on her face.

“You’re teaching Charms?” Harry asked, bewildered. “Hang on. So you were the old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

Ginny nodded, grinning.

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

She shrugged. “At first, it was because I didn’t want to influence your decision about the job. But after that, I decided that it would be fun to wait until right now and see the look of shock on your face. And I was right; it was fun.” She winked at him and slid into the front seat of the car.

Harry shook his head in amusement as he climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the drive.

When they arrived at King’s Cross Station, it was already 10:45. Harry hurriedly parked and helped Ginny, Lily, and Brian get their trunks out of the car. Then, picking up his own trunk, he followed them into the station along with Molly and Arthur.

He kept to the background after passing through the barrier into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He waved to Ron and Hermione, who were dropping off their oldest son, Joshua, for his first year at Hogwarts, but other than that, he kept to himself and didn’t interact with anyone. After saying goodbye to their grandparents, Lily and Brian hurried off to find a compartment with their friends. Eager to stay out of the spotlight, Harry quickly followed, pulling Ginny along with him. They found an empty compartment near the back of the train, and sat down.

“I don’t usually ride the train,” Ginny said after a moment. “Not many teachers do. But I thought it might be nice to ride it again with you, for old times’ sake.”

Harry smiled softly at her. “Thanks,” he said. He blew out a long breath. “This train sure does have a lot of memories, doesn’t it? If these walls could talk, eh?”

“If these walls could talk, I wouldn’t want to know what they had to say,” Ginny replied with an exaggerated shudder. “Just the thought of what could have happened in here with the shades drawn....” She left the thought unfinished.

They continued chatting comfortably for the remainder of the trip to the school. As the end of the journey drew near, they changed into their robes and impatiently waited for the train to stop. As soon as the wheels stopped turning, Ginny grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him out of the train and toward the waiting thestral-drawn carriages.

“Firs’ years over here!” called a familiar voice, and Harry glanced to his left to see Rubeus Hagrid. Other than the fact that his hair and beard now had a touch of gray, he looked exactly the same as Harry remembered him.

He and Ginny arrived, out of breath, at the first carriage a moment later. She immediately climbed in, and he followed, pulling the door shut behind him and signaling to the thestrals that it was time to go.

“Sorry about the running,” Ginny panted as she tried to get her breathing under control. “McGonagall can’t stand it when staff members are late.”

Harry grinned. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he asked. “Hey, do you know how she’s planning on introducing me at the Opening Feast?”

Ginny shook her head. “When I started teaching, she just announced my name before starting the feast, the same way Dumbledore always did when we were in school.”

“What made you decide to become a teacher, anyway?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Actually, it was sort of like what’s happening with you,” she replied. “When I was younger, I always wanted to do something dangerous and exciting, like be an Auror, or maybe work with dragons, like Charlie. But when I found out I was pregnant, I suddenly became all... maternal. I started teaching in the twins’ first year so I could be close to them, and I ended up really liking it.” She laughed. “I don’t want you thinking I’m a completely different person, though. I haven’t changed all that much, really - I still enjoy a good prank as much as anybody - but I lost that reckless desire to put myself in harm’s way, you know?”

“I do know,” Harry said softly. “The same thing’s happening to me, I think. We both saw so much danger and violence from such an early age that I think we just assumed that would be our lot in life. But with Voldemort gone and the prophecy fulfilled, suddenly making a happy life for our family became more of a priority than saving the world. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s somebody else’s turn to save the world next time.”

Ginny laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. The carriage stopped at the castle’s front steps, and they hurried into the Entrance Hall.

“Running late, Potter?”

Harry froze at the sound of that familiar drawling voice. He slowly turned to his left to see the unmistakable pallid face and white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy’s wand was in his hand, and Harry immediately sensed danger, but he couldn’t react. One part of him was yelling for him to draw his pistol (which he no longer had), another part was yelling for him to raise his left arm so as to be able to block any unfriendly spells with his concealed wand (which, in fact, he no longer wore strapped to his left forearm), and a third part of him was screaming that he needed to just draw his wand and curse Malfoy then and there before the Slytherin had a chance to attack. The conflicting reactions made his head pound, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to make it go away.

Ginny just rolled her eyes at Malfoy. “We took the train,” she said simply. Harry suddenly understood that when Malfoy had said, “Potter,” he had been referring to Ginny. He wondered if the other man even recognized him.

“Who’s your friend?” Malfoy called out as Harry and Ginny began walking toward the Great Hall.

Ginny didn’t even look back as she answered, “Come to the feast and find out.”

“What’s he doing here?” Harry whispered urgently the moment he was sure that Malfoy was out of earshot.

“He was the spy,” Ginny answered.

“No way.” The disbelief was evident in his voice, but even so, it made sense. Harry knew better than anyone that Draco Malfoy had been willing to switch sides on the night of Dumbledore’s death. But still...

“He teaches Potions,” Ginny said with a shrug, snapping him out of his thoughts. “And before you ask, yes he’s still a git, and no he’s not as bad as Snape. Anyway, Slughorn retired about five years ago, and McGonagall needed a new Potions Master and a new head for Slytherin house. Malfoy applied and got both positions.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry muttered. “I’ll bet he’s terrible to the twins, am I right?”

“No more than he is to the other Gryffindors. He hates us all equally.”

“Good evening, professors,” McGonagall greeted as Harry and Ginny arrived at the staff table and sat down between a pair of empty chairs. Harry made sure to sit next to the large chair belonging to Hagrid, as the half-giant was sure to make a scene when he realized Harry was alive, and Harry wanted to make sure that that scene would be as small and as short-lived as possible.

A minute later, Malfoy walked up to the staff table and sat down on Ginny’s other side. She immediately reached under the table and gripped Harry’s hand reassuringly. As he gave her hand a slight squeeze of thanks, Professor McGonagall leaned over and whispered to him, “Will you please take off that ridiculous hat?”

Still wanting to keep his scar hidden for as long as possible, Harry bent low over the table and pulled off his hat. He couldn’t see the hall at all now, but at least no one could see his lightning bolt scar.

“So, Potter,” Malfoy muttered quietly, noticing Harry and Ginny’s linked hands. “Who’s your new friend?” Harry’s free hand clenched into a fist.

“Why so quiet?” the blond continued in his annoying drawl. He let out a harsh laugh. “Finally accepted that your pathetic husband’s gone, have you?”

Harry slowly looked up until his eyes locked with Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s face, already pale, turned chalk-white as he recognized the man sitting on Ginny’s other side. “Maybe her husband learned a thing or two about coming back from the dead,” Harry growled.

Ginny winced slightly, and Harry mentally slapped himself for his choice of words. He hadn’t meant to imply that he had returned with the help of a Horcrux, but the words had just slipped out and there was nothing that could be done about it now.

“Professor Malfoy,” McGonagall whispered sternly from behind them. “I believe we would all be better off if you would take your usual seat at the far end of the table.”

Malfoy turned to her sharply and drawled, “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing.” As he moved to the other end of the table, Harry was satisfied to see that he glanced back once with an expression of not only hatred, but fear as well.

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall banged open, and Harry quickly looked down to hide his scar as students began filling the House tables.

“Just relax, Harry,” Ginny whispered as she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.

“Relax,” he muttered as his palms began to sweat. “Right.”

Harry was so nervous that he barely even noticed the Sorting ceremony, and he was only roused from his panicked musings when Headmistress McGonagall stood to address the gathering.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,” she began. Harry couldn’t help smiling sadly as he was reminded of Professor Dumbledore’s start-of-term speeches. “Before we begin the feast, there are a few matters of business which must be attended to. First and foremost, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has once again asked me to remind the student body that no magic is allowed in the corridors, as he did not appreciate having his hair accidentally turned blue by a stray spell last term.”

“That was the twins,” Ginny muttered while trying to suppress a smile, “and it definitely was not an accident. Turning people’s hair wild colors is their favorite pastime.”

“...may be found, for your reference, on Mr. Filch’s office door,” McGonagall continued. “We also have some new staff appointments this term. As most of you know, Professor Flitwick retired at the end of last term, leaving his positions as Charms Master and head of Ravenclaw house vacant.” A few sad groans came from the Ravenclaw table. “However, I’m sure you will all be pleased to hear that Professor Vector has been chosen as the new head of Ravenclaw, and Professor Potter has very graciously agreed to take over teaching Charms.” Ginny stood and waved, earning thunderous applause from the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, and even a smattering of polite applause from the Slytherins.

McGonagall cleared her throat, and the applause died away. “Obviously, this still leaves us with one vacant teaching position: Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Harry wondered why she seemed to be dragging this out. “And so it is my great pleasure to announce that our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be...” she paused and shot Harry a small, sympathetic smile, which he only saw out of the corner of his eye, “Professor Harry Potter.”

The room fell utterly silent as Ginny pulled Harry to his feet and he looked out at the sea of faces before him. Every eye in the room was glued to the scar on his forehead, and he felt a sudden urge to try turning his fork into a Portkey to whisk him away. After what seemed an eternity, an enormous hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around so that he was looking up into the face of his old friend, Rubeus Hagrid.

“Is it really you, Harry?” Hagrid asked in a low voice.

Harry grinned up at him and nodded. “It’s me. Good to see you again, Hagrid.” He was immediately swept into a bone-crushing hug as Hagrid began sobbing about how sorry he was for having given up the search.

“It’s okay, Hagrid,” Harry reassured him as he examined himself for cracked ribs. “What’s done is done, and I’m here now, right?”

“Righ’,” Hagrid muttered as he sank back into his chair.

Harry turned back toward the students and realized that, after the initial shocked silence, the entire Great Hall had erupted into loud conversations. His eyes drifted to the Gryffindor table, where he was immediately able to discern all of the Weasley children. Although their house-mates were talking excitedly, there were several Gryffindors - who Harry was sure were his nieces and nephews - that were simply staring blankly at him. A moment later his eyes found Lily, and she smiled broadly and waved at him. She elbowed Brian, who was sitting next to her, but he only glared spitefully at Harry.

“Can I sit down now?” he asked Ginny after a few minutes.

She just shrugged, and they both sank back into their seats, still holding hands.

By this time, Professor McGonagall was waving her arms in a most undignified manner as she tried unsuccessfully to silence the chattering students. Finally giving up, she brought her wand to her throat and muttered, “Sonorus.” In a voice which was now magically amplified, she said, very firmly, “Silence!” Conversations all across the Great Hall stopped mid-sentence, as everyone turned their attention back to the Headmistress.

“Quietus,” she whispered, and her voice returned to normal. “I wish to remind the students that Mr. Potter is your professor, and I expect you to give him the respect he is due. Now, I’m sure you are all quite hungry, so without further delay-” she turned to wink at Harry, “-tuck in!” She clapped her hands, and the tables were instantly filled with all manner of good things to eat. Harry ate very little, as his stomach was knotted up with nerves, but he managed to remain in his seat until the students were dismissed.

After the Great Hall had emptied, he was finally able to follow Ginny to the professors’ quarters. When they arrived outside a room with the name POTTER written on the door in large block letters, Ginny turned to Harry and hesitantly looked up into his face.

“I hope you don’t mind that they assumed we’d be sharing living quarters,” she said quietly. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Harry was startled for a moment, and he let it show. Just as quickly, however, he realized that McGonagall would have had no idea that he and Ginny weren’t exactly living like a normal married couple. After a few moments of internal debate, he said, “I guess it’ll be okay, as long as we have separate bedrooms.”

Ginny’s eyes showed disappointment, but only for a split second. She nodded. “I already had the house-elves set up a second bedroom, just in case.” She pushed the door open and they walked into a small but comfortable living room. Ginny quickly showed him around, and then they sat down together on the sofa.

“I’m in big trouble, Ginny,” Harry said after a moment.

“What? What do you mean?” she asked. “This isn’t about those Muggles you were working for again, is it? Because you know there’s no way they could possibly find you at Hogwarts.”

“No, it’s nothing to do with them. I don’t think I’ll be able to teach Defense like I’d planned. My reflexes are all screwed up, and I’ll end up looking like Gilderoy Lockhart if I try to do a demonstration.”

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion. “What do you mean? All of the training for the Final Battle seems like it just happened, right? So how can there be something wrong with your reflexes?”

Harry blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “When we ran into Malfoy in the entrance hall earlier, my brain was screaming that I needed to get ready to defend myself, but I just sort of froze up. One part of my mind was telling me to pull my wand on him, another part was telling me to get ready to block with the wand strapped to my forearm - which is no longer there, by the way - and a third part of my mind was telling me to pull a gun on him, even though I know I haven’t carried a gun since I quit my job with the P.M.’s office.”

“So, even though you know what’s going on, you’re having a hard time reacting to it?” Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. “I think this is just more of what Hermione told us about - the whole ‘remembering process,’ I think she called it. It’s going to take time for my memories to completely mesh together into one mind again, but I haven’t got that kind of time.” He stood and walked to a window, where he stared out over the grounds and the Forbidden Forest.

“What if I help you?” Ginny suggested, crossing the room to stand beside him. “After all, I have been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the past three years.”

“Okay,” Harry said, more because he wanted something to say than because he actually thought she could help. “What do you suggest?”

“Use the first week for introductory lectures in class,” Ginny suggested. “That way, you won’t have to do any magic in front of the students right away. In the meantime, you and I could practice dueling to help you get comfortable with everything again.”

“Hmmm....” As Harry thought about it, he had to admit that Ginny’s plan did make sense. He shuddered at the idea of being a Defense teacher who didn’t have the students practice spells in class, but it seemed like the only way to avoid making a fool of himself. Finally reasoning that the magic-less classes would only last for the first few days, he nodded. “I’d really appreciate it,” he said at last.

---

Harry was a mess for the beginning of his first day of classes. Ginny hadn’t thought to wake him before departing for the Great Hall, and he only managed to arrive at breakfast in time to grab a couple slices of toast and hurry to his classroom, shoving them in his mouth on the way.

Harry’s first class of the day was the fourth-year Gryffindors. He had spent nearly an hour the previous evening trying to decide whether it was lucky or unlucky that his own estranged children would be in the first Hogwarts class he would ever teach. He never had reached a conclusion. He swept into the classroom, brushing crumbs from the front of his robes with one hand while trying to flatten his hair with the other.

“Good morning, class,” he said stiffly as he came to the front of the room. The class fell silent. “As I’m sure you already know, I am Professor Potter, and this is Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Contrary to popular belief, I am not, nor have I ever been, dead. To my knowledge, the only deceased professor at Hogwarts is Professor Binns. Now, the curriculum for fourth-years is counter-curses, so that’s mainly what we’ll be covering, although we may end up squeezing in a few other things as well. Any questions before we get started?”

Several students raised their hands, and Harry pointed to a girl with straight brown hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. “Yes, Miss...?”

“Bingham,” she supplied.

“Thank you, Miss Bingham. It may take me a while to learn all of your names, but I promise I will do it eventually. Go ahead with your question.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly about the class, but I was wondering... are you married to the other Professor Potter?”

Harry made a mental note to be more specific about the types of questions he would allow in class. “Yes,” he answered, without offering further comment.

“So you’re really Lily and Brian’s dad, then?” asked a dark-haired girl.

“Look,” Harry said, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. “This isn’t relevant to the class, so let’s just drop this line of questions now. If you want, you can ask Lily and Brian all about me after class. Now, does anybody have a question about Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

A tall Black boy in the front row raised his hand. He looked very familiar, and Harry wondered if he knew the boy’s father. “Are you by chance related to Lee Jordan?” Harry asked.

The boy nodded. “He’s my dad.” That answered that question.

“What did you want to know, Mr. Jordan?”

“Well, I was just wondering... I mean, I heard you were fourteen when you first really dueled with You-Know-Who, and I was wondering how you managed to make it out alive.”

Harry gritted his teeth and took a slow, calming breath. Lord Voldemort had been dead since before any of these children were born, and yet they had still been taught to fear his name. After a moment, he smiled slightly as he realized that a perfect teaching opportunity had just presented itself. “Sorry, Mr. Jordan; I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

Jordan looked blankly at him. “But- You defeated him, didn’t you? So you must know who You-Know-Who is.”

Harry didn’t respond; he just stared at the boy, making him more and more uncomfortable.

Finally, Jordan said, “You know, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry finally broke eye contact. “Does anybody know who Mr. Jordan is referring to?” he asked the class. All eight students’ hands went up. “Miss Bingham?”

“He’s talking about the Dark wizard who came dangerously close to taking over Wizarding Britain in the 1970s and again in the 1990s.”

“Yes, but who was this Dark wizard?” Harry asked. “You there-” he pointed at a short, stocky boy with dirty-blond hair, “-what’s your name?”

“Peter Winter, sir.”

“Okay, Peter Winter. Do you know what this Dark wizard we’re discussing called himself?”

“Er, his followers called him the Dark Lord,” the boy answered evasively.

“Anyone else want to try? Miss Potter?”

“The wizard they’re talking about called himself Lord Voldemort,” Lily answered. Everyone but Harry, Lily, and Brian flinched at the sound of Voldemort’s name, and a couple of the students actually let out soft hissing sounds.

“Very good,” Harry said. “Now I want you all to listen carefully while I explain why I just did that. Lord Voldemort-” the class gave collective shudder, “-has been dead since before any of you were born. I watched him die personally, and I can assure you that he’s not coming back. But even if he wasn’t dead, there’s nothing to be feared from his name. As a very wise old wizard once told me, ‘Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.’” He tapped the blackboard with his wand, and the words appeared in his customary scrawl. “That’s lesson number one.”

“Who told you that, sir?” asked Winter.

“Albus Dumbledore,” Harry answered, and was pleased to see a look of reverence come over the class. Apparently Lord Voldemort was not the only one whose fame had outlasted his mortal life, and for that Harry was grateful. “He told me that when I was in my first year, and I’ve-” he stopped suddenly as he realized that it wouldn’t exactly be true to claim he had never forgotten it. After only a moment’s pause, he quickly changed what he was going to say to, “I’ve taken it to heart ever since. Do any of you really believe that I ever could have defeated Voldemort if I had been so terrified of him that I couldn’t even say his name?”

An average-looking boy with short brown hair raised a shaky hand. “But- But, I mean, that was you, wasn’t it? You were The Chosen One, weren’t you? So it’s not really the same thing as with us.”

Harry rounded on him, his eyes flashing. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said in a voice of forced calm. How was he ever going to deal with these stubborn teenagers and their idiotic ideas? Harry almost laughed out loud as the question entered his mind, and he realized that he might actually be growing up. His frustration soon returned, however, as he looked at the boy and tried to decide how to answer. “Your name is...?”

“Harper, sir,” said the boy. “Harrison Harper.”

“Well, Mr. Harper, I think you ought to believe a bit less of what’s written in the Daily Prophet, and try having a bit more common sense. I wasn’t born with any extraordinary powers. It’s true that I gained a few abilities after Lord Voldemort attacked me the first time, but that wasn’t what allowed me to finish him. The key to defeating a Dark wizard is always the same: teamwork and trust. I never could have beaten him and his Death Eaters alone, but with the help of others I was able to succeed. Fighting the Dark Arts isn’t just about learning curses and counter-curses, although that is certainly part of it. But being able to trust your allies with your life is just as important, and it’s the one thing no Dark wizard can ever do.”

“Why can’t Dark wizards trust their friends?” asked Jordan.

“Because the Dark Arts corrupt your mind and your soul. The further a wizard sinks into them, the more power-hungry he becomes, and two power-hungry people will always end up fighting for supremacy at some point.

“So, we’ve covered two essential points already: The importance of trust, and the ridiculousness of fearing a name. In fact, I think I’m going to set a new policy for this class. Anyone wishing to receive a passing grade will have to say the name ‘Lord Voldemort’ out loud in front of the class before the end of the year.”

A gasp of shock shot through the classroom as six of the eight students recoiled at the thought. Harry just rolled his eyes at them and continued talking.

“All right, now down to business. We’re supposed to be studying counter-curses this year, right? So who can tell me what a counter-curse is? Miss...?” He pointed to the dark-haired girl who had asked if he was Lily and Brian’s father.

“MacDonald,” she answered. “First name’s Olivia, if you want to know. Counter-curses are spells that counteract the effects of curses, either by blocking them or by removing them.”

Harry nodded at her. “So what counter-curse might be useful in a duel?”

Brian’s hand was the first in the air, and Harry called on him to answer. “Reducto,” Brian said.

“Useful in a duel, yes, but that’s a curse, not a counter-curse. Anyone else? Yes, Miss...?” Harry pointed to the only student who hadn’t yet asked or answered a question.

The girl swallowed hard before saying, very quietly, “Alison Davies, sir. What about the Shield Charm?”

“Good,” said Harry. “The Shield Charm is an excellent example of a counter-curse. It blocks the curse before it ever has a chance to act. Mr. Harper, what’s another?”

“Er- I don’t know, sir,” Harper said, looking down at his clasped hands.

“Anyone?” Harry asked. Nobody raised their hand. “You’re going to feel really foolish for forgetting this one: Finite or Finite Incantatem.” The class groaned, and a couple of them even slapped themselves on the forehead.

“That’s sort of stupid, though, isn’t it?” called out Brian.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because Finite and Finite Incantatem only work for removing simple jinxes and hexes. We’re supposed to be learning how to defend ourselves against Dark wizards, and they’re not going to bother with anything that basic.”

“What do you think, class?” Harry asked. “Do you agree with Mr. Potter here?” There was a general murmur of agreement. “Would it make any difference if I told you I personally saw a Death Eater use Tarantallegra on a friend of mine? Neither of us was thinking clearly enough to remove the jinx, and my friend’s insane dancing effectively removed him from the battle.

“This is an important point to make, and I’m glad it was brought up. You should never let a spell’s simplicity make you think it isn’t useful in a fight. You wouldn’t normally think a mountain troll could be defeated by a simple Levitation Charm, but my friend, Ron, knocked out a twelve-foot troll in our first year by Levitating its club and then dropping it on its owner’s head.

“Of course, no matter how many counter-curses you know, it won’t help you against really Dark magic. If somebody’s casting an Unforgivable Curse at you, no Shield Charm is going to stand a chance. Your best defense against those is a nice, solid barrier to duck behind or quick reflexes for diving out of the way. Now, who can tell me about the Unforgivable Curses?”

The rest of the class was spent in a discussion about the Unforgivables (although Harry did not demonstrate them as the fake Professor Moody had in his fourth year), and Harry assigned a seven-inch essay on the use of counter-curses. After he dismissed the class, he sank into the chair behind his desk. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and he was completely exhausted. He conjured a glass of water and drank it greedily, enjoying the way the cool water soothed his throat, which was already beginning to feel raw after talking for over an hour straight.

* * * * *
When he met Ginny in the Great Hall for dinner that evening, Harry was surprised he could even keep his eyes open. School had been exhausting as a student, but he had never imagined how much it could take out of the professors as well - and he hadn’t even had to grade any assignments yet. As he sank into his chair at the staff table, Ginny smiled at him.

“Long day?” she asked brightly.

Harry grunted in reply.

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “You’ll get used to it after a while. I was dead on my feet for the first two months of teaching, but after that I finally started getting the hang of things.”

“I just never realized how stupid teenagers can be,” Harry said with a tired laugh. “I mean, they all seem to think I’m some sort of superhero, and yet they question almost everything I tell them.”

“How was your first time teaching Lily and Brian?”

“Not bad, I guess. Lily was helpful - I got her to say ‘Lord Voldemort’ for me. And Brian at least wasn’t openly hostile, although I think he gave a wrong answer just to get on my nerves.”

“What wrong answer was it?” Ginny asked.

“He tried to tell me Reducto was a counter-curse,” Harry replied.

Ginny snorted. “Well, I certainly hope he really knows better than that, or he’ll never pass his O.W.L.” Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, and she covered her mouth with her hands.

“What is it?” Harry asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

“I sounded eerily like my mother,” Ginny whispered. “I swore I’d never make a huge deal out of O.W.L.s, and look at me. I’m going to be just as hard on them as Mum was on us.”

“No you’re not,” Harry said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “We both know you’re much easier going than your mother.” Ginny smiled gratefully at him, and they chatted about students and classes for the rest of dinner.

As they stood to leave, Ginny asked, “Ready to practice some dueling?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” said Harry. “I mean, if I don’t practice, I’ll end up looking like an idiot in front of my students. Well, like more of an idiot than I do already. And don’t you dare make any comments about that.”

Ginny just laughed and they made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. After clearing the desks out of the way, they stood facing each other in the middle of the room.

“Okay, now put your wand away,” Ginny instructed.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because you need to remember how to react when you’re threatened. Being able to duel won’t do you any good if you waste time reaching for your gun instead of your wand.” They both stowed their wands, and Ginny said, “On the count of three. One... two... three!” In an instant, her wand was in her hand and she was yelling, “Rictusempra!”

The Tickling Charm found its mark and Harry doubled over laughing, his right hand at his hip where a holster would have been a few months prior. Ginny removed the charm immediately.

“You really do need a lot of work,” she sighed dejectedly.

“You didn’t think I was serious?” Harry asked.

“Well...” Ginny paused and looked embarrassed. Finally she said, “I guess I was sort of hoping you were only pretending to need help to have an excuse to spend time with me.”

“Ginny-” Now Harry was exasperated. “Look, I know we’re married and everything, but I’m really having trouble thinking of you in that way. The part of me that knows you as you are today thinks of you as a relatively new acquaintance and friend, and the part of me that thinks of you as my wife insists that you should be an eighteen-year-old girl, not a thirty-three-year-old mother of two. It’s confusing.”

“Oh, so this is about my age now?” Ginny demanded.

“Actually... yeah, I guess it sort of is.” Harry saw the murderous expression on his wife’s face and quickly began backpedaling. “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? Just how did you mean it, then?” she growled.

“I- Er- That is- Listen.” He took a deep breath. “What I meant was that I still can’t wrap my head around who you are. Half of me refuses to really accept that we’re married, and the other half refuses to accept that you’re really the girl I married. I know it’s stupid - especially since you barely look any older than when we got married anyway - but that doesn’t mean I can just snap my fingers and change it.”

“You’re sure this isn’t about my age or my looks, then?”

“Could you possibly put your wand away while we have this conversation? You’re making me nervous.”

Ginny growled in frustration. “I knew it! You think I’m too old for you now, don’t you? You want to just escape and run off to some eighteen-year-old-”

“No! Ginny, I’m serious; put the wand away.” Still muttering under her breath, she did as he asked. “I promise this has nothing to do with your age or your looks. Trust me; your looks are not an issue.”

She smiled slightly at him. “If you still like my looks, then why not take the rest of me too?” she asked slyly.

Harry sighed. Although her tone had been playful, he knew that she was being serious. “You know that’s not how things work with me. In fact, I don’t think you would’ve wanted me in the first place if I was the type of bloke who ‘takes the rest of’ a girl - er, woman - just because I find her attractive.” He shook his head. “This conversation’s going nowhere. Let’s just practice some dueling and get to bed.”

They practiced for the next hour, although Harry spent most of that time either rolling on the ground laughing or doing a crazy tap-dance. Thankfully, Ginny was using thoroughly non-harmful spells. It wasn’t until they were almost ready to go that Harry finally managed to draw his wand quickly enough to block Ginny’s Tickling Charm. When he succeeded, he was so surprised that he completely forgot to block her next spell, and he ended up doing another tap-dance.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Ginny said at last.

Harry, who was almost too tired to speak, merely nodded and followed her back to their quarters. As they parted ways for the night, he could have sworn he heard her mutter something under her breath about middle-aged men and their desire to be with barely-of-legal-age girls.

---

After dinner on Harry’s second day teaching, he sat in his office trying to figure out why he was so exhausted when there was a hesitant knock on the door. Sighing, he called out, “Come in.” The door swung open, and a small crowd of students poured into the little room.

“Er, hello,” Harry said uncertainly. He had already had all of these students in class, and they hadn’t mentioned needing to talk to him about anything then. He vaguely wondered why they would ambush him like this.

“Hello, Professor,” said a tall girl with silvery blond hair. She was very pretty, and obviously the oldest of the group. Harry guessed that she had been elected spokesperson.

“Hello, Miss Weasley,” Harry said stiffly.

The girl sighed dramatically. “Things are going to get awfully confusing if you insist on calling us by our last names,” she commented. “I mean, I’m Miss Weasley, but so is Linda, although she’s in first year and I’m in sixth.” She nodded toward a small girl with reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Of course, there’s a pair of Mr. Weasleys as well,” the girl continued. Harry took a moment to remember her name. Angelique! That was it. Her mother, Fleur had named her.

“In case you didn’t remember from class, this is my brother, Philippe,” Angelique said, nodding toward the boy on her right who was easily distinguished by his rather unique hair: it was orange, and not because it had been dyed or charmed. “He’s in third year. Joshua, the other Mr. Weasley with the bright red hair, is in front of him; he’s a first-year like Linda. And then there’s John Lupin, who might as well be another cousin of ours.” She nodded toward the last boy, whose hair was the same shade of brown that Remus Lupin’s had been in his youth.

“Alright, I see your point,” Harry chuckled. “What can I do for you, Angelique?”

Angelique looked faintly surprised. “You remembered my name,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

Harry smiled back at her and didn’t mention the fact that he probably wouldn’t have remembered any of the others’ names if she hadn’t told him. The only reason he had remembered her name was because he had known her as a baby.

After a moment, Angelique cleared her throat. “We were wondering what’s going on, Professor. I mean, I was a year old when you disappeared, and the rest of this lot hadn’t even been thought of. Now you’re suddenly back with no warning at all? With no explanation?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I guess I hadn’t quite thought of it like that,” he said lamely. “What do you want to know?”

Angelique’s eyes widened. “That’s it?” she asked, clearly surprised. “You’re just going to tell us? You’re not going to say we’re too young and feed us all that other rubbish like our parents do?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t believe in hiding the truth unless there’s a very good reason,” he said firmly. “And I’ve never thought a person’s age was a particularly good reason.”

“In that case, we’d like to know where you’ve been all this time, and why you didn’t tell us or our parents when you came back,” Angelique requested. “And I, for one, would like to hear it from my Uncle Harry, not from Professor Potter.” Harry started slightly at hearing himself referred to as ‘Uncle Harry,’ but quickly realized that he really didn’t mind the title.

“Deal,” he said, “as long as you promise not to call me Uncle Harry in class.” The children all laughed and nodded their agreement, and he conjured chairs for all of them. There wasn’t a lot of room to move around, but they weren’t overly crowded, either.

“Would somebody be willing to go get Lily and Brian?” Harry asked before they could get too settled in. “They have a right to hear the whole story too, but things were so busy during those last weeks of summer that we never really discussed it. Well, that and Brian refused to stay in the same room with me,” he added in a slightly bitter tone.

“They knew you were back, then?” Philippe asked.

“Yeah; I’m actually surprised you didn’t know, Joshua. We were at the Burrow at the same time once, but you stayed outside in the garden.”

Joshua groaned and slapped himself across the forehead, and Philippe volunteered to go invite Lily and Brian. While they waited, Harry decided to try and get to know the others a little better.

“Alright, we’re going to be talking all about me in just a few minutes, so why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves while we wait?” he suggested. “Angelique, I remember you as a baby, so I know your parents are Bill and Fleur. Joshua, I remember from this summer that yours are Ron and Hermione, is that right?”

Joshua nodded.

“So who are your parents, Linda?” he asked kindly.

“Charlie and Katerina,” she answered timidly. “You wouldn’t know my mum, though. She didn’t meet Dad until after you disappeared.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “So Fred, George, and Percy don’t have any children, then?”

“They all do, actually,” Angelique answered, “only none of them are eleven yet.”

“Then I guess that just leaves you, John,” Harry said. “I assume Remus Lupin is your father?”

“Yes sir,” John replied in a slightly nervous voice.

“No ‘sirs’ here, John,” Harry said with a small smile. “Save that for the classroom. You know, our dads were pretty much best mates in school.”

“Yeah, I know,” John replied, smiling broadly. “Dad told me.”

“Good for him. So, who’s your mum then?” Harry had a pretty good idea based on the way things were looking before he had disappeared, but he didn’t want to assume and turn out to be wrong.

“Her real name’s Nymphadora, but don’t tell her I told you that!” John whispered. “She hates that name; goes by her maiden name, Tonks, instead.”

Harry laughed aloud. “I always thought those two would end up getting married,” he chuckled. “She was good for him. I imagine she still is.”

“They’re good for each other,” John corrected with a grin.

“I’ll bet they are,” Harry smiled.

Before he had a chance to ask any more questions, Philippe and Lily rushed into the room, grinning and breathing heavily.

“Hi, Dad,” Lily panted as Harry conjured her a chair and Philippe dropped back into the one he had vacated. It was still more than a little odd for Harry to hear her call him that, but he forced himself not to react adversely; if he ever wanted to be a part of this family, he would need to begin by acting the part.

“Good to see you, Lily,” Harry responded. “Let me guess, Brian tried to hex you for agreeing to come?”

Lily laughed. “No, he’s not that stupid. He just glared at us for a moment and then stuck his nose in a book. Philippe told me that you’re going to tell us everything about yourself; is that true?”

“I don’t know about everything,” Harry chuckled. “I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can, though. Your mum and I discussed this a couple of days ago, and we decided that I should be as truthful as possible with all of you. The main reason you probably don’t know all that much about me, other than a few stories here and there, is because my ‘death’ was always a sensitive subject - especially with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, and they were the ones who knew me best. It’s enough to give a bloke a big head, really.” That drew a laugh from everyone.

“Anyhow, we decided that since that was the main reason nobody’s told you much about me, it would be alright if I answered your questions. Plus, your parents should all be so happy that I’m not dead, they ought to give me a free pass on this one. So, what do you want to know?”

There was silence for a moment as the children all looked at each other before Angelique finally spoke up. “Lily, he’s your dad; you should get to ask the first question.”

“Er, okay,” Lily said, suddenly looking nervous. “I guess the first thing to ask is, how come you didn’t tell me and Brian much of anything during the last part of the summer holiday?”

Harry gave his head a slight shake before answering. “Well, for one thing, your mum and I hadn’t really discussed it yet. Plus, everything was just too new; I needed some time to sort a few things out myself first.”

Lily nodded in understanding. “Okay, so where have you been all this time?”

“Fair question,” said Harry. “You all know that back before I disappeared the Wizarding world was in the middle of a war, right?” There were nods all around. “Well, I was at the center of that war. You see, there was a prophecy made before I was born that basically said I would have the power to defeat Voldemort, and one of us would end up killing the other.” He noted with satisfaction that there was not one shudder or gasp at the mention of Voldemort’s name.

“Voldemort had spent most of his life trying to make himself immortal, and I spent several years undoing all of that and training to fight him,” Harry continued. “The problem was, I found out that I can’t cast the Killing Curse.”

“But everybody says you’re really powerful,” Joshua protested.

“Well I’m no slouch,” Harry said with a small smile, “but it takes more than power to successfully cast the Killing Curse. If you’re going to use Avada Kedavra, you have to enjoy killing; you have to think it’s fun. I couldn’t do that, not even to kill Voldemort. Luckily, Hermione came up with a different plan, which ended up working. We lured Voldemort to a room we used to call the Death Chamber - I have no idea if that’s the real name or not, but it’s in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. There’s an old stone archway there that’s actually a portal to the afterlife.

“Voldemort came, just like we had planned. He had a few of his Death Eaters with him, which we had also expected, and there was a long, hard battle. By the end of it, I was able to break Voldemort’s wand and push him through the archway, but as soon as I did, one of the Death Eaters hit me from behind with a powerful Memory Charm and then turned my robe into a Portkey. I disappeared, and my memory was totally gone.

“An old Muggle farmer found me in the middle of his field the next morning, bawling like a baby, since that’s basically what I was. I was raised as a ward of the Muggle government until I was able to get a job as a police officer. A couple of years later, I got a different job that led me to the Burrow.”

“If you were Obliviated, how come you remember me as a baby?” asked Angelique.

“Because your Aunt Hermione managed to get me a Memory Restoring Potion from the Department of Mysteries, even though it wasn’t supposed to be released to the public yet,” Harry answered.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were back?” asked Linda. Harry shifted uncomfortably. He had known this question would come back up, but that didn’t mean he particularly wanted to answer it.

“I did tell a few people,” he hedged. “I mean, Lily and Brian knew, and Ginny, Ron, Hermione-”

“They knew and they didn’t tell me?” Joshua yelled. “Oh, they’re getting a Howler tomorrow!”

“Relax,” Harry chuckled. “It’s my fault you didn’t know, not theirs. I was still trying to adjust to my new life - or my old life, depending on how you look at it - and I just wasn’t ready to face everyone. Plus, if the Wizarding press had found out I was there, the Burrow would’ve been swarming with reporters and nobody wanted to deal with that. I actually feel bad about it now, but at the time it seemed like the best thing to do.”

There was a short pause, and then Harry asked if they had any more questions for him. Joshua was the first to speak up. “My dad once said something about how if you could kill a Basilisk for Aunt Ginny, you’d have already come back to her if you were still alive. Was he just ranting, or did you really kill a Basilisk?”

Harry spent the rest of the evening telling them stories from his school days that their parents either didn’t know about or hadn’t told them because they had been too painful to talk about. No one left the office until curfew, and before they headed back to their common room, Harry and Lily had set up a time to get together just the two of them every week.

* * * * *
As the weeks passed, Harry became more and more accustomed to life as a Hogwarts professor. Just as Ginny had promised, she had only needed a week to help him become comfortable enough with defensive magic to begin doing demonstrations in class. They continued their nightly dueling practice, however, as Harry insisted that he needed to be in top form before he could really start teaching his older students to duel.

As they squared off one night a week before Halloween, Harry watched Ginny with a determined glint in his eye. Up until now, she had always been the one on the offensive in these little practice sessions, but he was determined to change that tonight. Tonight, he would draw his wand quickly enough to attack, rather than just barely in time to block.

“Ready, Harry?” Ginny asked in a playful tone. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you or anything.”

Harry chuckled. “As if you could. One.”

“Two,” said Ginny.

“Three!” they shouted together. They wrenched their wands from their pockets and aimed them, yelling in unison, “Rictusempra!” Neither had a chance to block, and an instant later they were both collapsed on the floor, roaring with laughter as invisible hands mercilessly tickled their ribs.

After a moment, Harry finally got control enough to point his wand at himself and gasp, “Finite.” He sat up, grinning at the sound of Ginny’s squealing laughter as she writhed on the floor in front of him. Her red hair was fanned out around her head and tears of mirth were streaming down her face, and Harry suddenly felt a swooping sensation in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He blinked once and pointed his wand at Ginny, whispering, “Finite.”

Ginny lay panting on the ground, still laughing quietly to herself. The sight of her looking so happy and yet so vulnerable at the same time caused Harry’s stomach to flip again. He felt a sudden urge to brush away her tears and kiss that mouth that had just been making the room echo with such a wonderful sound. He rose from the floor and stepped toward her, wondering if he should tell her what he had just felt.

No, he couldn’t do that; it would only get her hopes up, and he definitely wasn’t ready to really think of her as his wife. Still, the fact that he was undeniably attracted to her was definitely a good sign.

As Harry arrived at Ginny’s side, she looked up at him with laughter still dancing in her dark brown eyes. He smiled slightly and was about to offer to help her up when he heard running footsteps and a shouting voice out in the corridor.

“Mum! Hey Mum! What are yo-” Brian Potter stopped cold in the doorway, a look of shocked fury on his face. Before Harry even realized what he was doing, Brian had drawn his wand and was shouting, “Expelliarmus!”

Thankfully, Harry’s wand was still in his hand, and he was able to yell, “Protego!” in time to block the Disarming Charm.

“Brian Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” Ginny demanded from where she sat on the floor.

“What am I doing? What’s he doing?” Brian retorted. “It’s a good thing I showed up when I did. It’s not hard to see what happened: he attacked you! Merlin only knows what else he was about to do to you when I got here.”

Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her son and got to her feet. “Brian, come here,” she said in a tone that was frustrated but not unkind. “Your father and I-”

“He’s not my father,” Brian snapped.

Ginny gritted her teeth and began again. “Your father and I have been practicing dueling every evening since the start of term. Tonight, he hit me with a Tickling Charm, and I ended up rolling around on the ground before he could cancel it. Then, just when he was about to help me up, you came barging in and attacked him.”

Brian had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he muttered to his mother.

“Brian, you need to apologize to your father as well,” she said gently.

Brian’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Take me to the cemetery, then, because my father is dead.”

Ginny looked ready to slap the boy, so Harry decided that it was finally time for him to intervene. “What do you have against me, Brian?” he asked quietly.

“You won’t let my dad rest in peace,” Brian snapped.

Harry sighed and absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you really believe I’m not your father?” he asked after a moment.

Brian hesitated just long enough to let Harry know that the answer to his question was ‘No.’ Then he opened his mouth and closed it again without responding.

Harry nodded. “That’s what I thought. Look, Brian, I’ll make you a deal. We both know you’ve got a problem with me, but we also both know that you’ve got to stop being so ridiculously hostile. So I’ll tell you what. You remember this week’s Quote of the Week?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, his tone still belligerent. “CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody.”

“Good,” said Harry, “because you and I are going to play the Constant Vigilance Game.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“Just hear me out and I think you’ll like it,” Harry said as he winked at Ginny, who was listening curiously. “Here’s how we play. Whenever you see me in the corridors or the Great Hall, or out on the grounds - anywhere but in class - you try to jinx me, and I try to do the same to you. Nothing malicious, of course - just simple, harmless jinxes and hexes. But you’re the only one allowed to do it - no help from your friends, or even your sister, and don’t think I wouldn’t find out.”

Brian frowned. “Won’t I get detention for hexing a teacher in the corridors?”

“Nah,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I’ll clear it with McGonagall. So what do you say?”

Brian looked thoughtful for a moment. “Tarantallegra!” he shouted suddenly, and ran from the room as Harry began doing a ridiculous tap-dance.

“Where did that come from?” asked a shocked Ginny as she released Harry from the jinx.

Harry shrugged. “I figure it’s more productive than having him keep glaring at me and pretending I’m dead.”

“Yeah, but do you really think McGonagall will go along with it?”

“Trust me, she’ll love the idea. She was telling me just last week what a shame it is that Brian refuses to accept me the way Lily has. Did you know we’ve been getting together to play chess every Thursday afternoon?”

“Yeah, she gives me an update every Friday before class. Have you been letting her win, or are you really still that bad?” Ginny asked with a smirk.

Harry gave her a playful shove but didn’t answer. “So... back to dueling practice?”

Ginny nodded, and they both stowed their wands and prepared to count down.

* * * * *
“I’m thinking of going to Ollivander’s for a spare wand,” Harry told Ginny as he looked out over the decorated Great Hall at the Halloween feast. Live bats circled and dove through the large room, darting between Hagrid’s giant pumpkins.

Ginny frowned. “How come? Is something wrong with your wand?”

“No, but I think it might be a good idea to go back to keeping a wand strapped to my arm, you know? I was planning on teaching the N.E.W.T. students how to do it.”

“Liar,” Ginny laughed. “You just want to make it easier to defend yourself against Brian.”

“Well, the boy is pretty devious. I never get a moment’s - Protego! - rest. See what I mean?”

“And whose fault is that?” Ginny asked, blinking innocently at him.

“Okay, so it’s mine, but when I suggested this game I didn’t know that you’d given him my Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map. He’s got a ridiculous advantage, and I’m sick of having to check my hair color every five seconds. I’m looking in the mirror so often that I’m starting to remind myself of Lockhart.”

Ginny laughed. “Okay, okay, you can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I’ll even come along if you like.” She smiled at him, and Harry felt the now-familiar fluttering in his stomach.

“I think I’d like that.”

They continued their playful banter as the feast went on, although Harry had to keep his wand in his hand and one eye on Brian at all times just to avoid getting jinxed. As the feast began winding down, however, he finally got a chance for payback. Brian made the mistake of trying to leave the Great Hall by himself, meaning that Harry was free to jinx him without fear of hitting another student. He flicked his wand at his son’s retreating back and smiled smugly when Brian’s robes turned Chudley Canons orange. Ginny stifled a giggle and covered her mouth with her napkin so that her son wouldn’t see her laughing. Brian just turned around very slowly, pulled a face of exaggerated disgust at Harry, and hurried out of the Hall.

“Wow,” Ginny commented. “He didn’t even glare at you.”

“Yeah, no rude hand gestures, either,” Harry remarked. “I think I might be getting through to him.”

“I think you might,” Ginny agreed with a small smile. Harry returned her smile, but faltered as he saw a bit of sadness flicker across her expression. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but immediately closed it again as he realized what she must be thinking. She knew how well he was getting along with Lily, and now Brian seemed to be coming around too, but Harry was still keeping his distance from his wife.

Harry was quiet for the rest of the evening as he pondered this realization. After all, he had always wanted a family, but now that he had one, it turned out that things weren’t that simple. It was easier with the children, somehow, because he didn’t remember them from before and they didn’t remember him, so there weren’t really any expectations. With Ginny, however, everything was so complicated that it made his head spin if he thought about it long enough. A part of him was deeply in love with a younger version of her, while another part of him still saw her as a rather new friend. Still, he was confident that his confusion could eventually be overcome, especially since he felt himself starting to fall for her all over again. The problem was figuring out how to get closer to her without giving her false hopes.

---

“Good morning, Harry.”

The whispered words slowly penetrated Harry’s sleep-fogged mind, caressing his ear and gently bringing him back to consciousness. His eyes opened sluggishly, revealing a softly smiling face framed by flowing red hair.

“Morning,” Harry croaked, wincing internally at how bad his voice sounded as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Ginny chuckled quietly but didn’t comment, a fact for which Harry was grateful.

“Still in the mood to visit Ollivander?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied excitedly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I reckon it’s the only way I’ll have a chance against Brian before long.” Ginny laughed as she stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Serves you right for suggesting that game before you really knew what you were getting into,” she called through the door. “I mean, you’d think you were smart enough not to invite the new incarnation of Fred to prank you whenever possible.”

“I still say I’d be just fine if he didn’t have the Invisibility Cloak and the Map,” Harry shot back grumpily while pulling on a set of charcoal gray robes.

“You can open the door now,” he called a moment later, while beginning to search for his trainers. Ginny pushed the door open and laughed, shaking her head at the sight of him down on one knee, peering under his bed.

“What now?” Harry asked exasperatedly, doing his best to ignore the way her laughter made him want to shiver. “Did I grab a dirty set of robes or something?”

Ginny peered closer at his robes. “I don’t think so, no,” she said. “It’s just, you have this tendency to spend about fifteen minutes every morning storming around your room, searching for things, before you remember you’re a wizard and you can just Summon whatever it is you’re looking for.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes back.

“Well, I could say I just don’t like being lazy,” he began.

“But you’d be lying,” she finished for him.

Harry sighed. “Probably, yeah.” He picked up his wand and wordlessly Summoned the missing trainers. A few short minutes and several witty comments later, he was ready to head down to breakfast. Their playful conversation continued all the way to the Great Hall, where they only stopped long enough to grab a few slices of toast before strolling out the great oak front doors, across the grounds, and out of the large gates of the school.

They had just pushed the gates closed and were preparing to Disapparate when Ginny laid a hand on his arm.

“Harry,” she said hesitantly. After speaking so easily to him all morning, the contrast in her tone was rather drastic, and Harry watched her inquisitively as she paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Am I ready to do what?”

Ginny muttered something to herself that he wasn’t quite able to make out, although he was fairly certain he had caught the word ‘dense’ in there somewhere.

Taking a deep breath, she looked him in the eye and tried again, speaking much more slowly than she normally did. “Harry, this is going to be the first time you’ve been out in public since you came back. McGonagall’s done an amazing job of keeping the public and the press out of Hogwarts, so you haven’t had to deal with being harassed yet, but once we get to Diagon Alley....”

Harry nodded in understanding. In truth, he hadn’t given much thought to the public’s or the press’s reaction to his return, but now that Ginny had brought it up, it seemed nothing less than a miracle that he hadn’t been mobbed at some point over the last two months. He now understood Ginny’s sudden nervousness, and found himself feeling rather queasy as well. He thought carefully before speaking.

“I suppose I’ll have to face it at some point, won’t I?” he sighed. “Maybe it will better to get it over with now, while Lily and Brian aren’t around. Plus, it’s early and we’re only planning to go to Ollivanders, so hopefully we can get in and out before too many people realize we’re there.”

Ginny shook her head, smiling sadly at his wishful thinking. “Do you remember how long it takes to buy a wand, Harry? We’ll probably be there for hours. I just- I just don’t want you caught by surprise, that’s all. I know how you feel about the attention people like to give you, and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, cutting off her ramblings. “I’m glad you reminded me of what’s probably waiting for me but, seriously, what’s the worst that could happen? If we get mobbed too badly, we can just Apparate away, right?”

“I guess so,” Ginny said, still sounding somewhat doubtful. She shook herself and plastered a smile back onto her face. “Ready?”

Harry nodded, and they disappeared with simultaneous popping sounds.

They reappeared a moment later at the edge of a street that still caused a sense of awe to overtake Harry every time he looked at it. Diagon Alley was rather empty this early on a Saturday morning, but already a small handful of witches and wizards were making their way between the shops. As he glanced around, Harry could see the familiar stacks of cauldrons outside the cauldron shop, the rows of owls in the front window of Eeylops Owl Emporium, the Apothecary with its large display of revolting potion ingredients, and further down the street, the imposing structure of Gringotts Bank. Beyond, he could see Ollivanders Wand Shop, right across the street from a large store with the letters WWW emblazoned across the front. Apparently, Ginny had spotted it as well, because she swore quietly and turned to him with a worried expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said nervously. “I completely forgot Fred and George’s shop is right across the street from Ollivanders.”

“We’d better get moving then, before they have a chance to spot us,” Harry decided. They hurried down the street, being very careful to avert their faces from Ginny’s brothers’ shop, and quickly arrived at the door to Ollivanders. Harry hesitated for only a second before pushing it open and stepping inside.

The interior of the shop was dim, in sharp contrast to the bright sunlight outdoors. By the time his eyes had adjusted to the sparse lighting, he found Mr. Ollivander, looking older than ever, staring curiously at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” he said quietly. “And to you, Mrs. Potter.” He said nothing more, just watched them with his sharp eyes. Harry allowed the slightly awkward silence to stretch out for a moment before deciding that the old man was waiting for one of them to speak.

“I’ve, er, come to see about getting another wand,” Harry said hesitantly. It was strange how this frail-looking old man was able to make him feel so incredibly uncomfortable with just a look.

“Has something happened to your original wand?” Ollivander asked with a raised eyebrow. “Has it been damaged somehow? Lost?”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry answered, shaking his head. He got the eerie feeling that Ollivander somehow knew the answer before he had even asked the question, but perhaps that was only his imagination.

“Excellent,” said Ollivander, his eyes still locked with Harry’s. “That is a particularly powerful wand, you know; it would be a terrible shame if something unpleasant were to befall it, as happened to its brother.” He sighed wistfully before giving himself a slight shake and adding, “But I suppose that couldn’t be helped, could it? No, it was necessary in that case.” He was muttering to himself now, and it sounded to Harry like he was trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words. The old man’s apparent sadness over the destruction of Voldemort’s wand so many years before unnerved him, and he quickly decided that he had best get things moving along. Harry cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh, terribly sorry, lad,” said Ollivander, coming to himself. “I don’t suppose that brings back very pleasant memories for you. But tell me, if your wand is as good as ever, why do you expect another to choose you?”

Harry paused to consider the question. He had known for years - ever since he had bought his wand at the age of eleven, in fact - that wands chose who would wield them, and not the other way around, but he had never really thought much about it. What made a wand choose its master? Would the other wands somehow know he already had a perfectly good wand of his own and reject him because of it? Or might a second wand choose him after all? More importantly, why was he standing here trying to puzzle this out when Ollivander probably already knew the answer?

“Am I just wasting my time, then?” Harry asked. “If another wand won’t choose me, then I won’t bother.”

“I never said that,” Ollivander responded quickly. “I merely posed a question.”

“But does the answer to your question matter?” Harry shot back at him.

“It may,” said the old man. “If you are looking for another wand because you wish to hang it on the wall, then I doubt one will choose you. Similarly, no wand of mine will wish to replace a perfectly good wand such as the one you now carry. However, if there is some reason....” He allowed the sentence to remain unfinished as he looked steadily into Harry’s eyes.

“I plan on using both wands,” Harry replied simply. “One in my right hand, the other in my left.”

“Ah!” Ollivander’s eyebrows rose and his mouth stretched into a smile. “You seek to become a master, then. In that case, I believe I can help you.” In a flash, he swept away from the front of the shop, pulling down wand boxes seemingly at random with surprising agility.

Harry glanced at Ginny as Ollivander went about his business. She was watching the old wandmaker warily, as though she didn’t quite know whether he was trustworthy or not. Well, Harry couldn’t blame her for that; he wasn’t completely comfortable with Ollivander either.

“So?” he asked quietly as they watched the elderly man flit about his shop.

“What?” Ginny responded just as quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think this is a waste of time?”

She considered his question for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure,” she said at last. “Ollivander seems to think it isn’t, but he doesn’t know you’re just looking for an advantage in a game you’re playing with your son.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. “You make me sound so mature.”

“Hey,” she said quietly, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t know if it’s enough of a need for another wand to choose you, you know?”

Harry let out a long breath and nodded. “I know,” he murmured. They stood in silence until Ollivander returned, but it didn’t feel awkward or strained, and for that Harry was glad.

“I believe we’ll start with this one, Mr. Potter,” said Ollivander, holding out an open box. Harry reached out and picked up the highly polished wand, but he knew the moment his fingers touched it that it wasn’t right. His own wand - the one that had chosen him as a young boy - had always felt warm in his hand. This one was cold, and felt more like stone than wood. He shook his head and put it down.

“No? This one, perhaps?” Ollivander held out another wand, but snatched it away before it had even touched Harry’s fingertips. Immediately, he presented another, and Harry sighed as he realized that this was going to take even longer than it had when he was eleven.

So it went, hours passing as each wand Harry tried proved just as unsuitable as the last. Several times he found himself on the verge of just giving up and going back to Hogwarts, but Ollivander’s growing excitement with each failed attempt somehow kept him going.

It was getting on toward noon, and Harry’s attention was much more on his growling stomach than his search for a new wand when he was startled back into reality by warmth flowing into his fingertips. Looking down at the wand he now grasped, he smiled. A tiny flick of his wrist was rewarded with a shower of red and gold sparks, and he could hear Ginny’s sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he told a beaming Ollivander while reaching into his pocket for a handful of gold Galleons.

“It is always my pleasure,” Ollivander replied. “I find it very interesting that this wand should choose you, Mr. Potter, although now I think on it, it is not at all surprising.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked with more than a bit of wariness. The last time Ollivander had told him something like that, he had learned that his wand was brothers with Voldemort’s.

Ollivander smiled, as though he could read Harry’s thoughts. “Oh, nothing so extraordinary as being brother to the wand of a powerful Dark wizard,” he remarked mildly. “Simply that this wand is made from the rowan tree, which makes it especially well suited to protective and defensive magic. If you intend to use two wands at once, it would only be logical that you would use your original wand for attack, and this one for defense.”

Harry raised his eyebrows as he stole a look at Ginny, who looked suitably impressed. “I was planning on using it almost exclusively for counter-curses, so that really does seem to make sense. What kind of core does it have?”

“Dragon heartstring,” replied the wandmaker, much to Harry’s surprise - he had expected another core of phoenix feather. His surprise must have showed on his face, because Ollivander smiled as he explained, “Dragons are known for being fiercely protective of what they claim as their own. Especially their nests.”

Harry chuckled. “I think I remember that,” he said wryly. “Mr. Ollivander, what sort of-”

“Hungarian Horntail,” was the answer to his unfinished question. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I am quite sure you were destined to carry this wand.”

“Thank you,” said Harry as he handed over the payment.

“Well,” said Ollivander, “I suppose I ought to unlock my door now so you two can be on your way and I can sort out this mess.” He gestured at the discarded wand boxes lying in a heap on the counter and floor.

“Unlock?” Ginny asked. “Why would you-” The question died in her throat as she turned toward the front of the shop to find a large crowd of people waiting outside, those who were closest pressed up against the glass of the windows. Although no sound entered the shop, it was easy to see that they were shouting out a description of what was happing inside to the people who were too far back to see.

“Bugger,” Harry muttered. “You don’t happen to have a back door, do you?” he asked, looking hopefully at Ollivander. The old man smiled sadly and shook his head.

“There is but one entrance or exit to this shop,” he said apologetically. “There is no back door, there are no other windows... not even a Floo.”

“Then we’ll have to Apparate out,” Harry concluded.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible either,” Ollivander said quietly. “You can no more Disapparate here than you can inside Hogwarts Castle.”

Harry stared disbelievingly at him. They were trapped, and the only way out was through a mob, some of whom had to be reporters.

“Look on the bright side, Harry,” Ginny told him. “At least this is a mob that likes you, right?”

“I apologize that I was unable to send them away,” said Ollivander. “I kept them out of the shop so that you could complete your purchase in peace, but....”

Harry waved away his apology. “It’s not your fault,” he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and nodded to himself.

“Right. I guess now’s as good a time as any to try out my new wand, isn’t it?” As he spoke, Harry quickly rolled up his left sleeve and pulled from his pocket the leather holster he had made to hold his original wand against his arm. With a wave of his holly wand, the holster bound the rowan wand tightly to his left forearm.

“If I may, Mr. Potter,” said Ollivander as Harry was fixing his sleeve, “your new wand will be quite difficult to access there.”

Harry just smiled and shook his head. “It’s right where I want it,” he assured Ollivander before pocketing his holly wand and unlocking the door with a wave of his left hand. Ollivander’s eyes widened in comprehension, but he did not try to detain either of his visitors as they pulled the door open and stepped into the mob. The moment the door’s edge left its frame, their ears were assaulted with a cacophony of shouting.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!”

“-have you been?”

“Harry! Over here, Harry!”

“It’s really him! Oh, I can’t-”

“-no rumor after all!”

Harry kept his expression blank as he led Ginny slowly through the crowd, using his new rowan wand to subtly force people to move back and make a path. He ignored the shouts from well-wishers and admirers and the insinuations from a couple of the reporters, and just kept putting one foot in front of the other. They were in the middle of the street now, and almost to the far edge of the crowd. In just another moment Harry would be able to ward off the hands that grasped at his and Ginny’s cloaks and they would be free to Disapparate without fear of Splinching some poor unsuspecting soul in the process.

If she hadn’t been huddled so close to him, Harry never would have heard Ginny’s quiet gasp, but she was pressed in close to his side, and the startled sound made his eyes immediately follow her gaze. Standing directly in front of them on the far edge of the street were two men with identical faces and identical heads of flaming red hair. A gnawing sense of dread settled in his stomach.

“We’ll be free of the crowd in just a moment,” Harry whispered into Ginny’s ear. “We can Apparate away before Fred and George get to us.”

“No!” she hissed back at him. “Didn’t we agree that running away and hiding from my brothers was a bad idea? Now that they’ve seen you, they won’t stop ‘til they’ve talked to you, and you know it’ll only make it worse if you try to escape.”

Harry sighed heavily. He couldn’t argue with her logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to face the masters of mayhem when he knew they probably would like nothing better than to spend the next year pranking him nonstop. Nevertheless, he continued moving forward, silently using his wand to force the crowd back until he and Ginny arrived in front of the stony-faced twins.

“Hi,” Harry said lamely. They didn’t respond.

“Are you going to invite us inside, or am I going to have to hex some manners into you?” Ginny asked irritably.

“Oh ho!” Fred exclaimed. “Look at that, George; still thinks she can talk to us about manners.”

“True, true,” said George. “But she can talk to us about hexing, we know that.”

“Point,” Fred agreed, nodding.

“Well?” Harry asked with forced politeness. “Look, either invite us in or I’m Disapparating. Holding back a crowd this big without letting them know you’re doing it isn’t as easy as it looks, okay?” Ginny’s brothers looked suitably impressed.

“Be our guests,” said George, stepping aside and gesturing toward the entrance to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“Right this way,” Fred added, taking the lead. Harry and Ginny followed him, with George bringing up the rear.

“We’ll go straight back to the interroga-”

“Offices!” George cut his brother off loudly as they entered the joke shop. “We’ll go straight back to the offices.”

“Why’s the shop so empty?” Ginny asked in a concerned tone. “I thought business was going well.”

“It’s booming,” said Fred. “The shop was filled to bursting a few minutes ago, but when word got here that Harry Potter was out in the street... well, it sort of cleared out.”

“And, since we thought now would be an excellent time for a chat with our most beloved baby sister,” put in George.

“Not to mention her equally beloved husband,” Fred added.

“We put up the Closed sign and went outside ourselves to invite you in for tea,” George finished. He gestured for them to enter a large office. Harry followed Ginny inside, quickly taking in the long conference table surrounded by comfortable chairs. It was a rather plain-looking room. Considering whose shop it was in, it was positively boring.

Ginny must have noticed his expression, because she quickly explained, “This room’s for show. They use it when they have what they like to call ‘respectable guests’.”

“Potential investors, usually,” George added. He was about to pull the door shut when his brother stopped him.

“Not so fast, brother dear,” Fred said in his most serious voice. “We’ve some more guests that haven’t arrived just yet.”

George raised his eyebrows. “Have you already invited them? Because I think this might be more fun as a private party, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, but we wouldn’t want to have all the fun ourselves when there’s so much to spread around,” Fred contradicted, his eyes twinkling madly and reminding Harry of a psychotic Dumbledore. “Besides, it’s only fitting that we make this a family affair.”

As if on cue, Harry heard the fireplace out in the shop roar to life, accompanied by several cracks and pops of Apparition. He glanced nervously at Ginny, who responded with a slight shrug and a strained smile. Harry sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He knew he was about to be humiliated, but clung to the hope that Fred and George would refrain from doing anything truly cruel.

“This had better not be a joke, Fred,” came Bill’s familiar voice from the next room.

“I would ‘ate to ‘ave to hex you,” Fleur agreed.

“No joke,” Fred replied exuberantly. “And if you want to hex somebody, the perfect candidate is right through that door.” Harry silently wished he had found some way to buy a wand owl-order.

The voices outside the room grew louder as George stepped back from the door, allowing everyone to enter. First were Bill and Fleur, followed closely by Katie Bell, who was carrying a baby. Next came Charlie and a dark-haired witch who Harry assumed was his wife. They were followed by Angelina Johnson, who was carrying a small boy in one arm and dragging another boy of about nine by the ear with the other. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Harry would have laughed out loud at the sight of her children; although their skin was only a shade or two lighter than their mother’s, each boy’s head was topped with a bright red afro.

Finally, Percy entered with his wife, Penelope, each of them carrying a young boy. Fred brought up the rear, closing the door with a flourish, and announcing, “Welcome to The Society Of Those Who’ve Been Kept In The Dark And Wish To Be Enlightened.”

Harry stared at him as everyone else shuffled around, finding seats at the large conference table.

“Well?” Angelina asked irritably as she shoved her older son back into his seat.

“Well what?” Harry asked in return. “What do you mean by all this, Fred? Why’d you call so many people?”

“So many?” said Fred, feigning surprise as his eyes roved around the room. “Actually, I think we’re short by two.” Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. “That must be them now.” He pulled the door open, allowing Remus and Tonks Lupin to enter, and inviting them to find a place to sit.

“Now, Harry,” Fred began again once everyone was seated. “This is not just a bunch of people, as you seem to have assumed. All of these people have something in common, am I right?”

Ginny swore quietly, and Harry turned to her with a questioning look.

“What, Harry?” she asked wearily. “Isn’t it obvious? This is all the family we didn’t tell about you being back. Well, those that haven’t seen you at school already, anyway.”

Harry blanched. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Molly, and Arthur had told him over the summer how much their family had grown, but he had never realized just how many people they were talking about. As his gaze passed over each face and he saw the sorrow and the questions in their eyes, a deep sense of shame settled over him. Suddenly, giving himself time to adjust to his new life seemed like an extremely feeble reason for keeping his return a secret from the rest of the Weasley family.

When his eyes settled on the haggard face of Remus Lupin, Harry’s heart nearly broke. He could only imagine the amount of pain he had caused this man who had been his friend and mentor ever since he was thirteen. The tired, hurt look in the eyes of the last Marauder told him all he needed to know. Despite all the time that had gone by, Remus hadn’t changed a bit. He still expected everyone to shun him because of his lycanthropy, and that was exactly how he had interpreted Harry’s failure to contact him. Harry sighed heavily and sank deeper into his chair, realizing for the first time just how many people he had hurt by hiding himself away for the month that had elapsed between regaining his memory and leaving for Hogwarts.

“I’m-” Harry’s voice cracked, forcing him to stop and start again.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, his eyes still on Remus. The words sounded hollow, despite his sincerity. “So sorry,” he whispered. Unable to bear it any longer, he looked away, focusing his gaze on the wooden tabletop.

“Why, Ginny?” Bill asked in a quiet voice. “Why did you hide him from us? Mum and Dad knew he was back, and so did Ron and Hermione. Why didn’t you just tell the rest of the family?”

“And why did you decide to tell our kids about stuff we’ve decided they ought not to hear?” Charlie asked, a bit of an edge to his voice.

“That wasn’t Ginny, Charlie,” Harry replied without looking up. “That was me.
She didn’t know about it until after.”

“We’ll come back to that,” said Bill, cutting off Ginny’s retort. “Ginny? What about my questions?”

“I don’t know, alright?” she blurted angrily. “There was a lot going on, and Harry wasn’t ready to deal with a big crowd of people yet. He’d already run away twice since showing up, and I was afraid he might do it again, and not come back this time.”

“Come on, Ginny,” George began.

“Shut it, George!” she snapped. “Harry wasn’t ready to face one your famous Weasley Family Inquisitions, and I was terrified that he’d bolt if you tried to force him to. And don’t try to deny you would have done exactly that, because we all know you would have!”

“You still could have told us your husband wasn’t dead, Ginny,” said Percy. “If you’d explained the situation, we would have respected your wishes.”

“Instead, we had to find out from the Daily Bloody Prophet,” Fred spat venomously.

“It’s your own fault,” Ginny retorted, her eyes flashing. “I’ve no doubt that Percy would have let Harry have his space, but don’t try to tell me you would have, Fred. Or any of the rest of you, for that matter. And if I’d told Percy and not the rest of you lot, things would be even worse because you’d be screaming, ‘Favoritism.’ Plus I’d have had to sit through Percy lecturing me about how I really ought to tell all of you!”

“You tell ‘em, Aunt Ginny!” shouted Angelina’s older boy, leaping to his feet.

“Quiet, Peeves!” Angelina hissed, roughly shoving him back into his seat. “You’re not helping. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you today.”

“Enough!” Harry shouted. “Look, I know we messed up pretty big by not telling all of you the minute I got my memory back. I’m sorry. If I could go back and change things, I’d do it, but the fact is I can’t. The thing you need to understand, though, is that even after my memory came back, everything wasn’t normal for me. Half my brain was telling me I was nineteen and had just defeated Voldemort, and the other half was telling me I was a thirty-four-year-old Muggle with the mind of a fifteen-year-old.”

Blank stares and looks of complete bafflement met this pronouncement.

“Exactly,” Harry continued, relieved that the accusations had stopped. “I was really screwed up and I needed time to try and sort things out. I’m sorry I hurt some or all of you by not letting anybody tell you I was back; I was just so... out of it. And Ginny was doing everything she could to help me keep it together, and Brian couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me-”

“Harry.” The quiet, slightly hoarse voice of Remus Lupin startled him out of his ramblings. “Harry, I can’t speak for anyone else, but I, for one, forgive you. There’s no sense dwelling on what we can’t change. Welcome back.” He stood and strode over to Harry’s chair, where he pulled Harry to his feet and into a crushing embrace.

“It’s been too long,” Remus whispered.

“It has,” Harry agreed, tears of relief straining to escape his eyes.

“I’m with Remus,” Tonks said decisively as she hurried over to pull Harry into a hug of her own. “Welcome back, Harry. The rest of that rubbish doesn’t matter; what matters is that you’re back.”

That seemed to open the floodgate, as Harry and Ginny were soon surrounded by forgiving family members and pulled into more hugs than either of them could count. Near the door, Fred and George watched in silence for a moment.

“You know,” Fred remarked as he watched Charlie slapping Harry on the back, “I reckon you were right. This would have been more fun as a private party.”

“True, brother mine, true,” said George. “But I reckon your idea was better in the end. It is good to have him back, isn’t it?”

Fred cracked a smile. “That it is, George. Shall we?”

George nodded, and they hurried over to join the gigantic hugging mass. It wasn’t until several minutes later, after countless apologies, embraces, and expressions of forgiveness, that everyone slowly retook their seats.

“So,” Harry said once he could see everyone again, “now that we’re past that, would somebody like to introduce me to the rest of the family now?”

“Excellent idea,” said George, clapping his hands once with enthusiasm. “I’ll just begin, shall I? You already know my wife, Katie, of course.” Katie waved across the table with her free hand. “We’ve been married two years now. She’s holding our daughter, Tabitha Catherine Weasley - named in honor of our old head of house and your new boss.”

“McGonagall’s first name is Minerva,” Harry protested, looking at George in confusion.

George grinned at him. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it, Katie?”

Katie rolled her eyes at him. “The poor girl’s ten months old, and he’s still keeping up the joke.”

“If he’s anything like his twin, he’ll keep it up for the rest of his life,” Angelina muttered.

George cleared his throat theatrically, pulling the room’s attention back to himself. “Tabitha Catherine, Harry. Come on, think about it. Tabitha Catherine - Tabby Cat!” He and Fred burst into gales of laughter, while the rest of the family mostly rolled their eyes at the pair.

“You call your daughter Tabby Cat?” Harry chuckled.

“Well, I wanted to name her Allison originally. Alley Cat, you know? But Katie wouldn’t go for it.”

“How’d you get her to go along with Tabby Cat?” Harry asked, still trying not to laugh.

“He threatened to do what Fred did to Angelina,” Katie answered.

“What did-”

“He named our firstborn son Peeves while I was still too groggy from pain potions to realize what was going on,” Angelina answered in a slightly disgruntled tone.

“That’s me!” shouted the boy next to her, shooting to his feet and grinning broadly. Harry couldn’t help smiling at how garishly his bright red afro stood out against his dark skin. “I’m gonna be just like the other Peeves when I go to Hogwarts. He’ll be my best mate.”

Angelina groaned. “See what you’ve done to the poor boy?” she asked Fred wearily.

“Of course,” Fred answered proudly, not looking the least bit ashamed of himself.

Unable to stand it any longer, Harry opened his mouth to ask the question that had been bothering him ever since Angelina had entered. “Er, Angelina? Your sons’ hair... is it-”

“No,” she sighed. “It’s naturally black. Or it was, anyway, until Evil Genius Fred here decided that all Weasley men had to have red hair. Believe me, I’ve tried to change it back, but-”

“The color can’t be changed,” Fred interrupted excitedly. “She’s tried glamour charms, specialty potions, even Muggle hair dye, but nothing works. Besides, they like their hair, don’t you boys?”

“Yeah!” they shouted in unison.

“Oh, by the way, Harry, these are our sons: Peeves Padfoot and James Moony,” said Fred. “Peeves is nine, and James is six.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry chuckled.

“Alright, who’s next?” called George.

“Charlie?” Bill suggested. “Harry already knows Fleur and me, and he met our kids at school.”

“Right,” said Charlie. “Harry, this is my wife, Katerina. Katerina, this is Harry Potter, obviously.”

“It’s good to finally meet you,” said Katerina.

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Harry. “Linda’s a good girl; you’ve done a wonderful job with her.”

“Speaking of Linda,” Charlie cut in, “what’s this business about you telling our children all sorts of things we didn’t want them to have to hear about?” The table fell silent, and some of the former tension seemed to seep back into the room.

“I told-”

“Harry and I discussed it,” Ginny said loudly, drowning out Harry’s response. “We decided that since the stories we’d been keeping secret were all about him, he ought to be able to share them if he wanted to. You all know that the main reason we didn’t talk about anything involving Harry was because the memories were too painful. Now that he’s back....” Her voice trailed away uncertainly as her eyes flicked from face to face, willing them to understand.

“You still don’t have any right-”

“I really don’t care, Charlie,” Harry said calmly.

Charlie’s muscular jaw tightened as he glared at his brother-in-law.

“Look,” Harry continued, “I don’t mind secrets when they’re being kept for a good reason, but I have no patience for withholding information for no reason at all. And arbitrarily deciding that somebody is too young to hear it is not a valid reason.”

“Linda is not your daughter,” Charlie said tightly.

“You’re right,” Harry answered. “But let me tell you why I won’t accept a person’s age as a valid reason for keeping them in the dark. Children are much smarter and more capable than adults give them credit for. In our first year, Ron, Hermione, and I told Professor McGonagall that someone was going to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, but we were ignored. Why? Because we were mere children. Even after we got past the best protections the Hogwarts staff could devise and rescued the Stone from Voldemort, we were still treated like children.

“In my second year, I used a bloody sword to kill a Basilisk, and very nearly died in the process. I saved Ginny’s life, Dumbledore’s career as Headmaster, and Hogwarts itself from closing, but to the adults, I was still just a little boy who couldn’t handle hearing the truth. That attitude didn’t change until it finally got Sirius killed, and Dumbledore realized that keeping me in the dark was doing a lot more harm than good.”

“Harry,” Ginny said softly, laying a hand on his arm.

“No, Ginny; he needs to understand this. We all need to understand. Our kids understand a lot more than we give them credit for, and we’ll all be a whole lot better off if we just accept that fact and show them a little trust.” He looked steadily into Charlie’s eyes as he finished, “So I’m not apologizing for anything I told them.”

Charlie stared back for a moment before breaking into a grin. “You never change, do you, Potter? I suppose we can give you a pass this time, seeing as you just got back and all. But in the future, could you at least warn us before you go spilling your guts to the kids?”

“Deal,” Harry grinned.

“Excellent!” cried George, jumping forward and trying to inject some liveliness back into the room. “Well, I guess the only introductions left are Percy’s. Sorry to keep you waiting, Perce, but you know how Charlie is about his little girl.”

“Of course,” said Percy. “Well, Harry, I believe you remember Penelope.”

Harry and Penelope exchanged a quick greeting.

“These are our boys,” Percy continued, gesturing to the pair of redheads sitting with him and his wife. “Fabian here is five, and Gideon is three. They are, of course, named after our mother’s brothers.”

“Of course, of course,” Fred said impatiently. “And, now that the introductions are done, what I’d really like to know is, is anybody else hungry?” There was a general agreement, and soon the entire family group was joined by Arthur, Molly, Ron, Hermione, and little Tom, and crammed into a private room at the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn’t until evening that Harry and Ginny returned, exhausted, to Hogwarts.

“So,” Ginny said quietly as they made their way across the vast lawn toward the castle, “how do you think it went?”

“Not bad,” Harry answered. “I got my new wand, and nobody in your family wants to kill me anymore. I’d say that makes it a pretty good day.”

“I think so too,” she murmured through a yawn. “I’m completely knackered, though. I think I’ll head right to bed.”

“Me too,” Harry muttered. Ginny glanced hopefully at him, but immediately looked away and schooled her features into an expression of disinterest. Once they were inside the castle, however, she glanced back over at him and her mouth twitched into an involuntary smile.

“What?” Harry asked warily.

“Nothing,” she replied, still smiling broadly as they made their way to their quarters.

“Ginny-”

“It’s no big deal,” she interrupted, opening the door to their shared sitting room. “Good night, Harry.” Without another word, she slipped into her bedroom and closed the door.

Sighing, Harry shut the door leading out into the corridor and headed for his own bedroom. As he pulled off his robes, something caught his eye and he instinctively turned to see what it was. A moment later, he was staring in disbelief at his reflection. His hair was electric blue.

---

During the week after Halloween, the Constant Vigilance Game soared to new heights of competitiveness. By Wednesday, Harry was forced to keep a near constant shield in place with his rowan wand, as Brian had taken to wearing his Invisibility Cloak in the corridors so as to avoid detection. Of course, Harry had his fair share of victories too, his favorite being the time he had managed to reflect a spell to turn his hair pink back onto his invisible son. The poor boy hadn’t realized he had been hit by his own spell until he’d taken off the Cloak to go to Charms class, and his professor (who also happened to be his mother) had somehow managed to snap a photo of him before he had a chance to remove it.

As Harry wandered lazily toward the Great Hall on Friday evening, he let his mind wander once again to the reason for Brian’s increased efforts: Quidditch. The first Quidditch match of the season would be played the next day - Gryffindor against Slytherin - and emotions were running high among the members of both Houses. Brian and Lily seemed especially nervous, as both of them had joined the team this year and it would be their first ever official match. Harry smiled at the thought. He had missed out on so much of his children’s lives, but this was something he would be there to see.

Lost in his thoughts about Quidditch and his children, Harry’s mind barely even registered the jet of colored light coming from his right as he walked into the Entrance Hall. Reflexively, he dropped into a crouch, allowing the spell to pass harmlessly over his head as his eyes scanned the area for his assailant. The Hall appeared to be empty, which came as no surprise.

Accio Invisibility Cloak! Harry commanded while flicking his wand in the direction from which the spell had come. He was rewarded with a startled yell as the silvery fabric was torn away from its wearer and soared into his waiting hand.

“Hello there, Brian,” Harry said cordially as he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket.

“Hello, Professor,” Brian replied. “Tarantallegra!”

Harry batted his spell aside with his wand. “Not quick enough, I’m afraid.” He paused just a moment before sending a silent Tickling Charm at his son.

“Protego!” Brian shouted, deflecting the spell into the stone floor. “Would you quit with the nonverbal spells? You know we haven’t learned how to do that yet.”

Harry shrugged. “I have to have some advantages. You’ve got the Map and the Cloak - well, you had the Cloak,” he smirked. “Besides, you’re not exactly helpless. You know plenty of spells that go beyond the curriculum for your year.”

“Only because Mum was paranoid enough to teach us a few defensive spells right off, instead of leaving them for O.W.L. year or later the way the Ministry wants it done. Impedimenta!”

“Protego,” said Harry. “There, I said that one out loud. Now, would you like to have a proper duel, or shall we just keep trading spells like this?” Brian feigned a look of deep concentration, and Harry took advantage of the opportunity to fire off a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Brian ducked under it.

“I think I have a better idea,” Brian said at last. Without waiting for Harry to say anything, he fired off a handful of low-powered jinxes and dashed out through the front doors of the castle. A moment later, the Invisibility Cloak flew out of Harry’s pocket and out the nearest window. Chuckling, Harry entered the Great Hall for dinner. He would have to keep his weak Shield Charm in place for the duration of the meal, but he was getting better at maintaining it. Besides, even if Brian did get him again, a little embarrassment was a small price to pay for the turnaround in his relationship with his son.

* * * * *
Saturday morning found Harry sitting between Ginny and Hagrid in the teachers’ section of the Quidditch stadium as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams took to the field. Lily, who was playing Keeper, hovered nervously in front of the goal hoops as Brian and the other Chasers prepared to charge forward as soon as the Quaffle was tossed into play.

“This should be a really interesting game,” rang out the magically magnified voice of the commentator. Harry twisted around in his seat to see him, but didn’t recognize the boy from any of his classes.

He must be an N.E.W.T. student who decided to drop Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry determined.

“Size and experience are definitely on the side of the Slytherin team, which only has two new players - Chaser Roland Nott and Beater Cicily Montague, the first girl to make the Slytherin team in nearly fifty years!” The Slytherin section of the stands roared its approval.

“However,” shouted the commentator above the increasing crowd noise, “Gryffindor’s team has some bright new talent this season, with new Beater Samuel Holt, new Chaser Brian Potter, his twin sister Lily Potter at Keeper, and the big surprise for everyone, second-year Gertie Mathis as the new Seeker!” The Gryffindors responded with uproarious applause, stomping their feet and clapping to create as much noise as possible.

“Returning players for Slytherin are Seeker Roderick Latham, Keeper Richard Malins, Chasers Maurice Shelton and Captain Zachary Hayes, and Beater Turquan Rondell!” The Slytherins cheered again. “With three seventh-years on their team, the green and silver will be looking to take home the Cup at any cost this year before they have to start rebuilding.”

“At any cost,” Ginny repeated in a half shout so that Harry could hear her. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I swear, if any of those trolls hurts one of my babies....”

“I know,” Harry murmured, laying a supportive hand on her shoulder. He doubted she could have heard him, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the game was about to start, and he didn’t want to miss anything - especially if there was a chance the Slytherins might try to harm his children.

“Returning players on the Gryffindor side are Beater Philippe Weasley, and Chasers Harry Wright and Captain Amy Pinnock!” bellowed the commentator. “They might not feel quite the same urgency as Slytherin’s seventh-years, but don’t expect that to slow them down; Pinnock’s always got a few tricks up her sleeve!” The Gryffindor section exploded once again, as an elderly-looking Madam Hooch prepared to throw the Quaffle into the air and begin the game.

“The Quaffle’s up, and it’s taken by Brian Potter - wow, that was fast - but he’s sandwiched between Shelton and Hayes and the Quaffle’s loose! Several players diving for it, and Roland Nott comes up with it - Slytherin in possession.”

Harry ignored the game’s progression for a moment to watch his son shake himself thoroughly before rocketing after the other Chasers, and sighed with relief. Brian was fine; the collision hadn’t done more than knock him around a bit.

“Nott passes to Shelton - drops it to Hayes - back to Nott, who passes to-” The rest of the sentence was cut off by loud groans from the Slytherin stands and cheers from the Gryffindors. Nott had tried to pass the Quaffle to Cicily Montague, one of his team’s Beaters, and possession had passed to Gryffindor.

“Wright of Gryffindor in possession now. He loops around a well-hit Bludger from Rondell, and passes to Potter - off to Pinnock - back to Rondell - behind the back to Pinnock - she shoots! Blocked! Great save by Slytherin’s Keeper, Richard Malins.”

The Slytherin Chasers were off once again, Shelton and Hayes using their size to elbow and shove the Gryffindor defenders away from them. Harry winced as Brian took a shoulder to the ribs, but the young Gryffindor barely even reacted to the blow as he darted back in, trying to dislodge or intercept the Quaffle.

“Ouch! Rondell’s Bludger gets Pinnock hard in the back, and I don’t know if she’ll get back up from that one! Slytherin with a three-two advantage in Chasers now, as Gryffindor Captain Amy Pinnock crash-lands onto the pitch. Shelton rams Potter out of the way - Nott passes to Hayes and screens off Wright - it’s a duel between Hayes and Keeper Lily Potter now. He’s sprinting hard for the right goal hoop - feints toward the center - back to the right - left handed shot across the field at the left hoop! Potter diving, but she can’t get - she can! Unbelievable! Lily Potter blocks her first attempt on goal by just getting a fingertip on the Quaffle, nearly unseating herself in the process!”

The Gryffindors were cheering wildly, and although Harry was clapping along with them, a part of him was having a hard time watching his children play such a violent game. In his mind he knew that Quidditch was a lot of fun to play and that people rarely got seriously injured, but his years of living as a Muggle still caused him to wince at every collision and near-fall.

“Gryffindor in possession,” shouted the commentator. “Wright with the Quaffle. Fakes a pass to Potter and dives to avoid a Bludger, and he’s off! Shelton and Nott are right on his tail, and it looks like Potter and Hayes are about to join them. This one could be decided by who has the fastest broom. They’re veering toward the left goal hoop, but Malins is right there waiting. Wright fakes a shot straight at the Keeper, and throws right - too wide! But there’s Pinnock, and she knocks it cleanly through the right hoop! Amy Pinnock, back in the air after a nasty Bludger a minute ago, takes us all by surprise and shows up just in time to score the first goal of the day - ten nil to Gryffindor!”

Harry clapped and cheered along with the other Gryffindor supporters, and found himself a bit more able to relax after seeing Amy Pinnock get back up after being smashed in the back by a flying ball of iron. He turned his attention back to the running commentary as the Slytherin Chasers formed up for another run.

“Hayes with the Quaffle, streaking up the pitch. He feints left, but Wright’s not giving him any room. Hayes passes to Nott- No, it’s intercepted! Brian Potter swooped in for the interception, and the Slytherin Chasers have no hope of catching him. A Bludger’s on its way from Montague - it’s on target, but Potter dodges. He’s one-on-one with the Keeper now, but Malins has the edge in age and experience.”

Brian shot forward, never deviating from his collision course with the Slytherin Keeper. Harry held his breath as the gap closed. Thirty feet - twenty feet - ten - he was going to crash! But at the last possible second he turned sharply to the left, rocketing in a line parallel to the hoops as his momentum gave him speed that the stationary Keeper simply couldn’t match. As he passed the left goal hoop, he tossed the Quaffle through the center, bringing Gryffindor’s score up to twenty.

“That was the Chaser equivalent of those insane dives I used to do, wasn’t it?” Harry shouted over the screaming crowd.

Ginny nodded emphatically. “Yours were worse though, because you had gravity helping you go even faster. That, and a collision with the ground is a lot messier than one with another player.”

“True,” Harry grimaced, but his smile soon returned as he cheered Lily for another save and the tone of the rest of the match was cemented. The Slytherins fought hard, though they didn’t play nearly as dirty as Harry remembered from his own school days, but none of their tactics were able to slip the Quaffle past Lily Potter. On the other side of the pitch, Richard Malins was trying valiantly to keep his team in the game by blocking everything that came near him, but every few minutes the Gryffindor Chasers were able to slip one past him so that by the time the Snitch was spotted, Gryffindor was leading 140 - 0 and Harry was hoarse from cheering.

“It looks like Mathis has seen the Snitch!” shouted the commentator. Every eye in the stands immediately began scanning the field for the tiny golden ball. “But this game could still go to Slytherin if Latham can get there first.”

“There,” Harry murmured, pointing it out to Ginny.

“You’ve still got it, don’t you?” she grinned. “Come on, Gertie!”

“Gertie Mathis is hot on the Snitch’s tail, but Roderick Latham of Slytherin is coming up fast,” shouted the commentator. Some distant corner of Harry’s brain wondered idly why Quidditch even needed a commentator, when everyone could see what was happening right in front of them without somebody shouting about it.

“Latham’s got the better broom, and he’s slowly chipping away at Mathis’s lead. They’re almost neck-and-neck now, and closing fast on the Snitch. Latham ducks a very well-hit Bludger from Philippe Weasley - don’t know how he even saw it coming - and Mathis makes a wild, diving grab. Did she get it?”

Gertie held up a triumphant fist, a tiny golden ball struggling to escape her grasp.

“Yes! Gertie Mathis catches the Snitch and ends the game; final score is two hundred and ninety to zero!”

The Gryffindor stands erupted with sound once again.

* * * * *
For a few weeks after the Quidditch match, Harry’s life was nearly perfect, despite a recent spate of fictitious articles about him in the Daily Prophet. His dueling reflexes had returned, and he was now more than proficient at using his rowan wand for defense while attacking with his original holly wand. The weekly chess games with Lily continued to be fun and amusing, despite the fact that he had never even come close to beating her. Even the Constant Vigilance game with Brian was going well: they both scored several hits almost every day, and Brian’s hostility seemed to have almost totally bled away. It felt almost too good to last, which was why, when neither Lily nor Brian showed up for Defense Against the Dark Arts on the Monday before the Christmas holidays, Harry felt a cold knot settle into his stomach.

Stop that, he scolded himself. The war’s been over since before they were born. There aren’t any Death Eaters around to do anything to them, and kids miss class all the time.

Except neither of these kids had ever missed his class, and he didn’t really think they would have chosen the week before Christmas holiday as the time to start.

“Good morning, class,” Harry said distractedly after hearing the bell that signaled the start of class. “We seem to be short a couple of students. Anybody know where either of them is?” He somehow managed to keep the irrational fear out of his voice, a fact for which he was grateful.

“I thought they were right with me,” said Will Jordan. “We left the Great Hall together, but when I got here they weren’t behind me anymore. I figured one of them had to use the loo and the other just waited, but it’s been a while now, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has,” Harry muttered as he unconsciously began edging toward the door. “Anyone else?”

Alison Davies raised a tentative hand.

“Go ahead, Miss Davies,” Harry said tersely, holding back as much of his worry as he possibly could and knowing he was failing miserably.

“I- I thought I saw them talking to some older students on my way up,” she said in her quiet, halting voice.

“Where?” Harry demanded.

“T-the first floor landing.”

Harry took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before turning around very deliberately and returning to his desk. As calmly as he was able, he addressed the class.

“Today we’re going to do a mock search-and-rescue mission. You will be playing the part of a search party; Brian and Lily will be the people you’re trying to find and rescue. You’re conducting your search in hostile territory - in other words, be quiet and stay out of sight; you wouldn’t want to be caught wandering the corridors when you’re supposed to be in class.”

“Professor?” called Peter Winter, his gray eyes betraying a bit of fear. “Are Brian and Lily alright?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Harry replied with a tight-lipped smile. “On the off chance that they’re not, we’ll find them right away and get them to the hospital wing. And if they just decided today would be a good day to skive off class, I doubt they’ll make that mistake again soon. Everyone ready?”

A small girl with dark hair raised her hand. “Professor?”

“Yes, Miss MacDonald?” Harry asked, only managing to keep most of the panic out of his voice.

“What do we do if we find one of them?”

“Bring them to me. In the unlikely event that one of them is injured in some way, don’t bother looking for me, though; just get the closest teacher to help.” Despite his reassuring words, Harry had to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Saying it was unlikely that either of his children had been injured wasn’t going to change the fact that they never missed class unless they were in the hospital wing.

“Let’s go,” he finished in a hoarse whisper. The students filed out of the classroom with their professor close behind. Harry started with the second floor, moving quickly since he had no need to hide in the shadows and duck behind suits of armor the way his students did.

They could be anywhere, he grumbled to himself after searching for a good twenty minutes. There’s probably not even anything wrong, really; I’m just being paranoid. Still, his feeling of unease only intensified.

If only I had the Marauder’s Map- Harry froze in the middle of the corridor. Brian kept the Map on his person almost at all times, a fact which Harry was embarrassingly aware of given the number of times it had helped Brian sneak up on him between classes. Brian’s Invisibility Cloak could present a nearly insurmountable problem for a search team if he was wearing it and didn’t want to be found. Harry’s heart sank further as he considered yet another possibility. What if Brian and Lily had been caught by surprise by someone who knew about the Cloak? Draco Malfoy had managed to put a Full Body Bind on Harry and hide him under his own Invisibility Cloak on the Hogwarts Express at the start of their sixth year - what if something similar had happened to his children?

All the more reason I need that Map, then, Harry thought determinedly. He made an abrupt turn and dashed back down the corridor toward the staircase - he had to get to a nice central location before Summoning it.

I just hope Brian forgives me for stealing his Map if there’s really nothing wrong.

In less than a minute, Harry found himself standing in the Entrance Hall with his wand raised above his head. “Accio Marauder’s Map!”

Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen.

It’s not going to work. He must have it locked up in his trunk or something; or maybe my Summoning Charm just isn’t powerful enough. He snorted at the thought. His Summoning Charm had been powerful enough to Summon his Firebolt from his dormitory all the way to the other side of the grounds when he was fourteen years old; it was plenty strong to Summon a bit of parchment from anywhere in the school.

Unless Brian left the school for some reason.

Before he could pursue that thought any further, a worn and soggy square of parchment hit him in the back of the head. Harry spun around, his wand still raised, but there was no one to be seen. The large oak front doors were still shut against the chill of the winter air. Slowly, he bent down and picked up the parchment, recognizing it immediately as what he was searching for.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he murmured, and was gratified to see the lines representing the walls of Hogwarts begin to appear. In moments, the entire castle and grounds were laid out before him and his eyes began rapidly scanning the tiny labeled dots for the name Potter.

The first name to catch his eye was his own, standing alone in the Entrance Hall. Next, he spotted Ginny pacing the front of her classroom as she delivered a lecture to her students. His eyes flew to Gryffindor Tower, but there were no Potters to be seen there or anywhere else on the seventh floor, nor the sixth. He continued working his way back down the page until he reached the dungeons, where Draco Malfoy was walking back and forth between his rows of Potions students.

“Where are you?” Harry whispered, growing more frantic by the second. They weren’t in the castle, although now he thought about it, the Map had come from outside so that wasn’t all that surprising. A quick glance told him that Hagrid’s cabin was empty, and no Potters were anywhere near the Care of Magical Creatures class, nor were they in any of the greenhouses. His eyes flew to the empty Quidditch pitch, and from there to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the Map ended. In his haste, he nearly missed the tiny bit of ink at the edge of the parchment. He looked closer and, sure enough, there were the letters er.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Harry was outside, sprinting across the snow-covered lawn toward the forest. As he drew near, he found that he was still unable to see anyone, although the tiny letters at the edge of the Marauder’s Map had not moved. That meant they were either hidden behind a tree or under the Invisibility Cloak. Harry slowed as he reached the first of the trees, his eyes flicking compulsively between the Map and the landscape it depicted. He was standing right at the edge of the parchment now, just a few feet from the tiny er. He stepped cautiously around a tree, and nearly tripped when his toe caught on something. Looking down, he discovered a slight indentation in the blanket of snow.

Willing his hands not to shake, Harry bent down and took a handful of what looked like thin air, then gently lifted the Invisibility Cloak. What he found underneath nearly caused him to retch. Lily and Brian lay bloodied and broken on the ground, all of their limbs twisted and bent at unnatural angles. Most of their clothing had been ripped from their bodies, and their blue-tinged skin wrenched a cry of pain and rage from Harry’s throat. Whoever had done this would pay dearly for it, but first he had to tend to his injured children.

Quick as lightning, Harry conjured a pair of stretchers and Levitated one child onto each of them before covering them with Warming Charms and conjured woolen blankets. Then, with a snarl on his lips and a burning desire for revenge raging in his mind, he began guiding them toward the hospital wing.

* * * * *
“Mum?”

The hoarsely whispered word seemed to echo through the Hogwarts hospital wing, causing the two adults that were dozing in their chairs to jerk upright.

“I’m here,” Ginny said softly as she rose and hurried to her daughter’s bedside. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Lily sighed audibly with relief, sinking back into her pillow while tears began leaking from her eyes. “Oh, Mum, it was awful!” she wailed in a weak and tired voice. “They- they-”

“Shh,” Ginny soothed, running a gentle hand through her daughter’s hair. “It’s alright. We’ve got a pretty good idea of what they did; there’s no need for you to talk about it just yet.”

Harry slowly rose and walked to his wife’s side, trying to fight off the slight twinge he had felt when Lily had asked for her mum and not for him. He shook off the feeling; after all, even if she had known him all her life, most children seek comfort from their mother when they’re sick or injured. Besides, he wouldn’t have had any idea what to do for her if she had asked for him first.

“Hi, Lily,” he said quietly as he reached the bedside.

“Hi,” she whispered, smiling weakly. “What happened? Who found us?”

“Your father did,” Ginny answered with a weak smile of her own. “When neither of you showed up for his class, he sent the rest of the class out to look for you.”

“After a little while, I thought of the Marauder’s Map and Summoned it from Brian’s pocket,” Harry continued for her. “I could just barely see you at the edge of the Map, and once I found you I brought you back here. Lily, do you remember who did this to you?”

“I-”

“Harry!” Ginny exclaimed. “Lily, you don’t have to answer that. Harry, you should know better than to start questioning her as soon as she wakes up.”

“Waiting to talk about it only makes it worse in the long run,” Harry said resolutely. “Dumbledore told me that after the Triwizard Tournament, and he was right. If I could tell him that story right away, she can tell me who attacked them. If she knows.”

“It’s okay, Mum,” Lily said quickly before her mother could say anything else. “It was three seventh-year Slytherins. They cornered us on the first floor landing when we were on our way to Defense and started harassing us about beating them in Quidditch, saying it wasn’t right for a bunch of upstarts like us to be able to embarrass them like that. When we tried to leave, they hit us with Stunners. The next thing we knew, we were in a dark classroom without our wands, and they were-” Her voice broke, and Harry instinctively laid a comforting hand on her arm.

“It’s alright, Lily,” he whispered. “You don’t have to tell us what they did; Madam Pomfrey was able to piece it together well enough. Did you see who did it, though? If you tell us who it was, we can do something about them.”

Lily swallowed hard and nodded. “Richard Malins, Maurice Shelton, and Turquan Rondell.”

“And you’d be willing to swear to that?” Harry pressed.

“Yeah,” Lily nodded.

“Then it’s good enough for me.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Harry thought his heart might burst at hearing that word directed at him. “For everything.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Ginny whispered. “You should rest now, though. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of everything.”

Lily nodded tiredly and let her eyes flutter closed. After a minute or two of simply standing at her bedside, Ginny returned to her chair while Harry headed for the doors of the hospital wing.

“Harry, wait!” she called out as loudly as she dared in front of the sleeping children.

“For what?” Harry demanded, spinning around to face her. “We know who did this, and we’ve got a very good idea of what they did. Now it’s time to punish them.”

“No it’s not,” Ginny argued. “First of all, there’s a chance that Lily’s wrong about who it was.”

“You think she’s lying?”

“No, but she did get hit over the head pretty hard, and we can’t be sure that she really saw what she thinks she saw. We should at least wait until we can verify her story with Brian.” Harry wanted to argue, but he knew she had a point and it wouldn’t be that much more of a wait anyway.

Sure enough, Brian awoke less than five minutes later and told much the same story as his sister, including the names of their assailants. As soon as he finished talking, Harry left his bedside, walking determinedly toward the doors leading out into the corridor.

“Harry!” Ginny half shouted at him. “Harry, where do you think you’re going?”

“To talk to Malfoy,” Harry answered shortly, using the excuse he had thought up while Brian and Lily were still asleep. “He needs to know what his students have been up to so they can be punished accordingly.”

“Harry, this can wait. None of those boys are going anywhere-”

“And do you know why they’re not going anywhere?” Harry exploded. “Because they don’t think there are any witnesses to tell us what they did! Weren’t you listening when I told you where and how I found them? Didn’t you hear what Madam Pomfrey said? They were beaten severely, both physically and with magic, they were cut open, their bones were broken and ripped out of their sockets, and then they were basically stripped and thrown into the snow! Not to mention they were inside the Forbidden Forest, covered with an Invisibility Cloak, and under the influence of a very powerful sleeping potion! Those pieces of filth left our children to either die of exposure or be eaten by some forest creature that would be able to smell their blood, and I will not sit around here while they go about their merry lives!”

“I’m not asking you to,” Ginny pleaded. “They’ll be punished appropriately, but there are proper channels-”

“Proper channels?” Harry laughed harshly. “You know, I never realized how much you resemble Percy.”

Ginny bristled. “And I never realized how much you resembled Barty Crouch, ready to go execute three boys without a trial.” Her words cut deep, but Harry wasn’t about to back down.

“That was low, Ginny, and completely uncalled for.”

“Really? You can’t fool me, Harry; I know you’re not planning on just talking to Malfoy. You’re out for revenge, but you’ve got to understand that the world doesn’t work that way!”

“And you’ve got to understand that I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Harry raged.

“Is your revenge worth being put in Azkaban, Harry?” Ginny asked softly. “Because if you really think it is, then go; I won’t try to stop you.”

“Really?” Harry asked, his voice harsh and incredulous. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because if you do this, you’re not the man I thought you were.”

Growling, Harry turned away from her and stormed out into the corridor, ignoring the quiet sobs behind him as he went. He moved forward, one foot in front of the other, through corridors and down stairs, until he spotted the person he was looking for.

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted.

“Potter,” Malfoy said coolly.

“I need to see three of your students,” Harry snarled. “Malins, Shelton, and Rondell.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “What for?” he asked suspiciously. “None of them are in your class.”

“They attacked and nearly killed my son and daughter,” Harry growled. “Brian and Lily independently identified those three as their attackers. Now, where are they?”

“In their common room, I believe,” Malfoy replied in a bored tone.

“Good,” said Harry. “Take me to them.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Of course not,” Harry sneered. “It’s against the Slytherin Code of Dishonor to do anything to aid justice.”

“Justice, is it?” Malfoy asked. “I’ve seen that look you’re wearing too often to believe you’re interested in justice right now, Potter. You’re out for revenge. Can’t say I blame you of course, but I still can’t let you run off and curse my students.” He moved to walk past Harry, but a flick of Harry’s left wrist sent him hurtling to the end of the corridor where he collided painfully with the wall and was left pinned against it.

“Maybe I am out for revenge, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly as he stalked forward, drawing his wand slowly and deliberately. “Now, are you going to let me get on with it, or will I have to use you as a warm-up exercise?” He flicked his wand to release the Slytherin professor, causing him to fall heavily to the floor.

“I must admit, Potter, I never thought I’d see the day when you started acting like him,” he grunted as he got slowly to his feet.

“Like who?” Harry spat.

“I don’t know,” Malfoy mocked. “Maybe a different professor who liked to torment people because of who their families were, who only listened to what he wanted to hear from students, and who - when it came right down to it - was willing to go to any lengths for revenge.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to him!” Harry shouted, now struggling not to curse Malfoy where he stood.

“Why not?” Malfoy asked lazily. “It’s true. Snape judged you because he hated your father. You judge me because of my father, even though I turned against the Dark Lord and helped you defeat him.”

“Yeah, well Snape supposedly turned against Voldemort too.”

“And now you’re judging me because of what Snape did. He was a spy who turned out to really be on the Dark Lord’s side, so all other spies must be doing the same thing, is that it, Potter? And now you’re ready to run off and curse three foolish boys without stopping to gather all the evidence.”

“All the- I’ve got two eyewitnesses!” Harry shouted.

“The Ministry of Magic had more than that when they sent Sirius Black to Azkaban.”

Harry’s only response was a growl. This wasn’t right! Malfoy should not be making sense, and he definitely shouldn’t have the moral high ground.

“You know what Snape’s problem was, Potter?” Malfoy continued. “He couldn’t let go of the past. He refused to grow up and move on. If you want to make that same mistake, that’s your business, but I won’t have you taking it out on my students.”

Harry looked closely into his opponent’s eyes and was surprised to see the emotion lurking there behind his calm façade. It was fear. Malfoy wasn’t enjoying this; he was terrified, and also somewhat angry, but he still wasn’t backing down and Harry really was loath to try forcing the information he wanted out of him. Plus, in the back of his mind, a lurking doubt was growing stronger....

He had to get away, escape from the situation somehow, but without showing weakness.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll take this up with the Headmistress, then.”

“Do that,” Malfoy replied. “I will expect her to contact me shortly.”

Harry nodded stiffly and turned away, pocketing his wand as he hurried up the stairs. He did not go to find the Headmistress, however. Instead, he went directly to his office, locked the door, and collapsed into his chair.

What’s wrong with me? he raged silently as tears began to sting the corners of his eyes. Am I really like Barty Crouch? Like Snape?

I never realized how much you resembled Barty Crouch. Ginny’s words echoed in his head, followed immediately by his own and Malfoy’s.

I’ve got two eyewitnesses!

The Ministry of Magic had more than that when they sent Sirius Black to Azkaban.

You know what Snape’s problem was, Potter? He couldn’t let go of the past. He refused to grow up and move on.

“But I’ve got a reason for not being grown up yet,” Harry argued aloud.

An excuse, you mean, answered an annoyingly persistent voice in his head. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione. Why do teenagers act like idiots so much of the time? Hormones. You don’t have that excuse.

But this is different, he insisted. Besides, there have to be other reasons for teenagers to act stupid besides just hormones.

Oh, there are, said his internal Hermione. Ignorance is the main one, but after everything you’ve been through in your life, you can’t claim ignorance.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands as he realized the voice was right. He had been about to do something incredibly stupid, and Draco Malfoy had been the one to stop him. Could his day get any worse? Apparently it could, because it seemed that Malfoy’s words comparing him to Snape were also true.

“I will not be like Snape!” Harry whispered fiercely. “Never!” But that meant something in his life was going to have to change. He would need to let go of the last vestiges of childhood that he had been clinging to, and be a man. For as long as he could remember - from his second lifetime, anyway - he had been amused by the idea of being a boy in a man’s body. While on the London Police force, he had often joked with his fellow officers about his condition, and they had all thought it was funny too. But they were also just barely out of their teens themselves. Harry was a grown man with teenaged children of his own, and it was time he started acting like it. When the choice was between growing up and being like Snape, it wasn’t a difficult decision.

* * * * *
The second Harry Potter rounded the corner and headed up the stairs out of the dungeons, Draco Malfoy collapsed to the floor, staring at his shaking hands. He’d known Potter was powerful, but he’d never imagined that his old school rival would be able to throw him the entire length of a corridor and pin him to the wall before drawing his wand. Throughout their entire confrontation, he had just been waiting for Potter to decide he’d had enough and start throwing curses, but Draco hadn’t dared draw his own wand. Aside from the fact that he probably wouldn’t have been able to get it out of his robes before being incapacitated, he knew he was outclassed. Not that he was a poor duelist by any means, but Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, and anyone who could do that was far beyond Draco’s ability to handle alone.

For several long moments after Potter’s departure, Draco remained on the floor, trying to get his shaking hands back under control. Though he was proud of himself for keeping up a calm demeanor until his adversary had left, he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t been that frightened since before the Dark Lord’s fall.

When he felt he was able, Draco pushed himself back to his feet and walked to his office, where he had a nice glass of Firewhisky and waited for McGonagall to contact him. Surprisingly, he waited for over an hour before she appeared in his doorway.

“Come in, Headmistress,” he said much more calmly than would have been possible an hour earlier.

“Thank you, Professor Malfoy,” she replied, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her. “I presume you know the reason for my visit?”

“I believe so,” Draco answered. “You’re here about the attack on the Potter twins, correct?”

McGonagall nodded. “It seems that three of your seventh-year students were responsible.” Her nostrils flared in what he recognized as a sure sign that she was nearly as angry as Potter had been earlier. “Apparently, they ambushed Brian and Lily Potter before their first class this morning. I don’t have all the details, but the attack included severe beatings, both physical and with magic, which broke several bones and drew a lot of blood. Then they stripped them, forced a sleeping potion down their throats, and left them under an Invisibility Cloak in the Forbidden Forest.” She took a deep breath before asking, “You know what this means, do you not?”

“Well, that depends on who did it,” Draco replied. “If they were underage, the punishment would be somewhat less severe, but you said they were seventh-years, didn’t you?”

“They are,” said McGonagall. “The students responsible are Maurice Shelton, Richard Malins, and Turquan Rondell.”

Draco sighed. “Potter was right, then. You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

“Then I suppose they’ll be expelled and tried for assault and attempted murder, and since it was Harry Potter’s children they attacked, they’ll end up with the maximum sentence.”

“I expect so,” said McGonagall. “Shall I handle their expulsion?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I’m their Head of House. I should be the one to do it.”

McGonagall watched him shrewdly for a moment before standing. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Draco nodded, and then he was alone. Taking a deep breath, he stood and marched out of his office toward the Slytherin common room. It only took a minute or two to arrive, but by the time he reached the section of stone wall that doubled as the common room’s entrance, he could feel white hot anger pulsing through him. Rondell, Malins, and Shelton were fools, and he had nearly gotten himself cursed into oblivion for standing between them and a very angry Harry Potter. Their idiocy must not be repeated, because he certainly didn’t intend to be placed in that situation again.

“Toujours pur,” he muttered, and a moment later was standing in the green and silver common room where he had spent so much of his time as a student.

“House meeting!” he called out authoritatively, causing a few of the students to jump in surprise. “It’s after curfew, so everyone should be inside. Prefects, go make sure the dormitories are empty - I want the entire House here for this.” He clenched his jaw in determination as he watched his instructions being followed.

“Everyone’s here, sir!” the prefects called about a minute later.

“Good,” said Draco. With a wave of his wand, he banished all of the furniture to the far corners of the room. “I want everyone standing around the edges of the common room. This is something you all need to see, but what goes on here tonight is not to be repeated to anyone.”

He waited a moment for his instructions to be followed, and then turned toward a cluster of seventh-years. “Shelton! Malins! Rondell! Step out here with me.” The three students shared a nervous glance as they complied. As soon as they were free of the other students, Draco silently conjured an invisible barrier in front of the rest of the House. If things went the way he was planning, it would be necessary.

“Tell me,” Draco sneered, “what were you up to this morning right after breakfast?”

The three students glanced at one another but didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question! What were you doing, Malins?”

Richard Malins’s eyes flicked to his companions one last time before he swallowed hard and answered. “We had a free period, so we came back here to work on some Transfiguration.”

“And why did you refuse to answer my question at first, if all you did was come back to the common room? You’re hiding something. Rondell! What did you really do?”

Rondell shifted nervously. “It’s like Richard said, Professor.”

“What about you, Shelton? What have you got to say?”

“Nothing,” said Shelton. “They’re telling the truth.”

Draco looked them directly in the eye, one by one. “Liars.”

He turned to the rest of the House. “Would you like to know what these three were really doing after breakfast this morning? They were disgracing the name of Slytherin House.” Murmurs broke out around the room.

“That’s not true!” shouted Shelton.

“What would you call it when three seventh-years ambush and try to kill a pair of fourth-years because they lost a game of Quidditch?” Draco snarled, rounding on him. “Don’t bother trying to deny it, any of you, because I already know what happened. And just to let you know, your little plot was foiled; their father found them and they’re recovering in the hospital wing as we speak.”

“So what?” said Malins. “The brats’ll be alright, so what we did can’t have been too bad. And now they’ll know to show us a little more respect in the future.”

Draco shot him a look of utter disgust. “I always knew you were a fool, Malins, but I didn’t think even you could sink to this level of idiocy. You are of age, which means you can be sent to Azkaban for assault and attempted murder, and whatever else they come up with. And you will be convicted. There will be no buying your way to freedom when your attack was on Harry Potter’s children. You’ll be lucky if they don’t waive the maximum sentence just for you and give you life. Or death.”

“But- but we didn’t do anything!” Rondell protested. “Not really. They’re recovering, right? So we should just get detention or something.”

“I’m starting to see why people like Potter think Slytherins are stupid,” Draco spat. “But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that the rest of the House gets to see this.” He raised his voice slightly. “Let this be a warning to all of you. Do not cross Harry Potter. Annoy him in class if you like - I can support you in that - but do not make him feel threatened and do not threaten any member of his family if you value your lives.”

He looked around the room, locking eyes with several students as he went on. “Your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher defeated the Dark Lord. Do you think you could stand against him?” He rounded on Malins, Shelton, and Rondell again.

“You three are only alive right now because I was able to pull a useful little trick to stop Potter from forcing me to bring him to you, and it’s not the sort of thing that would work more than once. Make no mistake, I am quite accomplished when it comes to dueling, but I know I am no match for Potter. And you aren’t even close to being a match for me. Now turn over your wands so I can snap them in two and you can wait for someone from Magical Law Enforcement to come for you.”

The three students’ reaction was exactly what he had hoped for and expected: they didn’t move.

“There is, of course, another alternative,” he said quietly, immediately capturing their attention. “If the three of you were to overpower me, you might be able to make a run for it. You’d have to live as outlaws, true, but at least you’d be free.”

Rondell, Shelton, and Malins glanced at one another, and Draco didn’t even need to use Legilimency to know what they were thinking. They expected him to put up a token resistance before allowing them to overpower him and escape. They might even think that they could overpower him on their own anyway. It disgusted him how transparent and easy to manipulate these three were; they would hardly be a big loss for his House.

“Right, then,” Malins said at last. “Here are our wands.” As one, the three seventh-years drew their wands and pointed them at their Head of House. “Out of our way, and we won’t hurt you.”

Draco just laughed.

“Confringo!” “Diffindo!” “Reducto!”

All three spells were batted away with ease, and the fight began in earnest. It was almost laughable how bad these students’ dueling skills really were, but Draco wasn’t complaining about it at the moment as his curses sliced through the air, connecting almost every time while his opponents’ spells either missed completely or were easily blocked. Within two minutes, all three students were bruised, bloody, and wandless, while Draco had barely even broken a sweat.

“Are you watching, Malins?” he asked in a menacingly quiet voice. Malins looked up through swollen eyelids to watch Draco snap his wand in half and toss the pieces into the fire.

“What about you, Shelton?” Shelton watched in horror as his wand was disposed of in the same manner.

“And you, Rondell.” Rondell glared at him helplessly as he snapped and burned the third wand.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” Draco said in a louder voice to the rest of the students, who were standing around the walls looking dumbfounded. “I will not stand in Potter’s way again - I value my life too much for that. And if I’m no match for him, and I can defeat three of your best this easily....” He allowed the statement to hang in the air for a moment before disposing of the shield he had conjured to protect the rest of the House and conjuring ropes to bind the three defeated students.

“You may return to your studies,” he called out almost as an afterthought. “Mobilicorpus.” With a flick of his wand, his three prisoners floated out of the common room ahead of him to await their fate.

---

Chapter 12: Preparations

Over the course of the last week before the Christmas holidays, Harry remained relatively closed-off as he continued trying to work out exactly how to go about acting his age (not to mention how to convince Ginny that he was going to start acting his age). He even went so far as to get Brian to agree to a truce in the Constant Vigilance game for the remainder of term after he and Lily were released from the hospital wing. However, it wasn’t until the last day of classes that he finally hit upon an acceptable idea.

On the day after classes ended, Harry and Ginny said goodbye to their children as they left for the train station, and then returned to their quarters to finish packing and head to the Burrow.

“Ready to go?” Ginny asked when she entered his room to find him sitting on top of his packed trunk.

Harry nodded distractedly. “Yeah, but I think I want to stop by Diagon Alley before we have to go pick up the twins.”

“Looking for a reminder of why you hate being famous?” she teased.

Harry allowed himself a small smile. “No, actually. There’s just something I’m looking to buy. It’s pretty expensive, though, so maybe I ought to talk it over with you first.”

“Sure,” Ginny replied with a small frown before sitting tentatively on the edge of his bed. “Harry, what’s wrong? I mean, I know you were shaken up pretty badly by the attack on the twins, but you’ve barely spoken a word outside of class in the past week.”

Harry sighed and hung his head. “It wasn’t the attack that did it, really,” he told her. “It was what you and Malfoy said to me - that I was acting like Barty Crouch, or worse, Snape. For some reason, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I mean, I think I realize now that I have a lot of growing up to do, but it’s hard to know how to go about it. So I was thinking that if I could get myself a Pensieve, that might help.”

“How?” Ginny asked curiously, and he was pleased to note that she did not seem at all inclined to give him a hard time.

Harry shrugged. “I could go back and look at all the stuff that’s happened to me objectively. Plus, I’ve got at least one other use for a Pensieve that I can’t tell you about,” he added with a small grin.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t even know if it’ll work,” Harry answered. “Besides, it’s not Christmas yet.”

“Oh, so this has something to do with my Christmas present?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.

“If it works, then maybe,” Harry answered.

“Well, in that case, go get one, by all means,” she told him with a grin. “I can handle you spending a small fortune to make me happy.”

“I’d better get going, then,” said Harry, standing up and stretching a bit. “Can you take my trunk to the Burrow for me?”

“No problem,” Ginny agreed. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he said as he threw some Floo Powder into their small fireplace. “Diagon Alley!”

By the time he shot out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry felt like he had been spinning around in the green flames for ages. As soon as he was able, he got painfully to his feet and hid his face with the hood of his cloak before brushing the ash from his robes and heading out the back and into Diagon Alley itself.

Harry’s first stop was Gringotts, where he filled a large bag with gold Galleons and obtained a wad of Muggle money just in case he needed it later. From there, he headed out onto the cold street in search of a shop that might be able to sell him a Pensieve.

After several minutes of wandering up and down Diagon Alley, it became apparent that none of the local shops were likely to be any help in his search. Still, unwilling to give up without at least making some sort of effort, Harry made his way into a small junk shop, reasoning that it seemed the most likely place to start.

“Good morning,” he said politely to the shopkeeper, a short, balding man in a faded blue cloak.

“And a right good morning to you, sir,” the man said crisply. “Is there something specific I can help you with, or do you prefer to simply browse?”

“Actually, I’m, er- well, I’m looking for a Pensieve,” Harry said awkwardly, knowing how odd his request must sound. Pensieves were rare and powerful magical objects, and the shopkeeper had to know that he was about to make a fortune if he had one. He did not have one, however, as was immediately apparent from the look of disappointment that crossed his features.

“Sorry, lad; nothing like that in here. I’ve mostly got things people didn’t want anymore, and I don’t think anybody’s ever given up something like a Pensieve to somebody like me.”

“Oh,” Harry said flatly, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Would you happen to know where I might be able to find one?”

The shopkeeper thought for a moment before asking, “Are you familiar with Hogsmeade?” When Harry nodded, he said, “I’d try Dervish and Banges there; they deal in all sorts of magical equipment. There’s no guarantee of course, but I think it’ll be your best bet.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said gratefully before exiting the shop and Apparating to Hogsmeade. It only took a moment to locate the correct shop, and he was soon inside, brushing a light dusting of snow from his shoulders.

“Good afternoon,” the elderly witch behind the counter greeted him. “Or good morning, rather. I suppose it is morning for a few more minutes.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed after automatically checking his watch and seeing that it was a quarter to noon. “You sell magical equipment?”

“That’s right,” the witch replied. Her voice crackled a bit, reminding him of the witches he had seen in old Muggle movies.

“Do you, er, have anything that’s sort of rare, or just standard stuff?”

The old witch shrugged. “A couple of our devices are one-of-a-kind. Perhaps if you told me what you’re looking for....”

“Right,” said Harry. “Of course. I’m looking for a Pensieve, actually.”

The shopkeeper’s mouth widened in a grin that was missing a couple of teeth. “Are you, now? In that case, yes, I believe I can assist you. This way.” She left her post behind the counter and led Harry toward a door in the back wall of the shop.

“Before we go any further,” she said, pausing with her hand on the door handle, “would you mind taking off your hood? I’m afraid I’ve become a bit paranoid in my old age.”

Harry hesitated for a moment before complying with her request. After all, how much harm could it do to let one old woman see who he was?

“Oh!” she exclaimed as his face came into view. “Pardon me, Mr. Potter; I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“Not a problem,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t have expected you to.” A moment passed while she simply stared at him, so he added, “I’m actually on a bit of a schedule, so if we could....”

“Right,” said the old witch, snapping out of her stupor and opening the door. “I’m very sorry about that, Mr. Potter; I don’t know what came over me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said resignedly as he followed her in a winding path among a maze of storeroom shelves. “I ought to be used to it by now.” The shopkeeper didn’t respond - Harry was rather grateful for this, as the topic was rather awkward for him. Instead, she led him around the last few turns in silence.

“Ah, here we are,” she said at last as she came to a stop before a very tall (and very dusty) set of shelves. “Everything on these shelves came from a large Estate Sale about ten years ago. Apparently, another old Pureblood family died out, and without any heirs, their property was sold at auction. I was lucky enough to get this lot, which, unless I’m mistaken, includes a-” She paused, rummaging around in a large wooden crate on one of the lower shelves. “Yes! Here it is: one Pensieve.” She stood, holding up a large stone basin with runes carved all around the edge. Harry let out a quiet whistle at the sight of it; except for the dust, it looked almost exactly like Dumbledore’s.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the witch said softly as she used her wand to clean away the dust. “Not much of a market for these, though; very few people can afford them.”

“Speaking of that,” said Harry, “how much would it be for this one?”

The shopkeeper eyed him critically for a moment. “Seeing as it’s you, Mr. Potter, I’ll set the price at two thousand Galleons.” Harry had to work very hard not to choke at the thought; two thousand Galleons was only a little less than what he made in a year as a Hogwarts teacher (although that figure didn’t include room and board). Nevertheless, he had come prepared to spend a small fortune, and nothing as insignificant as money was going to keep him from getting his hands on a Pensieve of his own.

“Done,” said Harry. The witch smiled in satisfaction and led him quickly back to the shop, where he handed over nearly all the contents of his bulging money bag.

It’s a good thing I was planning on spending an insane amount, or I never would have had enough with me, he thought as the shopkeeper placed his newly acquired Pensieve in a box for him.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter,” she said with a broad smile.

“Likewise,” said Harry. After making sure his hood was once again hiding his face, he picked up the box and stepped out of the shop, Apparating away as soon as the door closed behind him.

A moment later, he was standing in the front yard of the Burrow. As he approached the front door, it swung open for him.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Ginny as she stood back to allow him to enter.

“Not a problem. I take it you found what you were looking for, then?”

“Yeah,” Harry said excitedly. “Have a look.” He opened the box, revealing the polished surface of the stone basin.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Do I want to know how much it cost?”

“Probably not,” Harry answered. “It was two thousand Galleons.” Ginny abruptly fell onto the sofa in shock.

“Well,” she said at length, “it’s not as if we can’t afford it, right?”

“True,” said Harry. “The only thing I can’t figure out is why she said she was setting that price because it was me that was buying it.” He chuckled a bit. “I’m still not sure if she meant she was giving me a deal, or that she was jacking the price up because she knew I could afford it.”

Ginny laughed quietly and gave him a cheeky grin. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you found what you were looking for, and now you can use it to get my Christmas present.”

Harry groaned. “I never should’ve told you that,” he grumbled. “What if I can’t get it to work?”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to tease me,” she answered lightly. “Anyway, if you’re ready to go, we should probably head for King’s Cross. And then, by the time we get back with the kids, Mum’ll have a feast waiting for us that would make the Hogwarts house-elves jealous.”

Harry laughed. “Alright, let’s get moving, then. I’ll just put this upstairs.”

Five minutes later, Harry and Ginny were dressed in Muggle attire and speeding along the motorway toward London. Although his thoughts tended to be fixated on the Pensieve awaiting him back at the Burrow, the fact that he no longer had to worry about trying to find one meant that he was finally able to relax enough to have a real conversation with her for the first time since the attack on Lily and Brian. They rapidly fell back into their old playful banter, and by the time they reached King’s Cross, Harry was feeling quite proud of himself.

“You know what, Ginny?” he said quietly as they entered the train station and began walking toward the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

“What?” she responded, a small smile playing on her lips. She was expecting him to make a joke, but she was mistaken.

“I’ve really missed spending time with you like this. I’m glad you’re not angry with me anymore.” She stopped walking, and he followed suit. Looking down at her, he immediately noted that her smile was gone, having been replaced by a look of earnestness.

“I was never angry with you, Harry,” she said in a gently voice. “I was afraid I might lose you again because of something stupid and preventable, and I definitely would’ve been angry if you’d gone through with it - but that never happened, so I was never angry.”

“Then I’m sorry for scaring you,” he replied quietly, and then impulsively pulled her into a tight embrace. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, and when he pulled away a long moment later, her smile was back in full force.

“Thank you,” she murmured before resuming their walk toward the platform.

“Anytime,” Harry whispered to her back. He jogged a couple of steps to catch up with her, and they walked side by side to meet their children.

* * * * *
After a hearty dinner, which was filled with stories about all that had gone on during the school term, Molly Weasley asked everyone what their plans were for the holidays.

“Well,” said Brian, “I was looking forward to being able to spend all my time relaxing, but apparently my professors-” he shot a glare at each of his parents in turn, “-don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Oh, right,” Ginny shot back, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m sure we’re the only ones who assigned anything over the holiday.”

“You are,” Lily piped up, smirking. “If we don’t count Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, or any of our electives, anyway.”

“Ah, the truth comes out!” Harry exclaimed, laughing. “Just be glad your mother and I only set you one short essay each. You should see the assignments we gave our O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes.”

“Thanks, now I have so much to look forward to next year,” Brian moaned bitterly.

“Ginny, dear, do you have any special plans for the holiday?” Molly asked.

Ginny shrugged. “Nothing apart from what we always do - big family get together on Christmas day, eat until we can’t move, you know.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for Christmas,” said Harry. “I really hope I’m able to finish my little project before then, though.”

“What project is this?” Arthur asked, looking quite interested.

“He’s working on some big surprise for my Christmas present, but the only hint he’s been willing to give me is that he needed a Pensieve to be able to do it,” Ginny grumped. “Honestly, Harry, I don’t know why you won’t just drop me a few more little hints.” She batted her eyelashes at him, causing him to chuckle and Brian to let out a disgusted grunt.

“I’m not giving you any hints because I don’t even know if my idea’s going to work,” Harry explained yet again.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Arthur wheedled. “I’m sure she’ll understand if it doesn’t work out.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed. “I bought a Pensieve today, and I plan to use it for something like what Professor Dumbledore told me he did once. But my project should be a lot more fun than his ever could have been, not to mention it’s not nearly as critical.” He smiled at Ginny. “There, you’ve got some more hints to work with.”

She pulled a face at him. “Do you have to be so vague and cryptic?” she complained. “All I wanted was a straightforward hint, like color or size or something. That rubbish you just said didn’t tell me anything.”

“Come on, Dad, just a little hint?” Lily pleaded. Harry’s stomach gave an odd - but not unpleasant - lurch at the sound of the word Dad directed at him. To his dismay, Brian frowned.

“It’s small enough to hold in one hand,” Harry said finally, “and that’s all you’re getting out of me. If I’m ever going to get it, though, I’m going to have to be pretty scarce for at least a few days.” He never would have admitted it, but the disappointed expression on Lily’s face filled him with warmth like few things he had ever felt. Unfortunately, it was mostly offset by Brian’s expression of indifference. Harry didn’t know what was going on with his son - things had been progressing nicely, he had thought - but as soon as his project was finished, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * * * *
After breakfast on the first full day of the Christmas holidays, Harry Potter retreated to Ron’s old bedroom at the top of the Burrow, his new Pensieve clutched tightly under one arm. Brian and Lily were down in the living room enjoying a rousing game of Exploding Snap, Arthur was off doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, and Molly and Ginny were making Christmas cards to send to friends and family. A large part of Harry really wanted to be downstairs with them, joining in all the fun, but he had made his plan and he was going to stick to it. Besides, it would be well worth the effort if it worked.

Once he had locked the bedroom door and charmed it to ward off intruders, Harry sat down in the room’s one rickety chair and used his wand to withdraw a fine, silvery memory from his temple. He dropped it gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled around for a moment before he picked up a pen and a small notebook, and then leaned forward, plunging into its depths.

A moment later, he was standing in a Muggle library, watching himself examine old newspaper articles with a microfilm reader. He stopped on an article about a hospital janitor named Warren Jarvis, who had been caught stealing jewelry and other valuables from patients. According to the article, he had been at it for over a year by the time he was finally caught. Harry quickly jotted down the man’s name and age, as well as the date of the article, before rising out of the memory and returning it to his head. After pocketing his notebook, he removed the spells from the bedroom door and hurried downstairs and out into the back garden, where he could Apparate.

He reappeared with a quiet pop in a deserted alley behind the same government building where he had first seen the record of his marriage to Ginny only a few months prior, and walked directly to a public telephone box. As luck would have it, there was a telephone directory inside, and only one Warren Jarvis was listed in the area. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the Warren Jarvis he was looking for, of course, but the odds were pretty good that it was. Harry scribbled the address and telephone number in his notebook, and left to find a taxi.

It took half an hour and more money than Harry would have liked to spend on transportation to arrive at Mr. Jarvis’s address. No light was visible through the windows, but it was a fairly nice day out, so that wasn’t too terribly surprising. After his unconscious ritual of brushing his hidden rowan wand with his right hand for good luck, he climbed the front steps and knocked loudly on the door. A few seconds later he heard footsteps approaching and the door swung open to reveal a man of about sixty standing there in his dressing gown.

“Morning,” the man said grumpily.

“Good morning,” Harry replied, noting that this man looked about the same age as the man he was looking for. “Warren Jarvis?”

“’S right,” the man mumbled.

“Are you the Warren Jarvis who used to work at the local hospital about, oh, fifteen years ago?” Harry asked. Jarvis’s eyes narrowed, giving him all the answer he needed.

“I don’t believe I know you,” Jarvis said shortly. “I certainly didn’t invite you here, so unless you have some sort of business with me, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, I do have business with you,” Harry quickly replied. “Nothing major, though; I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

“And I don’t feel like answering them,” Jarvis snapped. “Good day.” Before Harry had a chance to react, the door had been slammed in his face. He sighed heavily and walked a short distance to a deserted alley where he could Apparate back to the Burrow without being seen. He wasn’t about to give up on his search for his wedding ring, which Jarvis had stolen years before, but neither was he willing to resort to strong-arm tactics to get the information he wanted. He would simply have to return at a time when Jarvis would be more willing to cooperate.

Harry’s return to the Burrow was met with a questioning look from Ginny. He shook his head in answer. “No luck yet. I’m just going to head upstairs and work on things a little more.” She nodded and gave him a small smile before turning back to her Christmas cards, while he made his way upstairs.

He spent almost the entire rest of the day examining his own memories both from before and after the battle where he lost his memory. As the experience was somewhat new and unnerving, he was reluctant to view anything too traumatic or emotional. He was, however, able to get used to watching his own memories from a third-person perspective, and he even made a useful but unexpected discovery. When watching his own memories in the Pensieve, not only was he able to view them with perfect clarity, he could also relive his feelings from that particular moment simply by focusing on feeling them. Deciding that this would probably be able to help him as he sorted through his memories, he made a mental note to watch his most emotionally charged experiences while feeling his emotions from those moments, as well as from the perspective of a detached third party.

That evening, after an enjoyable dinner, Harry remained downstairs with the rest of the family. Lily approached his seat near the fire with her chess set in hand, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Looking for somebody to trounce at chess?” he asked.

Lily shrugged. “Maybe. Why; do you think I’ll be able to trounce you?”

Harry chuckled. “Well, since you’ve been doing it every week for an entire term, yeah I think you can. But I’m willing to play anyway.”

Lily smiled. “Good. Let me just get this set up, then.” She took a seat on the floor in front of his chair and began placing the pieces in their proper positions.

“Lily,” Harry said quietly just as she was finishing, “do you have any idea what’s up with Brian?”

Her face immediately became guarded as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Lily; don’t play dumb. He’s gone back to scowling at me and avoiding me and stuff. Did I do something wrong?”

Lily considered him for a long moment before letting her gaze shift over to her brother and then her mother. “I might have an idea,” she said cautiously as she turned back to Harry, “but I’m not sure if I should say anything. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Do you really think you’d make things any worse?” Harry asked incredulously. Lily nodded, and he sighed. “Alright, then. Just promise me you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things better, okay?”

Relieved that he was going to let the subject drop, Lily quickly agreed. “Now,” she said with a small grin, “let’s get this slaughter started.” Harry laughed and ordered one of his pawns to move.

A few hours and several devastating chess defeats later, Harry looked up to see that everyone but Lily and himself had wandered upstairs to bed. “It’s getting late,” he commented.

“Yeah,” Lily nodded, glancing absently at her watch. “I’m glad I don’t have to get up for classes in the morning.”

“Me too,” Harry agreed, “especially since I’m going to be up pretty late tonight working on your mum’s present.”

Lily’s eyes lit up. “What is it?” she whispered excitedly. “What’re you working on? I won’t tell her; I promise!”

“Oh, no,” Harry chuckled. “You’ll find out later, along with everyone else. If my plan works, anyway. If it doesn’t, then it won’t much matter, will it?”

“I guess not,” Lily said doubtfully. “But I’m sure it’ll work out just the way you’re planning.”

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured before sending her off to bed and settling into his chair to wait until an hour he deemed late enough. Finally, at one o’clock in the morning, he got to his feet, stretched, and quietly exited the Burrow to Apparate back to the alley near Warren Jarvis’s home.

After appearing with a soft pop and getting his bearings, Harry walked briskly to Jarvis’s house and quietly approached the front door. A silent unlocking spell granted him entrance, and a moment later he stood just inside the door, peering around in the darkness. The living room stood before him, and to his right he could see a doorway leading into the kitchen. Accordingly, he took the hallway to his left, and soon found Mr. Jarvis asleep in his bed.

Taking extra care not to make a sound, Harry drew his holly wand and cast a mild sleeping spell and a weak Confundus Charm on the man; that way, he would be unlikely to wake up prematurely, and if he did, he would attribute Harry’s presence to nothing more than a strange dream. As things stood, however, Harry didn’t think that would be a problem.

Two quick, decisive steps brought him to Jarvis’s bedside, where he used his left thumb to raise one of the sleeping man’s eyelids. After taking aim with his wand, he whispered, “Legilimens!” and immediately found himself assaulted by the other man’s thoughts, feelings, dreams, and memories. It took barely a moment to get them under control, and once he had accomplished that, the hard part was done.

Years flew by in reverse until Harry found his desired starting point and watched Jarvis slip a plain-looking gold band off of the left ring finger of a sleeping Harry Potter. Sifting his way forward through time again, he saw the ring go to a pawn shop in one of the seedier areas of London, while Jarvis returned home a few pounds richer. Having seen enough, Harry withdrew from his mind and used his wand to draw a copy of the memories away from Jarvis’s temple. After carefully placing the shimmering gossamer memory into a small glass vial, he took a step back and watched the sleeping man for a moment.

Warren Jarvis had stolen one of Harry’s most precious possessions - indeed, one of his only possessions - at a time when Harry was at his weakest, his most vulnerable. Yet now, for some reason, Harry felt no malice toward the man. Perhaps it was because Jarvis had already been caught and spent time in prison for his crimes, perhaps it was because the offense had occurred so long ago, or perhaps there was no logical explanation, but whatever the reason, Harry Potter was glad. Here before him was proof positive that he was beginning to let go of past offenses. He would have to continue to do so if he had any hope of not turning out like Snape, but for now it was enough that he had taken the first step.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry turned and quietly slipped back out of the house, where he once again found a secluded spot and Disapparated.

* * * * *
The pawn shop in London where Warren Jarvis had sold Harry’s wedding ring years before turned out to be rather easy to locate; unfortunately, the employee who had sold the ring was not. Harry spent the majority of three days tracking down former employees (and making subtle and judicious use of Legilimency) before he finally found the right one. From there, it was a simple matter to track down the old woman who had bought the ring from the pawn shop, and even easier to learn that she had given it to her grandson the year before. Harry’s main worry suddenly became that the young man might have decided to give it to a girl.

Now, on the fourth day of his search, Harry found himself on the doorstep of a large home in Birmingham. His knock was answered by a woman a few years older than himself.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly.

“Good morning,” Harry replied. “Is this the home of Aiden Golding?”

“Yes,” said the woman, “he’s my son. Do you need him for something?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, fighting the nervous urge to try to flatten his hair. “Is he home? Could I talk to him?”

“Of course,” she said pleasantly. “Come in.” She led him into a comfortable living room to wait while she fetched her son. It only took a moment for her to return with Aiden in tow. He looked just like Harry remembered from the grandmother’s memory: about sixteen but as tall as Harry himself, with sandy hair and an easygoing air about him. When he spotted Harry, his brow furrowed for just a moment before he shrugged and stepped forward to introduce himself.

“Aiden Golding,” he said, extending his hand to Harry.

“Harry Potter; pleased to meet you.”

Aiden nodded. “So, Mum tells me you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I actually- Look, this is going to sound a bit odd, but do you remember your grandmother giving you a gold ring about a year ago?”

Aiden frowned in thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I remember that. Why?”

“Well, I can’t be certain without seeing it, but I’m pretty sure that ring is my wedding ring. It was stolen a few years ago, and I’ve been trying to track it down. If you’ve got it and you’re willing, I’d like to buy it from you.”

Aiden contemplated this information for a bit. “No problem; I think I know right where it is. Wait here.” Harry was left alone while the young man hurried from the room. Over the course of the next five minutes - which seemed inordinately long - he examined a number of family photos that adorned the living room walls, and generally admired the beautiful home.

“Found it!” Aiden shouted as he bounded back into the room. “It was sort of buried in one of my dresser drawers, but here it is. Is this the ring you’re looking for?” He held out a simple gold band. Harry picked it up and squeezed it tightly in his fist for a moment. Although he was sure this was the right ring, he had never been able to completely shake the tiny doubt in his mind that kept insisting he would never actually find it. Slowly, he raised the ring to the light and read the tiny inscription on its inside surface.

Love Stronger Than Death

Harry smiled and found, to his surprise, that his bottom lip was quivering ever so slightly. He had found it. He was actually holding in his hand the ring that Ginny had placed on his finger over fifteen years ago - the symbol of their commitment to one another. After taking a deep steadying breath and blinking back the tears that had unexpectedly sprung to his eyes, he turned to Aiden.

“This is it,” he said quietly. “How much would you like for it?”

Aiden’s eyebrows rose in surprise; apparently, he had been expecting Harry to make an offer, not ask him to set the price. “Er, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “To tell the truth, I have no idea how much those things cost.”

“Honestly, I don’t either,” Harry admitted. “Let’s see, when I bought this ring I think it cost around a hundred and twenty pounds. Why don’t I just give you an even two hundred?” He smirked as Aiden’s eyes widened so far that for a moment they reminded him of Luna Lovegood.

“Come on, seriously how much?” the teenager said after a moment. Harry shrugged and dug in his pocket for his Muggle money. When he found it, he counted out two hundred pounds and held out the bills for Aiden to take.

“I feel like I’m scamming you,” the boy muttered as he accepted the money.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve got plenty of money, and it’s worth it to me to have this back. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” said Aiden, leading him to the door. “If you ever want to buy any of my other old stuff, you’re welcome to come back!”

Harry laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again.” Still clutching the ring tightly in his hand, he headed down the front walk, pleased that he hadn’t even needed to use any magic here. With a genuine smile on his lips, he ducked behind a hedge and Disapparated.

---

Chapter 13: Gifts and Memories

The last few days leading up to Christmas were a flurry of activity as the Burrow’s occupants prepared for the upcoming holiday. Harry spent hours helping the rest of the family charm tiny glowing fairies into place around the house and Christmas tree, hanging garlands and wreaths, working out just the right amount of power to put into the Enchanted Snow Charm, and a host of other things to make the house as festive as possible. Molly had been baking all week, and the constant smell of pies and puddings meant everyone’s mouths were watering almost ‘round the clock.

Most of Harry’s free time during those few days was spent analyzing his memories inside his Pensieve. He’d started with his final battle with Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries, and moved from there to other significant events in his life. He watched himself instinctively use magic for self-protection while working as a police officer, relived the terror of watching Voldemort return to power at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts, felt his own satisfaction at finally joining the police force and being able to move out on his own, and also remembered his grief and rage as his godfather, Sirius Black, was killed before his eyes. Late into the night he reviewed his memories, good and bad alike, until finally, on Christmas Eve, he could no longer put off examining the ones he had been both looking forward to and dreading more than any others.

Steeling his resolve, Harry looked down into the stone basin to see his own smiling face swirling around in its depths. “These are happy memories,” he reminded himself in a tense whisper. “I can handle this.” And before he had time to back down yet again, he plunged forward into the Pensieve.

He landed in the Burrow about eighteen years in the past, and watched himself interacting with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny during the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. He forced himself to concentrate on what he had been feeling at the time, and discovered that even then he had begun feeling something very subtle that seemed to draw him to his future wife. As his memories of their interactions that summer unfolded, the feeling only intensified until, when they left for school on the Hogwarts Express, he was deeply disappointed when she decided to sit with her boyfriend instead of with him.

For hours, Harry relived his growing frustration with his budding feelings for Ginny over the course of his sixth year. He paid particular attention to the incident when he and Ron had caught Ginny snogging Dean Thomas after Quidditch practice one day. The others’ emotions were easy enough to read from their expressions: Ron and Ginny were both furious, while Dean was embarrassed and a bit frightened of Ron’s anger. Harry only spared them a cursory glance however, before closing his eyes and focusing on remembering how he had felt at that moment. Immediately, the feeling that something large and scaly had burst to life inside his chest overcame him. He was filled with an intense desire to hex Dean out of the way and take his place in Ginny’s arms. In fact, he probably would have done so if not for his fear of both Weasley siblings’ wrath.

When the memory ended, he was breathing heavily, and it took some effort to calm down enough to watch the next few memories of encounters with Ginny over the next several months. When he found himself nervously approaching the Gryffindor common room, however, he grinned; he knew very well what was coming.

The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open, and Harry was assaulted by the noise of an extremely loud party as his Housemates pulled him inside. Jubilation washed over him as he watched Ron dancing around, waving the Quidditch Cup. And then Ginny was running toward him - her arms were around his neck, and his were around her waist - and then he was kissing her, as the creature in his chest roared triumphantly. Relief, hope, happiness, protectiveness, and something he couldn’t quite identify flooded his senses; the effect was so overpowering that he had to repeat the memory three more times before he was able to absorb it all and recognize that unidentified feeling. It was love.

Over the course of the next several memories, Harry could feel his love for Ginny increase with each passing day. He wanted to punch himself in the face when he broke up with her at Dumbledore’s funeral, and he nearly cried with relief when she convinced him to take her back a month later.

When he finally arrived at the memory of their wedding, Harry was exhausted, but he was determined to get through all of these memories tonight.

The small chapel seemed empty, despite the size of Ginny’s family. Harry caught sight of Molly sitting in the center of the front row, in the midst of all six of her sons (Percy having reconciled with his family by this point). Fleur sat close to Bill, little Angelique cuddled comfortably in her lap. A few seats away, Hermione sat clutching Ron’s hand, with Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks next to her on the end of the row. The remainder of the pews were totally unoccupied.

Harry’s nervous excitement was obvious by the look on his face, but it went far beyond that which is felt by most grooms. He knew that this might well be his last night in the land of the living - the following evening, he would be trying to lure Voldemort into the Department of Mysteries - so he felt an added sense of urgency.

The moment Ginny appeared in the double doors at the back of the chapel, both memory-Harry and observer-Harry felt their breath catch. Her pure white gown seemed to shine with an inner light (a small, detached corner of Harry’s mind realized that that might well be the case, but he was too distracted to realize it at the time), and her long red hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, only partially obscured by a sheer veil. As the organ music began to play she seemed to glide forward down the aisle, led by her father, and Harry began breathing again - very rapidly.

The trip to the front of the chapel, where Harry and the officiating Minister stood waiting, somehow seemed to take both an eternity and an instant. Arthur Weasley’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gently placed his daughter’s hands in Harry’s and lifted her veil. The sight of her radiant face caused both Harrys to catch their breath once again, and nearly made even the one who was just observing miss Arthur’s whispered, “We’re so proud of both of you.”

The ceremony itself was a blur, but that didn’t really matter to Harry; all that really mattered were the emotions flowing over and through him. He was loved - he belonged - for some incomprehensible reason, the beautiful and amazing woman in front of him had decided that he was worth any risk. And he loved her with all his heart, more than he had ever dreamed possible.

The small party back at the Burrow was a joyous occasion, and no one was thoughtless enough to dampen the mood by mentioning the plan for the following day. Tomorrow would bring whatever it would, but tonight was for celebrating love and life. Around nine o’clock, when Harry saw himself and Ginny retreat into her bedroom and begin performing several locking and privacy charms, he forced himself forward into the next memory. There were a few things that would be far too awkward to watch from a third person perspective, and his wedding night was at the top of that list.

The next memory he watched was his next one-on-one encounter with Ginny, nearly fifteen years later, and the hurt in her eyes as he first pushed her away and then fled from her presence made him wince. From there, he continued on to several more post-memory-loss encounters, stopping at the end of the summer and rising, mentally and emotionally exhausted, out of the Pensieve’s depths.

After carefully returning each memory to his temple, Harry sank onto his bed, the thoughts and feelings he had relived repeating and swirling together in his mind. His feelings toward Ginny were still somewhat conflicted - part of him knew her as an attractive friend while another part was hopelessly in love with her, but for the first time since regaining his lost memory, he understood that they were both parts of the same whole. There was truly only one Harry Potter with one mind and one heart, and if his feelings were conflicted, the conflict could be resolved. With these thoughts, as well as his plans for the morrow, dancing through his mind, Harry finally drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *
Something was tickling Harry’s cheek, and he reflexively swatted at it with his hand. He missed, but whatever it was went away, so he settled back into his peaceful dreaming. A moment later, the tickling sensation began on his other cheek, bringing him slowly awake. As he realized what was happening, his hand shot out again, higher this time, and caught someone else’s hand retreating away from his face.

“Caught you!” he exclaimed, looking up to see a laughing Ginny with a lock of her long hair in her hand.

“Happy Christmas,” she said quietly.

“Happy Christmas,” he smiled. “It’s been far too long since I had anyone to share this holiday with.”

“Well, then get yourself downstairs and start sharing it with us!” she laughed, pulling her hand out of his and getting to her feet. Harry jumped out of bed, threw on his dressing gown over his pyjamas, and hurried down the stairs after her.

“There he is!” Ron shouted as Harry came into view at the bottom of the staircase. “How can you sleep in on Christmas?” Harry looked around in awe at the living room, which was packed full despite having had its capacity magically increased. Arthur and Molly sat on a conjured loveseat, surrounded by all seven of their children, plus in-laws and grandchildren; there were nearly thirty people in all.

“Am I the last one?” Harry asked awkwardly.

“Well, you wouldn’t have been if Mum had let us wake you up when we first got here,” called Fred.

“She only let Ginny go up to get you after Charlie showed up,” George added.

“Well, if we’re all here now, then what’re we waiting for?” Harry exclaimed. He was met with a general cheer, especially from the younger children, and soon presents were being passed around and torn open amid shouts of thanks and exclamations of awe.

Harry grinned as he opened a new set of polished wooden chessmen from his daughter. “Lily!” he called, but the cacophony was too loud for her to hear him. Snatching up a large scrap of wrapping paper, he crumpled it into a tight ball and threw it at her, hitting her in the shoulder hard enough to get her attention. She spun around to see who had hit her, and was met by the sight of her grinning father holding up her gift to him and mouthing the words, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she murmured back, being sure to clearly form the words so that he would be able to read her lips.

A few minutes later, the festivities were interrupted by a loud BANG! Harry’s head jerked up, and immediately focused on the large cloud of violently purple smoke hovering around Philippe’s head.

“Peeves!” Philippe shouted as he dropped the box he had just opened and shot to his feet, revealing a face that had been dyed the same violent shade of purple as the smoke. “You’re in for it now!” Fred’s older son grinned at him and then took off at a run as Philippe charged. The chase went on for several minutes, and didn’t stop until little James, Fabian, and Gideon decided it looked like fun and joined in running around in circles while screaming at the top of their lungs, and the adults were forced to intervene.

All in all, it was an extremely fun morning, and more than once Harry found himself laughing so hard that it was difficult to breathe. When the presents had all been opened and the discarded paper had all been cleared away, Molly started edging toward the kitchen.

“Who wants to help with breakfast?” she asked. “I can cook enough food for this lot by myself, but it’ll go a lot faster with more than one wand working.”

“I’ll come,” Penelope volunteered at once.

“Wait!” Ginny called out. “I’ll help you too, Mum, but first I have to open Harry’s present.” Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look carefully at the package in her lap. The flat, foot-long box was wrapped in red and green patterned paper and tied with a gold ribbon.

“I thought you said it was small enough to hold in one hand,” Lily said, sounding just a bit confused.

“You really don’t have to watch her open it,” Harry said, feeling his face heat up. Even among family, it was still difficult for him to be the center of attention - especially when he knew they were all about to be disappointed.

“Well maybe we want to watch her open it,” Hermione retorted. “Go on, Ginny.” Ginny gleefully tore into the paper, revealing a large box of her favorite Honeydukes chocolates.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny said with a wry grin. “If you couldn’t remember what kinds of chocolates I like, though, you could’ve just asked. There was no need to run out and buy a Pensieve.”

“That’s not why-” Ginny winked at him, and he fell silent as everyone had a chuckle at his expense. “See? I told you it wasn’t anything big,” he told the rest of the room after a moment. Several of the adults looked rather disappointed, but no one commented as the focus shifted from presents to breakfast.

The hours between breakfast and Christmas dinner flew by in a blur as the house shook with shouting and laughter from children and adults alike. Harry marveled at the sheer amount of energy the youngest kids seemed to have as they ran, jumped, and sometimes quite literally flew around, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Quiet didn’t return to the Burrow until around ten o’clock, when everyone had returned to their own homes and Brian and Lily were sent off to bed.

After setting the last of the dishes from Christmas dinner to wash themselves, Molly dragged herself into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa next to her husband. “Remind me again why we do this every Christmas,” she murmured.

Arthur smiled indulgently at her. “Because we all love to get together like that, but it’s too tiring to do more than once a year.”

“Not to mention you live for all that noise and chaos, no matter how much you try to deny it,” Ginny added, smirking at her mother.

“Why don’t we head on upstairs, Molly?” Arthur asked after a moment. “It’s been a rather tiring day, and I don’t think either of us wants to be too exhausted tomorrow.” Molly looked like she would rather spend the night right where she was than have to climb the stairs up to their bedroom, but she nodded and pushed herself to her feet.

“Goodnight, dears,” she said tiredly.

“Goodnight, Mum,” said Ginny. “Love you. You too, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” Harry echoed as the older couple made their way up the somewhat rickety staircase. He and Ginny sat in silence for a couple of minutes before she began to shift in her seat, preparing to stand.

“Wait,” Harry said softly.

Ginny hesitated for a split second before sinking back into the sofa next to him. “What’s up?”

Harry cleared his throat nervously and, without realizing it, tried to flatten his hair. “Ginny, about the present I gave you-”

“It’s not a problem, Harry,” she interrupted gently. “I absolutely love Honeydukes chocolates.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But that’s not the point. What I mean is-” He groaned in frustration and held out his hand. “Here.”

Curious, Ginny reached out and took the tiny present wrapped in shiny gold paper from his fingertips. It couldn’t have been more than an inch in any dimension, and she had no idea what Harry could be giving her that would fit inside such a miniscule box.

“Before you open it,” Harry began, feeling a bit more confident now that she actually had the present in her hand, “you have to understand that it’s sort of a strange gift.”

“Strange how?” she asked, staring intently at the tiny box.

“Well, mainly because I’d like you to seriously consider giving it back to me after you open it.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What sort of present is this?” she asked incredulously.

“Open it and see,” Harry said simply.

Slowly and carefully, as though frightened she might break whatever lay within the tiny box, Ginny peeled off the paper and lifted the lid. When she saw what was inside, her face registered a mixture of confusion and disbelief, as though she knew what she was seeing, but couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. Her hands began to tremble slightly as she tipped the box over into the palm of her left hand and stared at the simple gold ring.

The outer surface, which had been perfectly smooth and blemish-free the last time she had seen it, was now covered in tiny scratches that dulled the gold’s luster. It had taken its share of careless abuse over the years, but was essentially still intact. Most importantly, the tiny letters engraved on the inside surface still proclaimed the words she had chosen over fifteen years ago - words which meant even more to her now that Harry had returned after everyone had thought him dead for so long.

Love Stronger Than Death

Tears sprang to Ginny’s eyes, blurring her vision as she read the words over and over.

“How?” she asked weakly. “Why?”

“I tracked it down the same way Dumbledore tracked down Voldemort’s Horcruxes,” Harry said quietly. “That was why I needed the Pensieve. As for why....” He paused to take a deep breath and blow it out very slowly.

“Ginny, ever since I showed up here this past summer I’ve been an idiot,” he blurted. “Lately, though, I’ve realized that I don’t want to act that way anymore. I don’t want to be a teenager who looks like an adult; I want to be the man I should have been all along. I want to be Brian and Lily’s dad, and- and I want to be your husband.”

“Harry,” Ginny whispered, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her face. Almost of their own accord, his hands reached out to brush them away.

“This isn’t going to be easy for me, Ginny,” he warned in a quiet voice. “I know I’m not ready to really be all that overnight, but I want to try.”

“And I’d like nothing more than to help you,” she sobbed happily. “Would you like me to put this on you?”

“Either that, or you can keep it to remind you of the husband you lost,” Harry answered, his eyes downcast. “I know I’ll probably never be-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny demanded, her shock giving way to a hint of anger. “I’ve only ever had one husband, and he’s sitting here in front of me! I didn’t give up on you when everyone thought you were dead, and I certainly won’t now.”

Taking his left hand in hers, she slid the ring onto his finger. “Love stronger than death, remember?” she reminded him gently. “Nothing can keep us apart forever, not even death, and certainly not some ruddy Memory Charm.”

Harry chuckled weakly. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Here’s a little secret, Harry,” she whispered. “None of us do. You’re doing fine so far, though.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully.

Ginny nodded. “But after that speech you just gave me, don’t think I’m letting you go without a goodnight kiss tonight.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll mess it up?” he asked. He was looking forward to this almost as much as she was, but for some inexplicable reason he kept stalling. “I mean, you’ve had quite a while to build up expectations. What if-”

“Harry,” Ginny interrupted softly. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment before finally bringing a hand to her cheek while nervously wetting his lips. Her breathing hitched slightly when his hand made contact, and he leaned in toward her, his other hand finding the small of her back and pulling her closer as their lips touched. The kiss was chaste and only lasted a few short seconds, but it had been so long since the last time they had kissed that it hardly mattered.

As they slowly pulled apart, Ginny sighed in contentment and cuddled up against Harry’s side, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

“So,” she said quietly after several minutes of comfortable silence. “What happens now?”

“Now?” Harry repeated, shrugging. “Well, normally, I’d get all flustered and stutter and stammer my way into asking you to be my girlfriend, but somehow that doesn’t seem to fit in this situation.”

“No,” Ginny chuckled. “Why don’t we try acting like that, though? Like we’re just dating, I mean. I think it’ll help us both get used to this whole idea again.”

“That sounds perfect,” Harry murmured. “You’ve been so perfect through all of this.”

“That’s what you think,” Ginny scoffed. “You have no idea how many times I nearly hexed you for looking like my Harry but refusing to act like him. The only reason I didn’t was because I always held out hope that something like this would happen, and I was afraid that if I outright attacked you, it never would.”

“I want to be your Harry again,” Harry said sincerely. “Just give me some time.”

“As much as you need,” she pledged. “As long as you don’t go trying to push me away.”

They stayed on the sofa, talking quietly and holding one another, for another hour, until neither of them felt they could stay awake any longer. Then they climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, and when they reached Ginny’s bedroom, they shared another, slightly longer, goodnight kiss before she went inside and Harry continued up the stairs to his own bed. He never remembered his feet touching a single step.