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.