All characters and references are protected by copyright to their respective holders, including J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Press, etc. This is an unsanctioned work of pure fiction with no relationship to any real world entities. This work contains allusions to consensual sexual activity between men; if this is illegal or prohibited where you are, do not continue.
Constructive feedback of any kind may be sent to JourneymanHarper@yahoo.com. No flames please.
Resurrection
He sat back. He had just finished his most recent success. He felt really good about this one. And his publisher had already approved the storyline. His readership would really enjoy it.
Harry Potter grinned. Sometimes it was hard to think of himself as Harry still, though that was the name given to him by his parents. Harold James Potter. The world knew of him as James Clay, author of several dozen children's books about the adventures of different animals. They served a dual purpose, in that the story was captivating but at the same time the different aspects of each animal encountered or given a lead role were covered, making it educational. His publisher knew him beyond the pseudonym, but he was a muggle.
Harry had exited the wizarding world twenty three years ago. He had put it all away and followed the muggle opportunity in front of him. The wizarding world was a place, a reality that to Harry had always seemed frozen in time. Very little had changed over the centuries. The muggle world had continued to evolve. And Harry, being raised as a muggle had no fear or lack of understanding of that world. And so, when Voldemort was gone, the Ministry of Magic full of new pompous asses looking to make a name for themselves, Harry became totally disgusted and removed himself from that world. It had taken to the end of his seventh year, but he had finished all his NEWTs and graduated Hogwarts. Then over the summer, while everyone debated over whether the current minister was better or worse than Fudge, he just withdrew. He found an apartment in London that he could afford, and started work sorting books in a library. It was there that he heard and saw the complaints from the parents of children trying to read, and that got him into children's literature. He was, as it turned out, a natural storyteller, and with his own art in some cases, began the now famous line of children's books. Two years and four books later, he had moved into the English countryside in Treviscoe. He lived in a graceful old farm house, not large, but well maintained and completely muggle.
This latest book was about an independent rabbit named Earl, who had some adventures and had to stay the night in the deep woods. He encountered some friends, and made it home OK, but in the process the story told about nocturnal behavior, shelter, rabbit moods and issues, and more. He just needed a title. Musing, he made himself his afternoon tea and went out onto the porch to enjoy it.
It was his birthday today. The last day of July, as the sun worked its way downward, Harry turned forty years old. Everything about him spelled `recluse' in his lifestyle. For some years he had done book signings, carefully laid out so that he wouldn't appear arrogant. He had stopped because the children didn't care about it, although the parents did. He thought it just a bit shallow, but his publisher had insisted. Now, an original edition signed copy of "Mouse on the Run" by James Clay could fetch nearly a thousand euros on E-Bay.
If there ever was a moment that fate could choose to change his life, now would be it, mused Harry. Dinner would be late; he always took tea late and drank it until the sun went down. Most of the time there would be no dinner anyway, but tonight he had a bit of leftovers. He had plenty of money for food; he just had grown up eating sparingly, and his metabolism matched that. He just sat in the tranquil spot, as he had each time he finished a book.
Fate struck. A large barn owl swooped through the air. This intrigued Harry, but it was not unusual. At least, not until it landed on his railing, stuck out its foot and waited for him to retrieve the note.
Harry stared at the note in horror.
The owl hooted, and shook its leg. The note fell; the owl grabbed a pastry and flew off.
The note sat there. And sat. And sat. To pick it up would acknowledge that he knew what it was. And he was not willing to do that.
After twenty three years, he and that world had ceased to exist for each other. After the end of Voldemort, he found that he really was disappointed with the wizarding world. Sure, he was famous, but fame brings criticism, and the Ministry . well, they were the king of criticism. That was what had driven him away. But what had continued to separate him was his large lack of understanding as to how to prepare for adult wizarding life. What would his career be as a wizard? He had no role model for the near term. What would he actually do on a day to day basis? All his answers were in the muggle world.
Few noticed his withdrawal. First, he stopped wearing robes and started wearing muggle clothes all the time. Then he stopped shopping in Diagon Alley. Hermione was the only one to notice, as she was also muggle but had adapted to the wizarding world by attaching herself to Ron. But by the time she had caught on, he was rarely seen and never carried his wand anymore.
The note sat there accusingly. A part of him realized that he would have to acknowledge and at least read the note. The other part denied its existence. The first part of him realized that someone would have to have tried really hard to find him. The other part insisted that he didn't care. One part assured him it was misaddressed. But the deepest part inside knew that somehow, that world he had left twenty three years ago was reaching out to him again, and that wasn't going to be good for anyone.
The barn owl returned. It had finished the pastry, and apparently was waiting for a response.
He picked up the note, slowly undid the binding and unrolled it. It was an invitation to tea at Hogwarts, tomorrow afternoon at 4PM. He quickly penned a response, reattached it to the owl and the owl was on its way.
He had declined.
A couple of reasons had prevailed. First, he would have trouble getting there. Second, he knew that they would want something. He didn't know who the current Headmaster was, but Dumbledore had been very tricky, and Minerva McGonagall was no slouch herself that way. Third, he hadn't done any magic in all those years, and he didn't know if he even could anymore. And last, he knew that if he went, somehow he would leave his peaceful escape from chaos behind. He had worked hard to achieve his current existence.
Night fell on his musings, and he closed down the old farmhouse and went to bed. But his dreams were filled with joys and adventures of Hogwarts, not the distasteful experience of just before he left.
Bill Weasley, on the other hand, was still up. He and the other professors at Hogwarts had been trying to solve a problem for weeks. Bill had managed to get a teaching job at Hogwarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and had held it for a number of years. Now he was the new Headmaster, and they needed a new DADA professor. They had scoured the list of applicants and resumes, and they all were pretty bad. They made Gilderoy Lockhart look competent. After going over the list in disgust, the staff had tried to remember who had been most effective in the Ministry in the past thirty years or so, to look for candidates.
It was Bill who had mentioned Harry. He had been standing in the tower that morning, staring out the window as the group debated one particular candidate who had been twenty five percent successful on his missions when it had hit him. In a moment of silence, Bill stated from the window to the team, "Who achieved the most notable win against the Dark Arts, twenty four years ago?"
Silence from the team. They didn't remember. Bill wasn't surprised. So he asked again, "Who defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort single-handedly, twenty four years ago?" He turned around and looked back at them. "Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, and then the Chosen One. There is your best candidate for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Bill, no one has seen Harry Potter in twenty years or more. He just kind of evaporated." This was from Professor Sprout.
"Is he still alive?" This was Madame Hootch.
"Yes, and still in England." This was from young Professor Creevey. "Remember, I made a hobby of him for a while. Does anyone know any more?"
General blank looks and head shakes from them all. Bill decided to play his card.
"He has kept in touch with one person that I know of. Only by the muggle version of owl post, but he does correspond occasionally."
"And who might that be?"
"Mrs. Ronald Weasley, formerly known as Miss Hermione Granger."
Some quick communications, and two hours later Hermione was there with them. She related Harry's frustration in the early years, and his escape from wizarding hypocrisy. When she mentioned that he was famous for writing children's educational books, Bill immediately connected James Clay with Harry Potter. But for Hermione, her curiosity had not worn down.
"Why ever are you trying to find him now?"
Bill explained about the DADA position. "He is the only one qualified. Even if he hasn't been in duels or battle for years, his intuition and reflex reactions are invaluable to pass on."
Hermione took a breath. "He may not have his magic anymore."
Silence. Then Bill asked, "How would you suggest we approach him on this?"
Hermione Weasley was caught a little off guard. "Well, first off I would invite him to a social visit. Make a regular appointment for tea or something. Leave the whole job thing out of it." She regarded Bill carefully. "You and Harry were friends, and more? You should start by approaching him by yourself."
Bill looked away. He and Harry had ended up as much more than friends for a while. It had been bliss, it had been exciting, but he had seen Harry sour on the wizarding world. Bill had been pulled away on Gringott's business at the worst, and by the time he returned Harry had had it and receded. But what Hermione was saying was true, and practical.
He had nodded, spent half an hour drafting a short note and sent it along with the owl. All too soon, within the hour in fact, the owl had returned with the expected negative response. The wording was classic Harry.
Greetings, Bill.
Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I
have been out of the wizarding world for some time,
and am quite happy that way. Best wishes to all the
family and to you especially,
Harry
Bill had almost crumpled the note and thrown it away when he noticed a slight flourish in the H of Harry's name. The significance was almost lost on him, except that he had taught Harry the centuries-old trick. Capital letters of prominence could be penned with just a little extra detail so as to kind of medieval-ize the script. Unconsciously, Harry had done it in his note. There was still a wizard inside him, whether he realized it or not. Bill laughed out loud, and decided to pay him a visit.
Harry awoke that morning to an insistent field owl holding another note. With a sigh and the notion that resistance was futile at that hour of the morning, he took the note and fed the owl. This note was a little more firmly worded.
Good morning, Harry,
I really need and want to see you and chat. I will drop
by your house later in the afternoon. Don't go to any
trouble, it is just me.
Bill
Harry considered leaving. But this was Bill that wrote the note. He shivered at the memory. He and Bill had been lovers before the time with Fleur. Harry had so desperately wanted someone to want him, to really need him and enough to act on it. Bill and he had had a strange magnetism to each other. Perhaps it was that each was a little bit of a rebel. But Bill had been forced to share a bed at the Weasley house with Harry at the last minute, and both had gotten so erotically turned on that two hours later Bill had been deep inside Harry, pumping his seed with intense pleasure as Harry had willingly surrendered to Bill's aggression. Harry had felt so incredibly cared for as Bill had wrapped his long body around Harry from behind, and crushed the boy into him.
He looked down. He was hard, just from that one memory of Bill. That hadn't happened in a long time. Harry had kind of become sexually neutral when working in the children's book world. He was gay, but hadn't had any kind of sex in twenty years. It wasn't going down, either, and Harry marveled at the idea that he was going to have to wank, at his age! And so he lay in bed, stroking himself, remembering Bill's hot mouth, his long hair, and the light dusting of brown hair across his chest as it had tickled his back so many years ago. He remembered the burn of the penetration, and then the rapture as Bill had lost control and pulled Harry to him, legs wrapped around, arms across his chest and shoulders and Bill's heavy hot breathing down behind his ear. Like an arched spring they had moved until he had felt Bill thrust deep into him, and it had felt so good, just like now.
Harry realized as his orgasm arrived that he had been moaning and pumping his underused cock furiously, as it shot nearly a dozen jets of warm sticky cum onto his own chest. He grinned kind of in a funny way, and he felt kind of silly. He slowly realized that he just may have missed Bill more than he thought. He got up, and made his way to the shower. A glance in the mirror showed that he still looked good. Mature good, though. His face wasn't hooded with innocent concern anymore. The eyes were still bright green, but thoughtful. His smile was one full of possibility. His wry grin at the thought though put his face back into its twenties.
He did look good. A touch of grey here and there, but his chest and stomach still showed the careful hint of muscle underneath. His butt, too had retained its desired tight and compactness. He then did something he hadn't done in almost as long. Lowering his chin, so he was looking out the top of his eyes, he slid a finger through his own cum on his chest and slowly, watching in the mirror, brought it right to his mouth and eased his tongue around that finger, cleaning it and consuming the small bit of cum that was there. Just doing that one move was enough to get him desperately hard again and breathing heavy. He had forgotten how much fun it had been to be a tease, and how incredibly sexy that move was. Where had all the time gone?
The hot shower helped, and inadvertently as he was washing his back and butt, a stray finger found its way across his opening. Brought up short by the sensation, he realized that some denied part of him was waking up now, and waking up fast. He let the water run cheerfully over him as he finished that morning ritual, and emerged to dress in a comfortable pair of pants and a rugby shirt. Unconsciously he slipped a small earring in his left ear, which sparkled in the morning sunshine.
He stepped out onto the porch for the morning paper, but as he did he just looked at the countryside. Everything seemed more vibrant today. His view was normally that of grassland and occasional houses dotting the countryside, but today the green grass was rich, the sky crystal blue, and the wildflowers in contrasting yellows and blues amidst the grass. Even his trip to the market for basic items and some pastries that he knew Bill liked (or used to like) had been a refreshing experience. The rather reticent people around him seemed to think that he was having a good day, and greeted him more enthusiastically than usual.
It was some time before Harry could actually identify the feeling. It was anticipation. Bill, his former lover wanted to see him badly enough to barge his way over. What would Bill be like now? An image of Dumbledore with Fleur on his arm entered his head, and he humorously brushed that away. He was excited to see Bill, even after all these years.
He had kept in touch with Hermione. She alone could appreciate some of the muggle things he was encountering, and had kept him appraised of the family items, children, etc. She and her children had been once or twice to the old farm house, but not since the kids had been toddlers. That was more than ten years ago. Ron worked in the Ministry; Charlie stayed in Romania; Bill had gone to Hogwarts to teach, and Percy had settled into Ministry accounting division where he belonged. His mind filling with these memories, he continued to tidy and lay out the tea things for his arrival.
Bill stood in front of a mirror at Hogwarts. He and Fleur hadn't worked out, but he didn't know if Harry knew that. His hair was still long, the earring still in one ear, but there were slight gray strands here and there. But the shirt and pants he wore were those of a young man, and still quite flattering to him. Hermione was convinced that Harry was still alone. Bill realized that this would be very hard for Harry, and he intended to use every bit of talent and opportunity to get Harry back to Hogwarts. And if that meant that he could also pursue reactivating their relationship, all the better.
He had spent the bulk of the night before thinking about Harry. They not only had incredible attraction to each other back then, but Bill thought that they had really loved each other. He had been so happy and had tried to pull Harry in that direction too. But the wizarding public wouldn't let him alone. When they had finally separated, it wasn't that Harry broke up with Bill; rather, it was that Harry had broken up with the wizarding world, the Ministry, and as he let on to Bill alone, a future for which he was totally unprepared.
Well, that was a long time ago. Bill departed the castle for Hogsmeade, from where he could Apparate. Hermione had given him enough detail that he could arrive a short distance from the house. The walk either way was short, and after apparition and approaching the house, Bill Weasley realized he didn't have a clue what he was going to say. Hermione's only advice, to him alone before she had left, was that he should not have a prepared speech.
They had been walking to Hogsmeade when she offered this advice. "Bill, you can't go over there with a hard plan. I don't know which way he is going to go on this, or why. He is doing well in the muggle world on the outside, maybe even inside too. But he is still alone last I had heard, and that means that he is not right on the inside."
Bill had been amazed. "You are telling me not to prepare?"
"No, I am telling you not to prepare anything specific. You know what you want, and if you are going to get it then you have to explore this out." Hermione sighed. "Harry had been highly unpredictable for a few years after Hogwarts. Then he got his place in the muggle world and has stayed there ever since." She giggled. "You might have to get into his pants first." That had sent Bill blushing, but that thought had occurred to him.
"Very little is beneath the role of Headmaster. Say Hi to Ron for me." And they had separated.
Now he stood in front of the old farmhouse. It looked like Harry lived there. It was isolated enough that the inspirations for his books could clearly be seen or imagined on the land around. Harry had several dozen acres of the grassland around his house, and was not disturbed often. He walked quickly up the last of the drive, and as he was about to climb the steps, Harry emerged.
Harry had seen him on the drive, and had totally flushed. Bill was still gorgeous. And the way he walked unconsciously showed the confidence and yet rebellious spirit still in him. Harry wondered with trepidation now what this was all about. But he could not deny his body's reaction to his old love.
Bill sized up Harry in an instant. Yes, he was much the same, but definitely older. Harry looked good, like a very attractive muggle. But the uncertainty was there when it came to the wizards again. Oh well. Bill put his best smile on.
"Harry, it is most excellent to see you again. I am sure I am intruding, but we can get to why later."
Harry grinned back. That voice melted any resistance. "Come on in, Bill. I will have some tea ready soon. It has been a long time." He escorted Bill to the dining room, and when Harry went into the kitchen Bill followed. Harry's eyebrows raised, but Bill laughed.
"It's just me. Don't make a fuss, please." And as Harry turned to prepare the tea from the teapot, Bill drank in Harry up close. His legs were longer, and he was taller overall than before. He still had that awesome butt leading upwards to strong shoulders, and his longish hair. A man's body. Bill shivered at what being with Harry would be like now. He wondered if Harry had stayed gay, and whether he was more of a top or not.
They brought tea to the other room, along with the pastries. Bill's eyes went wide. "You remembered!" Bill was fond of a particular variant of scones.
"Of course. Now, finding some on same day notice was the hard part, but they are fresh."
"They are excellent." He finished one. "I never would have connected James Clay with you, you know. But the Weasley family house is chock full of your books among the grandchildren."
"I make sure they always have a full set whenever the next publishes. I've just finished the latest yesterday, which should publish in a month or so."
"Cool. They are very popular." He decided to venture into territory a little. "I've noticed that they are all pure muggle content. Ever thought of making one for our world?" The venture was in the word `our'.
A quiet silence. "No, actually I haven't."
"Why not? It would seem a natural. I could even connect you with a publisher."
Harry looked out the window. "It isn't my world."
"It used to be." And Bill helped himself to another scone.
By that time Harry had his response. "Not really. It was a world I entered, unprepared, did my task, and then left because I was still unprepared." He got up and wandered around the living room. "I am a muggle, I live as a muggle, and I understand the muggle world. You can't change the spots on a leopard."
Bill grinned suddenly. He had him. "You were born to James and Lily Potter, in the wizard world. You passed all your NEWTs with Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding, except History of Magic. Half of one percent of the students at Hogwarts do that. And you claim to be a muggle?"
Harry's eyes narrowed, and amazingly Bill could feel a little magic tension building. Victory seared through him as he realized that Harry still had his magic, and more if what he felt was any indication. But Harry didn't notice.
"How do you know my Hogwarts grades?"
Bill folded his arms, smirked in that irritatingly sexy way that had driven Harry nuts before, and replied, "The Headmaster as access to all the student files."
Amazement set Harry off for a moment, and he ran over to shake Bill's hand. "Congratulations! Bill Weasley, Headmaster of Hogwarts! Wow! Hogwarts is lucky to have you." At the touch of their hands, though, something happened that was so fundamentally shaking and neither knew how it happened, but they were in each other's arms. Bill holding Harry as Harry clung to him. God, he felt good, and the feelings he had been having for so long, hidden away inside the muggle shell slowly emerged. He was turning upside down inside. He could smell Bill's masculine presence there; feel the strong man holding him. And he could feel the part of his muggle world slowly crumble. He learned one very important thing: no matter what world he was in, he wanted to be with Bill.
Bill was totally struck at Harry's embrace. But it was obvious that Harry needed this, and Bill was NOT going to object. Not in the slightest. He held Harry tightly, let Harry cling to him, and could feel him shuddering. He let his hands slide down and not-quite caress his back. He could feel the magic swirling gently.
Harry slowly lifted his head, and while there were tears in his eyes he gave Bill his sloppy grin and they separated slightly. The moment was still there, but neither was quite willing to take that first step back into their former love just yet. "Thanks, I needed that." He turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I've been holding a lot in over the years."
Bill just stood, dumbfounded. This could go so right if he handled it properly. Hermione had been totally correct. "I guess so." He looked down at his tea. "I've missed you, Harry. More than I realized."
"Oh no, those are MY lines. Someday I'll tell you about this morning when that dratted owl woke me up." Well, he hadn't quite intended to say that, but it did break the ice a little.
"Oh?"
"Never mind." Harry got himself some more tea. "So what brings the Headmaster of Hogwarts to my humble abode?" Jeez, he rebounded quickly. At least that much had stayed true.
Bill decided to play. "What do you think?"
Harry stopped and put his mind to it. Family? No, he would have been invited to the Burrow for that. Too cheerful for a death or injury. Ministry? No, that would come with a committee. Harry took a short moment to be amazed at how much he remembered about that world, which once had been his world. What would Bill be into? Gringotts? Maybe they needed a safehouse or a secret-keeper. No, that would be too obvious in the daylight. This must be an honest mission. What would Bill want?
Wait a minute. Bill was Headmaster, and out of term. What would the Headmaster of Hogwarts want, on a friendly, disarming mission like this? A similar situation rose in his mind suddenly. Albus Dumbledore trying to seduce Horace Slughorn to return to Hogwarts.
As Bill watched, he saw Harry's eyes go wide and all the blood drain right out of his face. Harry sat down heavily and set his tea down on the coffee table. "You want me to return to Hogwarts. Why?"
Bill nodded. He was even more convinced now that Harry was the right one. "I'll give you one guess."
But Harry already knew. There was only one reason for a visit like this. Slowly, he whispered, "You need a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Bill regarded him seriously. "Yes. By far you are the best candidate."
"Your pickings must be pretty bad then."
Bill shifted in his seat. "You would always have been a superlative DADA professor. The DA activity showed that. But you have been in hiding for twenty years. I have been teaching it for fifteen, and the need arose when they elected me Headmaster. But now that we started the search, you are the only candidate with any qualifications and ability to teach. Without you we will end up with another Guilderoy Lockhart."
"Perish THAT thought."
"C'mon Harry, you are a natural. There are more kids than ever now in Hogwarts, and they need an education. No one can do a better job than you can, not even me. I did well, but not like you are going to."
Harry's face took on the expression of wariness. "You sound awfully confident in this. Don't I have a choice?"
"You do. In fact, you must. The last time our world was thrust onto you. If you come back into it, the only way I will let you do so is if you want to, and you choose to. Our need is there; but it is your choice. My need is there; Hogwarts is a busy place and not everyone likes having such a young Headmaster, but you have to choose to answer my needs too."
It was too good to pass up. Harry batted his eyes slowly and put on his pouty face. "And what about your wants?"
A moment of honesty needed. Softly, Bill said, "After seeing you again, if I got my wants we would be upstairs in bed now shagging madly like crazed bunnies. But neither of us is ready for that."
"Speak for yourself!" But Harry was reviving. "I'll think about it, Bill. Magic has been very far from my mind for a long time and I have not thought much about it. But I owe you at least due consideration." He stood up. "How about dinner? Or do you have to get back to Fleur and the family?"
Bill shook his head. "Fleur and I never married. What you and I had was real, Harry, and Fleur recognized that so we never married."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be; it was the right thing to happen. But I would love to stay for dinner."
The conversation eased away from Hogwarts, and to other things. Harry prepared an asian chicken dinner that Bill quite enjoyed. House elves as cooks never could quite break out of the same sequence of foods. Darkness fell, dinner finished and as Harry washed the dishes Bill stood there, amused.
"One wand wave and all the cleanup could be done. I could do it for you."
Harry shook his head. "One turn of the knob and that unit over there will wash them for us. But this is my routine."
They finished and went out into the dark in the field for a moment. Bill held him gently. "Please Harry, think carefully."
"I don't even know if I can do magic anymore." There. He had voiced his biggest concern.
"Harry, I don't think you have to worry. But you won't know until you try."
Harry looked straight into Bill's eyes. "I know. But if I succeed, I'll lose all I have worked for."
"And you will have gained something priceless." He leaned forward and brushed Harry's lips with his own. "Think."
"I will."
Bill left, taking a number of steps down the drive before Apparating. Harry returned to his house in the dark. He puttered around. He sat. He flipped through 200 channels of TV and nothing was on. He puttered some more. And somehow he found himself in his basement, standing in front of an old trunk that was covered in dust. It hadn't been opened in twenty three years. Dare he re-expose himself to that world? The line from a Bach chorale swept through him: Behold, I stand with one foot in the grave. The question was, was he going in or coming out?
Fate didn't give him a choice, in that the muggle technology that was letting him see suddenly let go. The light bulb burned out with a pop, leaving him in the dark. As he turned to find a new one, he hit his head on a house beam.
Muttering ensued. "Damn that stupid light bulb!" Harry grumbled and turned again, this time getting his toe caught. "Ouch!" then his head again. Too stunned to think, he said it. With the mental foundations crumbling, and the carefully built fortress that had kept that world at bay, and that had given him the framework that let him exist in at least a suspended peace and semi-happiness, the word erupted from his memory unconsciously and automatically. The one basic word shattered forever the prison he was unaware of in all those years of silence.
"LUMOS!"
Aghast, as the room filled with warm yellow light, cheerful light, reassuring light, and most definitely magical light.
He hadn't even used his wand.
Too amazed to think, he looked at the burned out light bulb. "REPARO." It came back on, filling the room with electric light. "FINITE INCANTATEM," and his magical light faded away.
Harry stood breathless, a silly wide grin on his face. He grabbed a dusty old broom standing in the corner and absolutely ran upstairs. From the moment he straddled it, the broom was pulling at him to go, and with a cry of supreme joy he streaked through the night sky.
He could still fly.
Circles, loops, the Wronski feint, all at his command. Higher he flew, faster he flew. It was incredible! All that he had put aside, all the bitterness for what he truly had loved but could not tolerate, and did not know how to go forward, all the rightness and the pleasure in his art was back, and stronger than before. He felt himself positively bursting with the magic as he flew, redeeming him, reopening his mind to it. He loved it, embraced it, and welcomed it home. He finally flew down and landed on an empty road.
Well, what do you expect? He hadn't been watching where he was going. Ruefully, Harry realized that he was lost. But not for long. He had an Apparition license. Chances are he could still do that, too. Pulling in his courage, holding the broom tight, he executed the procedure and with a resounding CRACK he found himself standing in front of his farmhouse. So he could still do that too!
Harry hugged himself. He felt so completely alive as the magic ripped through him. Back down to his trunk he went, unlocked it, and opened it. There were his Quidditch robes, and his Hogwarts robes, and all his books that had been worthwhile. And there, nestled carefully in its original box, was his wand, the wand that had obliterated Voldemort and saved so many. No, he corrected, it was the focal point for Harry, who had used it to obliterate Voldemort and save so many.
He picked up his wand, and he could feel it welcome and reinforce him. But he had never felt like this before. It was like his magic was back tenfold. He was positively sizzling with magic. Something was going on, and he didn't know what. He realized that he needed to speak to an adult wizard, and the only ones who he really thought he could talk to were Arthur and Molly Weasley.
He realized that he didn't have any way of talking to them. He didn't have Hedwig anymore. His fireplaces were quite ordinary. He needed help. Finally, he settled on a plan. He would Apparate over to the Burrow, and if the lights were on and noise was coming out, he would talk to them, otherwise he would wait until morning. And so he did, taking his wand and firmly envisioning the Burrow in his mind, he stepped forward and appeared outside the Burrow.
To say that the lights were on and noise was coming out was a complete understatement. The Burrow seethed with activity. Harry quickly identified Hermione and Ron, and many children. The twins were there too, and Charlie it sounded like. Someone must have heard the crack of apparition, as two tall Weasleys made their way out to greet whoever was there. It was the twins.
Fred and George walked down the drive to meet the newcomer. They weren't expecting anyone. "Hello, out there. Bit late, aren't you? But come on in and have some dessert."
Harry approached slowly, with a big smile on. They hadn't changed much. "Hi Fred, George. Thought I might visit, but you've got a party going on. What's the occasion?"
Fred and George stopped dead. "It couldn't be! Harry, is that you?"
"Yes, it's me. Long time no see, eh?"
The twins leaped onto him and about hugged him to death, exclaiming how happy they were that he had come to visit, they were celebrating the last family day before the grandchildren had to start getting ready to go back to Hogwarts, and if he was there then that would make everything perfect. Then Fred stayed and dragged Harry to the Burrow while George ran ahead to break the news.
The family was ecstatic. The grandchildren of course didn't know the old Harry, but the older ones knew him from his infrequent visits. But they loved him and Harry had settled right in with the youngest, playing with their toys with them. Harry had loved children and it was part of how he got into those books, trying to capture their imagination.
Ron and Hermione watched in amazement. Ron was relieved and happy for his best friend. Hermione knew something had happened with Bill to cause this. When a break had finally come, in the pandemonium, and the adults had a chance to talk, Hermione asked the ribald question.
"Harry, the Burrow is pretty well protected from muggles. How did you get here?"
So that was it. They figured he just came to visit. And that meant Hermione knew about Hogwarts. "How else do you think? I Apparated."
Stunned silence. Then Molly and Hermione began to cry. "You're back? You are back as a wizard? Oh Harry, that is such wonderful news!"
"What made you come back? We were afraid it might never happen."
Harry thought a moment. "I hadn't embraced magic in twenty three years. Something happened earlier today that made me wake up to certain facts. So I went to my basement, and found my trunk. It was dark, and I whacked my head twice. I was so ticked off that I shouted the first thing that entered my mind. Lumos. And it worked, wandless even. I've never had much success with wandless magic before, but this was totally, like, ready to go." He looked a little sheepish. "So I dusted off my broom, and flew around for a few hours like a schoolboy, and got lost. So I figured, what the hell, and Apparated back to my house."
They were amazed. Ron snickered, "Figures you would go flying first."
"I didn't know how to get your attention, because my house isn't on the Floo network, so I figured I could Apparate over and see if you were sleeping. That's when I stumbled on Fred and George and your big party." He looked down. "Didn't mean to crash it."
Hermione slipped out for a moment. She Floo'd Bill up at Hogwarts that he had better get his butt down here, cause Harry was back and baring it all.
They all loudly reassured him that he didn't. Fred and George pushed further. "Something else going on. Why did you need our attention?"
"I needed an adult wizard or witch to talk to. Arthur, Molly, you are the closest I have who can help. But maybe you all can."
They strongly encouraged him to continue. Molly spoke up, "After having seven children, we can tell you anything you need to know."
So Harry explained to them about how he never had this much power. He explained that when he picked up his wand, he felt like he was larger than life and could do anything. His wand almost seemed to be teaching him, as things he didn't know about magic had seeped into his mind unbidden. Even now, he realized that he now knew the spell for connecting to the Floo network, even though no one had told him.
There was a slight embarrassed quiet, then Arthur spoke up. "Harry, I am so sorry. You never knew. While the coming of age for a wizard is 17 years old, the magic doesn't truly mature until twenty or so. It is related to puberty and your, well, um, sexual development, but not simultaneous; instead it is sequential. So once your body was fully developed, then the magical development could happen, usually over a period of about a week. It can be very awkward, or it can go smoothly." Arthur smiled. "Ron was lucky; his was pretty smooth."
Charlie chimed in. "Mine was a mess. Every time I sneezed the most bizarre things would happen."
"Well, I think I was the worst. I couldn't do the simplest spells without thunderclaps and stuff." That was Ginny.
Arthur continued, "Harry, by your putting aside of magic, you had no experiences for that development. But in essence, twenty years ago you gained magic at a rate of around a hundredfold a day, for about a week." He looked at him closely. "You were already powerful to defeat the Dark Lord; how much magic you have now must be stunningly large."
Harry was flooded with relief. "It isn't going to go away, is it?"
"Not for a very long time, and often never."
"Well, then I guess I will have to find a place back in this world." And the effusive welcoming and reassurances that he had never really left overwhelmed him. That wasn't true, but he didn't mention it.
When they quieted down a bit, a voice said, "You know, there is an open position for a professorship in Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year." Bill stepped forward, beaming.
"I had heard about that. The Hogwarts Headmaster had come to visit me this morning on that topic." And he smiled at Bill in his most attractive manner.
It was surprising how quickly the family could disappear to leave Bill and Harry alone, although Hermione had to drag Ron away. They sat down together. Very close. Touching, along leg, hip, and shoulder. In quiet and comfortable ease.
"Well? Have you decided? You certainly have made a lot of progress in a couple of hours."
Harry laughed. "You could say I had a crash course in being an adolescent wizard twenty years ago." And he explained to Bill what had transpired.
"Harry, we never knew. I never ever suspected that someone had not told you what to expect." Bill just kept this foolish smile on his face. "Honestly, though, seeing you back in the Burrow like this just makes me feel so incredibly good."
Harry leaned into Bill, and laid his head on Bill's shoulder. "Just being close to you has warmed and opened up my eyes like they have never been before. I wonder how I had missed all along." And he raised his head and brushed his lips across Bill's ear.
Bill reacted by gently pulling him close and letting themselves savor each other and the tactile contact that comes with a truly sensitive and sincere kiss. Years of loneliness and uncertainty were redeemed at that moment, and liquid fire burned through their veins as they renewed the unspoken union that they had used to have.
Molly walked by at the silence to find an intense rose glow emanating from the other room. Amazed, she looked in on Bill and Harry entwined. Humph! They are in their forties but they are acting like teenagers! She coughed politely and the embrace and glow subsided. Both looked a little sheepish, but Bill quirked his eyebrows and Harry shrugged.
Well, something had happened as the sofa was singed. Molly's eyebrows went up several notches. "It's nice to see something settled, but you've done a number of my sofa." She sighed mightily. "I'll have to see what I can do."
They jumped up, and Harry spoke up. "Wait, Molly I am sorry. Let me see how far I can take this." And he pulled out his wand, concentrated very carefully, and aiming at the worn old sofa, clearly stated "REPARO."
Oh yes, his magic was back in force all right. The sofa was enveloped in a pale green light. The burn marks vanished; the holes re-stitched themselves together, and the sag in the middle straightened. The whole color raised from the worn yuck-green color to the deeper forest green. Even the pillows fluffed themselves out. Tacks flew from everywhere to replace themselves on the trim, and the final touch was to reform the arm covers that had been missing for fifty years.
A shining new sofa stood there, in immaculate condition, right down to the new sofa aroma. Molly gasped in amazement as she went over and caressed the material. "Harry, I haven't seen this look like this since I was a little girl!" She turned to him, and curtsied lightly. "Thank you, you are quite a dear!"
Harry was awed by how far that had gone. "You are quite welcome; it seems I've got a lot of magic to explore again." He looked at Bill, and then his face split wide in satisfaction. "Yes, Bill, I do believe I will accept the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year." And he leaned quickly in with a viscious grin that was almost a leer, and whispered, "But I also want a side job as the Headmaster's lover and sex slave."
Bill blushed totally at that before laughing out loud. "I'll inform the staff about the first part right away."
Molly knew something else had transpired between them, and that what ever it was it was good and right.
Treviscoe wasn't the same after that night. True, Mr. Potter remained a reclusive sort, but he was away for a lot of the year. During the summer, however the old farmhouse was quite busy with curious folk, and it was not unusual to see flashes of light late at night from what everyone expected was the television. But he was a good neighbor most of the time, and people must be allowed their oddities. The number of owls, though was hard to explain.