I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, J.K. Rowling does. For those of you who have read this story before (because I know there's some who have read it a few times now) this has been edited, this chapter a lot, simply because I didn't feel like it fitted with the feel of the rest of the story and to be honest I didn't really like it all that much, some of the others not so much. I've also split some chapters up to make them shorter and more readable. Thank you to all those who have stuck with me and for all your reviews! I hope you think it's better too :/

Before you start – there are a few things that aren't canon and I don't want loads of reviews telling me so because all I'm doing is taking a bit of creative licence! For example – the ones I can think of right now are Neville and Luna being married and Dementors still being at Azkaban.

Anyway hope you enjoy it! xx

The Auror Office in the Ministry of Magic was situated on the second floor, it wasn't the most impressive space in the world either. Not really what you'd expect for the elite, highly trained officers in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was basically like any other office – cubicles for each individual auror that were lined with clippings of a variety of things: newspaper clippings and maps being the main things. At one end on a large blank wall were the photos of the most notorious dark wizards (Voldemort's had long since been taken down) were presented. Next to that was a brown door – the Head Auror Office.

The Head Auror was in the office at that moment – the reason that the main office area was buzzing with activity – but behind the door was quiet. He was sat at his desk attempting, and failing drastically, to read a report that had just been sent in. However he hadn't moved his eyes in the last 15 minutes – not surprising since he had been called into work on his day off (to the fury of his wife).

He was a man known by everyone in the wizarding world – loved by them – and he'd lived such a life that no one was surprised when he became the youngest head auror at the age of 26. He'd fought Basilisks, Trolls and Voldemort; he'd stolen a dragon's egg and flown one; he'd even been on the run from the most famous dark wizard, Voldemort, and was almost killed by him. Despite all of this, Harry felt like the last year of his life had been the most confusing and strange for him.

The door creaked open and he didn't bother looking up – it had been opening every five minutes recently just for people to drop forms in and occasionally to have a chat. He was just praying that no one brought work with them.

Work at the moment was different and unexplainable. It was going against all the laws of magic or at least the one that everyone accepted – people, under no circumstances could come back from the dead. Expect that they were. They had the other departments as well as their own trying to find out why it was and who was going to come back when. Till they did all the office had to do was check people's identities and explain to them everything that had happened.

Of course there were trends that had been picked up. It was only people on the light side of the war (something everyone was extremely grateful for), only those who had died in the first or second war, and only if they were killed by Voldemort or his Death Eaters. The rates they were coming back were also speeding up.

Harry had been called in at nine and he'd seen 15 people already at half past ten. None of them were people he knew and though he hated feeling such a way, it annoyed him that no-one he loved or knew well had returned yet.

However over in a sleepy village in the West Country, two people were sitting up next to their graves – one male with scruffy black hair and a female, his wife, with beautiful curling red hair and the most enchanting green eyes.