Disclaimer: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling.

Notes: My stories diverge from Canon from the end of 5th year. History: Harry killed Voldemort at the age of 17, at which time he appeared to sustain some slight brain damage. It manifests in problems with his balance, usually observable only when he is particularly tired or ill.

Warning: In this story, there are mentions of male/male sex including rape. There is also an important character death.

Summary: Harry Potter was becoming far too influential for the liking of certain people. It was not necessary for him to die, but after his kidnap and what happened afterwards, he would never be regarded as quite respectable again.

Chapter 1:

"Abercrombie, Sean," and the Sorting Hat thought for a few minutes before loudly pronouncing, "Gryffindor," and a small, sandy-haired boy went to the Gryffindor table.

"Bourne, Antonio." This was a cousin to Harry Potter's stepson, Adam Bourne, and this Bourne, too, was sent to the Ravenclaw table where Adam sat. Adam was quiet, responsible, and intelligent. He was one of the new fifth year prefects. Harry, after nearly twenty years teaching, plus seven more as a student, was beginning to know a great many of the families of the close-knit world of wizarding, and found the same surnames cropping up again and again. But there were always several muggle-borns to introduce some new blood.

"Crabbe, Jeremy," and a large boy was sorted into Slytherin, followed by, "Darke, Sandra," also into Slytherin.

"Davenport, Nathan," was sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry wondered if he was relative to a boy who had rashly tried to duel with him a few years before.

There was the first muggle-born, "Dursley, Gemme," also sorted into Gryffindor. Gemme was his cousin Dudley's daughter, a lively lass, just the same age as his own identical twins, Margaret and Victoria. Gemme had visited Harry's place several times, each of the visits memorable for the startlingly imaginative mischief the three little redheads would get into.

The Sorting Hat continued its progression through the alphabet, and the line of first years diminished, as each in turn hurried with an air of relief to their allotted house tables.

"Longbottom, Catherine," had a look of her father, Neville, and Harry knew her too. Unlike her forgetful and clumsy father, Catherine was lively and bright, and Harry suspected that she had a considerable degree of magical talent.

"Potter, Margaret," and there was a buzz of comment from the students.

Many of the teachers were particularly attentive, also. Harry Potter was known as a very powerful wizard, and known now too for his learning, as well as for his fighting ability. It was not long ago that his illegitimate daughter, Julia, had created quite an impression at Hogwarts before being killed two years before.

But Margaret Potter looked nothing like Julia. Only Harry remembered how, instead of the usual frightened look, Julia had worn an air of icy composure as she had sat on the stool and been Sorted into Slytherin. Now his Margaret was looking coolly expressionless also, as the Sorting Hat announced without hesitation, "Gryffindor."

"Potter, Victoria," immediately following, wore exactly the same look, and was also dubbed a Gryffindor.

Harry Potter sat at the teachers' table, wearing his own imperturbable expression, that was supposed to conceal his bursting pride.

Then there was "Shunpike, Percival," sorted into Hufflepuff, and another muggle-born, "Sullivan, Tony," also into Hufflepuff. Harry always had a special interest in the muggle-borns, knowing how difficult it could be to feel comfortable in a new world. There were fewer this year, only three including Gemme. There had not been as many as usual the previous year either. Another muggle-born, "Vaughan, William," was Sorted into Hufflepuff. That was the last, and the tables were suddenly laden with good things to eat as the Start of Year Feast commenced.

Harry was at the teachers table with the other professors. Professor Flitwick commented, "There were hardly any muggle-borns this year; only three when there's usually a dozen or so."

Harry said, "There were only three last year, too."

Severus Snape drawled in his oily voice, "You do know why that is, don't you, Harry?"

"Just the normal ups and downs of life, I assumed."

But Snape said, "No, the credit goes to you."

"Me!" said Harry, "What have I got to do with it?"

Snape explained, "Well, a lot of the supposed muggle-borns have always been sired by wizards, either by rape or seduction, often followed by memory modification."

Harry turned and stared at his friend, "I didn't know that," he said quietly, but feeling rather uncomfortable. Julia had been accidentally fathered by him. Julia's mother was a muggle, who had married a muggle.

"No," said Severus Snape, who had not intended to refer to Julia's parentage. "The pastime of raping muggles, wiping memories, and leaving cuckoos in the nest has almost stopped. Don't you remember castrating Dean Billings? It's widely known in certain circles. They're frightened you might do it again!"

Harry stared, and then laughed, shaking his head. "Well, if you're right, then I guess I did OK!"

Harry Potter had another son at home. James, now four, had been born when Harry was very ill. James was looking a lot like his father, with the same black hair and green eyes. But he was bigger than Harry had been at the same age, and did not need glasses.

Harry had another daughter too, but he didn't know about this one. She was the daughter of Susan McIntosh, whom he had met on the ship that brought him back to England. Toni had been raised in America, and her name was Toni Bellamy McIntosh. She had just married, and would soon be starting her own family of witches and wizards.

After the feast, Harry always liked to have a quick word with his small flock of muggle-borns before they left, and he quickly congratulated Tony and Bill on their placement before the Hufflepuff prefect, Amanda Hopkirk, whisked them away.

Muggle-borns often had a sense of inferiority when they first came to Hogwarts, and Harry knew that the simple fact that they knew Harry Potter would give them an extra touch of needed prestige, as they took their place among their contemporaries. There was only time to nod to his redheaded twins and their lively cousin Gemme, before they, too, were hustled away. He didn't linger long, but went to his office and silently disapparated, reappearing in his home.

"Gryffindor," he answered his wife's unspoken question. "Gemme and Catherine Longbottom, too." He embraced her, and said, "They're growing up. Maybe we should have a few more." Harry loved babies. Ginny thought that four children were enough. She was going to resume part time work at the Ministry once James was at school, and fulltime work once he was a little older. When Harry had married Ginny, she had been an auror, one of the elite of Wizardkind. But she wasn't planning on going back to that profession. Her husband tended to regard aurors as potential enemies after past conflicts with the Ministry, and she thought it more prudent to work in a different department.

But Harry Potter regarded himself as the height of respectability now - he was a member of the Wizemgamot, the Wizard High Court, and quite frequently served on various Ministry Committees, too. He was highly respected for his healing work, breaking 'unbreakable' spells that no-one else could break, and he hadn't been seen to fight for years. Just two years before, he had killed the killer of Julia, the beautiful girl who was his illegitimate daughter. But that didn't count, he felt. Not only did the killer thoroughly deserve his fate, but no-one knew he had done it, not even Ginny. All that was known was that John Dawlish had abruptly dropped dead in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, not a minute after Julia had been killed in Diagon Alley, her body still held cradled in her father's arms.

Harry Potter was forty-one years old now. His face was a little thin, but his body appeared as strong and fit as it had ever been. He was an attractive man again, not 'cute' certainly - romantic, perhaps. Harry and Ginny were very happy together, their obvious joy in each other a tonic for more jaded couples. The sadness of Julia's death had affected Harry for a time - it was like an unfinished story. But it may not have been a good story, he knew. Julia had sacrificed herself for her father, taking the Death Curse that had been meant for him. But she had also been the cause of his near death and long illness, and he'd found some stolen books of poisons in her possessions. In any case, Harry had never been one to make himself miserable over what could not be helped. He preferred to enjoy life, and it was so good not to feel tired all the time, to be able to take his shirt off and not feel ashamed of a pitifully thin body.

With just one child left at home, Ginny, Harry and young James had a lot more freedom to travel, and their weekends were often spent in foreign lands. Ginny could not apparate thousands of miles, as Harry could, but if she did it in steps, she could still manage a long way. There was always muggle transport, of course, although that took a lot longer. But Harry helped Ginny organise herself a muggle passport, putting the same sort of charm on it that his own had - 'Quite in order,' a muggle would always say, in whatever language he used, whether it was or not.

He worked almost fulltime at Hogwarts now, with the exception of Wednesday afternoons, when he visited Hermione's office in Diagon Alley, and worked those cures that no-one else could work. He was keeping up with demand these days, but all the same, he had never chosen to be a mediwizard, and did not believe that he had any obligation to these people. If he wanted to go away, they just had to wait for him. It was not his fault that he was the only person who could undo certain spells.

It was a Wednesday afternoon in October that he understood one reason why he was hardly ever attacked any more by Voldemort's old supporters - he was outliving them! He had eighteen patients waiting his attention that Wednesday, including thirteen from overseas. The Ministry of Magic gained a lot of prestige from having available the only wizard in the world who could do this work, and was paid well for it by the overseas Ministries. Harry always had a Ministry Observer with him, who was supposed to double as a bodyguard. It was always an auror, at the moment a large young man called Jebedee Shacklebolt, son of Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom Harry had known for many years.

Hermione was giving Harry his usual brief rundown on his next patient, the fifth of the day. The affected wizard was in his nineties and had been afflicted with boils for the past twenty years. Harry was surprised. This was unusual. The boils curse was usually a very easy one to undo, not one that ever needed his special abilities.

When the man was led in by a younger man, possibly his son, he looked closely at his face. He still wasn't sure, and instead of immediately raising his wand, he concentrated, feeling the spell as he did when the usual casual wave of the wand didn't work. And then he asked quietly, "Where have I met you before, Mr. Garot?"

The man stared at him, then turned and started to leave as fast as he could. Harry raised his wand, the man turned awkwardly back to him, and Harry asked again, still quietly, "Where have I met you before, Mr. Garot?"

The younger man who was with him, grabbed the old man's arm as he swayed, looking at Harry, puzzled. "What's the matter? I thought you were going to fix him!"

"I just want an answer to my question," said Harry, still looking at the old man, and when he asked for the third time, there was a command laced with magic in his voice, and the quavering voice of an old man answered, "It was in Italy. I tried to kill you."

The younger man turned to confront the older, staring at him. Jebedee Shacklebolt had leapt to attention also. Harry asked, "And how many of Voldemort's supporters do you know who are trying to kill me now?"

"None. We are old men now, and many have died."

The old man had the marks of pain on his face, and used a walking stick. Harry casually waved his wand, and said to Hermione, "OK, he's done," but with his usual caution, he didn't turn his back as Jebedee went to the old man.

"Do you want him arrested or anything, Harry?"

"No, no, he's a bit old for that now, let him go."

Jebedee hesitated, and then he quietly made his alarm go, so that two more aurors apparated close by. Jebedee steered the old man and his son out of the office, and handed them over to Mark and Trevor, two more Ministry aurors. Then they were taken off for questioning.

Harry was already proceeding with the next patient as Jebedee hurried back in. The rest of the day's work was without incident, and only took another fifteen minutes or so. Harry was very fast, any delay usually caused by a patient being reluctant to leave as quickly as he would like. But the aurors who customarily worked with him had become very efficient at cutting short their thanks, and suggesting they send a letter if they had more to say.

At the Ministry, Alec McVeigh, head of the Auror Department, listened to what Jebedee had to say about what he had heard. He was drumming his fingers, unable to decide what to do. Potter had said that he didn't want the man arrested, but this went against the grain for McVeigh. Garot had committed a crime, and even if it was twenty years ago, McVeigh felt that he should be held accountable. Another complication was that he himself had been named by Harry Potter as someone whom he would not tolerate near him, due to certain incidents in the past. To try Garot, he would need Potter's testimony. He eventually went to Madam Bones, the Minister for Magic, with his problem.

Amelia Bones wanted more information, and McVeigh sent Jebedee to see if Harry was still with Hermione, and if so, to request him to come to the Ministry.

Harry was still with Hermione - they had already briefly discussed Garot, whom Harry assumed was long gone by that time, and now Hermione was nagging Harry to have a medical examination. Harry, as usual, was refusing. He told her that he was in perfect health these days, and there was not the slightest need to be looked at.

Hermione was quietly resolving to go over his head to Ginny. She knew that Harry always did as Ginny told him, and she thought that Harry should have a checkup whether he thought he was well or not, and annual checkups thereafter.

Jebedee knocked and entered. Harry was annoyed to hear that Garot had been taken to the Ministry building, and frowned at Jebedee. "It's a shame I said anything," he said, "I would have thought you could have let the old man go."

Shacklebolt only said, "It was not up to me, or to you. It's up to the Ministry whether the man is held accountable. And Madam Bones is requesting you to please come to her office, and they will investigate further."

Back at the Ministry, Madam Bones was anxious that Harry not become angry at having his express wishes disregarded. She arranged for an excellent afternoon tea, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, rather than Alec McVeigh, was to do the questioning, with the excuse that part of his job was liaising with foreign Ministries. McVeigh was not even to be present.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was nearly sixty, but didn't show his age except for his hair, which was shot with silver. He had long since abandoned the affectations of shaven head and gold ear-ring, and now looked a large and very impressive man.

When Harry arrived at the Ministry, with Jebedee close behind him, they found Mark waiting to greet him with utmost courtesy. Harry was looking cool, but beginning to be rather amused at the extreme politeness with which he was ushered into a conference room, to find Amelia Bones offering him coffee, and Kingsley passing him a tray with an assortment of fancy cakes.

To see what they'd do, he declined the refreshments, and kept his face imperturbable, leaning against the wall.

Amelia and Kingsley looked at each other, Amelia with discernible anxiety. "Please, sit down," she pressed. "We just want to talk a little."

Harry said softly, "Albus Dumbledore always provides me with fresh scones when he wants me to do something unpleasant!"

Amelia looked at him, to see his gleam of amusement. She finally laughed, and said, "We'll order you scones if you want, but these rolls are very nice."

So Harry sat down, and helped himself to coffee, as Amelia passed him a roll. Even now, they were reluctant to come to the point, and Harry finally did it for them. "You arrested Garot," he said. "He's an old man, it looked to me like he's dying anyway. Why bother?"

Madam Bones said, "Some of us here feel that people should be held accountable for their actions, old or not. And Jebedee reported that he admitted trying to kill you in Italy."

Harry shrugged. "It was happening all the time in those days, I'm not even sure that I remember this one."

"Was he punished?" asked Kingsley.

"None of them were ever turned over to their Ministries if that's what you mean," said Harry. "Mostly I just ran away, and tried another country."

Kingsley leaned forward, "What exactly did Garot do?"

"He said it was in Italy," Harry mused. "I was there a couple of times. Didn't like it much, though." A slight grin passed over his face. It had been too hard to find a girlfriend in Italy, their customs a bit too conservative for his liking. He continued, "There was a Death Curse sent at me in Rome, also one in a small village. I can't even remember the name of it, but I think that must be the one, because I managed to stun the wizard. And I didn't manage that very often."

"Then what?" asked Kingsley.

"Then nothing. I took his wand, and left him for the muggles to worry about," and he leaned forward to Madam Bones across the table, and said persuasively, "Let him go, Amelia. He's old and he's sick."

Amelia thought that he was probably right, but she said to Jebedee, "Would you bring them in here? Kingsley can question him."

Harry helped himself to another of the rolls. They were very good, as Amelia had told him, and he often finished his spell-breaking sessions feeling hungry.

Garot and his son were led into the room by Jebedee, accompanied by Mark. There was also a short grey haired wizard with them, who appeared to represent Italian wizardry, and was currently protesting volubly at Garot's detention.

Harry casually poured himself more coffee, and watched as Amelia and Kingsley tried to soothe the man. Old Garot was looking frightened, his son dazed.

The short wizard suddenly caught sight of Harry, his eyes going immediately to the forehead, looking for the identifying lightning shaped scar. But the scar was faded now, and was concealed by Harry's hair, and the wizard was unsure if he was looking at the real Harry Potter or not. No introductions were made. Finally he started listening to the soothing words of Madam Bones. "Only want to ask a few questions," she was saying. "Not under arrest at this stage."

They sat the shaky old man at the table, while his son stood nearby. The Garots may not have been under arrest, but the two aurors were watching them both very closely. Kingsley took a seat opposite the old man, and proceeded to question him. Harry had always known that he was in constant danger in the days of his youth, but the details of the intelligence service used, and the sheer numbers of the wizards trying to kill him, were new to him. He took no part in the questioning, merely sitting relaxed, drinking his coffee, and watched and listened.

It seemed that Garot had tried to kill him three times in different places, before Harry had managed to stun him, and inflict him with the boils that had helped make his last twenty years thoroughly uncomfortable. Garot became voluble. He was appearing to be enjoying telling the story that had been kept secret for many years. It was a story obviously new to his son.

Old Garot told of other attempts that his co-conspirators had made. Many of them had travelled widely, with the express intention of killing Harry Potter, with torture if circumstances permitted. He told of how Harry had so nearly been killed many times. Spells were sent at his back when he appeared distracted. Attempts were made to catch him asleep in bed, and sometimes beautiful young women were sent as decoys, but every one, for some reason, had been totally ignored by Harry. And Garot told, with utmost respect, of Harry's lightning speed and his apparent sixth sense. There had been many times that Harry had been spotted, but was gone by the time a wizard who could do the death spell could be contacted.

Finally the old man's voice dried up. Kingsley turned to Harry, "Do you have any other questions for him, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, "No questions."

The short wizard, who had been trying to bully the English Ministry into freeing Garot, finally knew for sure who he was, and stared at him in fascination. Harry Potter was a legend in many parts of the world. But he only looked quite ordinary sitting there, just a man of average height, a bit thin in the face, a faded scar running down his left cheek, and shortish black hair.

Amelia asked, "What do you think now, Harry? Do you want him charged?"

Harry said again, "He's old and he's sick. Let him go."

The Minister turned to the Garots, and said, "Very well, you are free to go."

The Garots left, and the short Italian wizard was ushered out also, although looking a little unwilling.

Amelia said to Harry, "I don't know how you survived."

"It always seems to me a bit of a miracle, actually. They promised me I'd never reach my eighteenth birthday, and I believed them."

"Oh yes," said Kingsley, "I heard about that Howler."

"It wasn't a Howler," said Harry, "Just a private little note."

"I heard there was a Howler addressed to Albus," said Amelia. "Everybody at dinner heard it one Saturday night. And then it was discovered that you were missing and there was an awful fuss!"

Harry was staring. "A Howler! No wonder I was in trouble!" He laughed, "All these years, and nobody ever told me!"

"So where were you that Saturday night?"

"Oh, just out, enjoying myself." And he gave them a clue to the philosophy that had helped shape his life. "I always reckoned that if life was to be short, I'd best make the most of it!"

That evening, as Harry and Ginny lay close in bed, Harry mentioned the Howler. "No-one ever told me," he said. "All these years, and I never knew."

Ginny said with a shudder, "It was horrible. Everyone was sure that you were dead. People were crying, and the teachers and prefects searched and searched."

"No-one ever told me," said Harry again. "I got an awful dressing down from McGonnagal the day after, and three weeks detention!"

But Ginny was remembering that horrible night. She had been one of the ones in tears, her boyfriend of the time holding her close. The Gryffindors had been sent to bed around midnight, although many had wanted to stay up while they waited for news. Ginny hadn't slept until near dawn. By that time, Harry was sound asleep in his own bed, and had been for hours.

The memory had affected Ginny, and that night, it was Harry who soothed Ginny after a nightmare, rather than the other way round.

Harry Potter still suffered from nightmares. There had been too many desperate fights for freedom, and it seemed that having to battle against the threat of confinement was more traumatic than having to fight for his life. It was the idea of imprisonment and helplessness that sometimes left him white-faced and shaking. He never had bad dreams about killing or being killed.

***chapter end***