Hello all on the Harry Potter side of the FanFic pond. I'm RamaFan, and while I spend a lot of time over at the Kim Possible section some of you might recognize me from your reviews…I've been sneaking in here and reading your stories for quite some time and have finally decided to write one. As most of you I have read all the books, so I know the 'lingo' as it were. Please let me know what you think. I've actually been working on it (or at least hashing out the plot, etc…) for a while, so I hope it's good. I'm planning on updating about once every-other week, or once a week, depending on the chapter length and my free time…work doesn't end for hubris you know.
You'll have to find out Parings but I don't write Slash so don't look for any.
Harry Potter and Voldemort's Final Curse
Chapter One Harry the Neighbor
"We're really sorry to leave them with you like this, Harry, but it's really important that Jason take this client, and my clients are clamoring for me to come out there and do something about their ads in 'Newsweek' immediately." Angela Johnson gave the twenty-seven year old black-haired young man an apologetic look from the front door of his home in West Pines, California.
"Oh, don't worry about it, Angela, I don't mind taking them. The kids love coming to stay here. Besides, I'm sure we'll have loads of fun while you're away." Harry gave her a convincing smile, and she nodded, giving him a small hug and then handing him a half sheet of paper filled with names and phone numbers.
"Thanks, Harry. Here are the emergency phone numbers for where Jason and I will be. It has both our phones plus the companies we are going to be working with, so if anything should happen, you should be able to get hold of us." Angela turned to the two children that had just returned from the upstairs of the house, a tall, blond- haired, gray-eyed teenage girl named Amy, and her younger brother, Mark, who, like his sister, had gray eyes, but brown hair instead of blond. They both gave her smiles and then stepped forward to hug her in turn.
"Now, you kids be good for Harry. I'm sorry your father and I have to take off like this, but you know this happens every summer, so we just get to have it over early with this year, alright?" Amy spoke up for her and her brother.
"Have fun on your trip, mom, and don't forget to bring us back something." Angela gave her daughter a laugh and turned, dashing out into the rain that was falling on Samford Drive and heading for the cab that was waiting for her on the street. Samford Drive was part of an older neighborhood in West Pines. All the houses there looked different, but were fine, old, traditional homes. Some were brick, others had clapboard siding, still others were even of stucco. All the houses sat fairly close to the street on narrow, tight lots. Tall trees lined the street, and sidewalks provided a safe haven for walking in the small neighborhood. In all, Samford Drive was a very nice place to live. A place where people from all walks of life were welcomed and where friendly neighbors could often be found socializing together on their front porches or at neighborhood backyard barbecues.
It was here that a nice, young man had moved seven years ago. Harry Potter was a work-from-home web designer that had moved from England to West Pines. He was a kind-hearted young man who helped old ladies with their groceries, was a friend to the children of the neighborhood, and was never too busy to stop and have a discussion about the weather. In truth, he was a bit strange. He had no car, and he never bothered himself with gossip or other people's business. He got to meetings with his clients by taking the bus or getting a ride with a neighbor or friend. Sometimes, it even seemed that he somehow 'magically' appeared, but most people paid no mind because people could tell Harry was a good person, and that was all that mattered in this neighborhood (a rare and wonderful place indeed).
"Well, you guys, here we are, once again." Harry said, smiling and turning to the two young people standing with him in his foyer once their mother had left. "You got any ideas about what you want to do this fine rainy evening?"
"I'm going to go call George." Amy declared brightly before she turned and bounded off upstairs to call her boyfriend of the last five months. Harry hadn't met George, but he had heard an awful lot about him from Amy. It seemed he was another young man who lived in the neighborhood, but did not go to school with Amy. They had met at a friend's house, but he went to some sort of private school in the area. In any case, they had apparently hit it off, and begun dating about five months prior. She had been excited a few weeks ago when he had turned 17. She, herself, was 16, but apparently took some sort of pride in the fact that her boyfriend was a few months older than any of her friend's boyfriends. Harry smiled; young love, it was good to be able to enjoy that at her age.
"Well, young man, what do you say to a rousing game of chess for a little while, eh?" He asked, turning to eleven-year-old Mark still standing with him in the foyer. Mark smiled at him, laughed a little and nodded. Mark apparently still found Harry's English accent a bit amusing even though he had known him for the last seven years of his life. Harry never took offense, though; it had become a bit normal for him living in America.
Harry had met Amy and Mark's parents, Angela and Jason Johnson, the first day he had moved to Samford Drive seven years ago. They had kindly stopped by and introduced themselves as the young couple that lived across the street from Harry and immediately hit it off. Over the past six years, he had become very good friends with the Johnsons and their children. They saw him as almost a surrogate big brother, and he loved them just the same. Angela worked in advertising, and Jason worked in the sales department of a fairly large corporation, and due to the nature of their jobs, they were usually required to travel a little during the regular course of a year. While they both strived to be home as much as they could for their children, there were still those odd occasions when they both had to be out of town for a weekend or a week here and there. In years past, their grandmother would take them for the week or weekend. However, three years ago, she had decided to begin taking trips with senior groups all over the world for fun, and many times was not in town. So, Harry had volunteered to watch after the children when his friends had to leave, and it had been like that ever since. Harry never minded, as the kids were fairly well behaved and they all got along famously.
"….or when mom comes up to our rooms and says 'how can you live in this pig-sty?'" Amy cajoled as she did the best imitation of her mother as she could. The three of them, Harry, Mark, and Amy, were sitting around the dinner table, discussing the amusing topic of what parents did when they got mad. Well, to be perfectly honest, it wasn't so much the three of them as it was mostly Mark and Amy, but Harry was laughing and occasionally nodding his head in agreement with the two as the conversation passed back and forth between the two Johnson children. Eventually they settled down, and Harry got up to clear the table while Mark scooted off to unpack his things, leaving Amy sitting at the table, watching Harry clearing up from their meal that night. Something had struck Amy during their conversation, but she had not said anything about it.
Over the last few months, whether it was because she was getting older and noticed these things, or whether Harry seemed to hide them less, she had noticed some peculiar things about him…well, at least more so than normal. Harry had always loved to joke with the kids, and he told the most amusing stories about the mischief he and his friends had caused while in school when he was young; however, she had noticed that they really did not know much about Harry's past, other than the fact that he was from England and he was a Web Designer. Another was that Harry always looked older than he was. Physically, he did look the part of a twenty-seven-year old, but his eyes…they seemed to tell a different story. Whenever she seemed to catch his emerald eyes, they sent a chill of sorts up her spine. No, it wasn't attraction…that would be just gross…it was more like there was a lot of history and pain in them, as if they knew much more than he was telling.
Then there were his nightmares. Ever since one afternoon they had spent with Harry after school waiting for their parents to come home from work, she and Mark had known about the nightmares. Harry had fallen asleep on the couch that afternoon while they were running around outside, and she and Mark had come in to sit down and rest when he awoke on the couch in a screaming fit. It seemed silly that a grown man should have nightmares that terrified him so, but he had never been willing to tell them why he had them. Ever since then, Amy had kept and eye out for them. Sometimes, Harry would fall asleep on the couch or in a chair and would toss around, mumbling and sometimes even yelling names. And even in the middle of the night, he would wake up screaming. It didn't really happen that often, but enough that they had noticed. There were some other things, though. He had this scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, which he said was much fainter than it used to be, but she could still plainly see it there, and whenever they had asked how he got it, he would skirt around and change the topic. Mark was convinced that it was some sort of badge of honor from one of Harry's amazing mischief-causing adventures while in school, but Amy wasn't so sure.
The final thing Amy had noticed tonight during their dinner conversation was that Harry never talked much about his parents, or any family for that matter. He would talk forever about his friends and their families, but the only thing she had ever heard him say about his mother and father was that he looked like his dad, but had his mom's eyes.
"Harry?" Amy addressed him as he stood at the sink, finishing washing the dishes they had dirtied.
"Yes?" He asked, drying the last pot and turning around.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, you can." Harry said, looking at her a little perplexed.
"How come you never talk about your parents?" She asked, mustering the most innocent look she could. Harry gave her a weak smile. He knew she would be the one to start asking questions about him one day. Ever since he had met Amy, she had been a bright, inquisitive girl who seemed to have a knack for putting two and two together. He didn't need to use Legilimency to figure out that she had caught on. Harry sighed. He figured he'd have to tell them one day, but they were a Muggle family and some of his best friends now, and he wasn't sure they'd really understand when they learned the full truth about Harry Potter the Wizard, and Dark Wizard killer.
"Well….I suppose you're old enough for me to tell you now." He started, reaching the conclusion that it was best to be honest with her rather than lie or avoid the question. The beginning was as good a place to start as any.
"The reason I never talk about my parents is that I never knew them. They died when I was a year old." Amy's eyes opened wide with shock; she had not expected this answer. She had just assumed that he did not get along with them or that they were divorced or something like that.
"I'm sorry. Do you mind…do you mind me asking how they died?" Harry looked incredulously at the girl. That was certainly an unusual question for a person to ask. Most people dropped it when he told them that his parents were deceased, but he had to remember she was still only sixteen, and sixteen year olds felt they had a right to know everything. He should know; he had been terrible about that when he was younger. He shook his head, and the rueful smile that he had plastered on his face faded into a sad look.
"They were murdered." Amy was even more shocked by this answer. She mumbled a 'sorry' as she decided that the table-top was the most interesting thing to look at that moment.
"It's alright." Offered Harry as he clapped a comforting hand on her shoulder and shuffled out of the kitchen towards his study. Amy just kept her head down, cursing herself for asking such a personal and painful question of her friend.
The study, surprisingly enough, was the only room in the house that was off limits to everyone but Harry, including the Johnson children, who by far enjoyed the most freedom when visiting their friend. Harry normally let them play with anything in the house, and they had free reign over all that was his, except for the study and the objects contained within. It was Harry's 'inner sanctum' and he was the only one allowed in the room, which, when he wasn't using it, was kept locked. What the children didn't know, though, was that the study contained volume upon volume of magical texts, Harry's pet owl Hedwig, the Phoenix named Fawkes, who had come to live with him at one time, but was never really a 'pet', Harry's Pensive, his Firebolt broom, cauldron, invisibility cloak and hundreds of other magical items that Harry had collected over the years. This was where he practiced his magic, did his daily meditations, sent letters to his friends back in England, and even designed his websites. Harry had discovered a special protection charm that could be used on electronics to allow them to work in the presence of magical energy, a stroke of luck on his part that allowed him to have a fairly typical job at home.
Harry flopped himself down in a large, wingback chair in the corner of his study. He needed to do his evening meditation and think about how and when it would be time to tell the rest of his story to his Muggle friends. Harry had the feeling that it would soon be time for the truth to come out, that something was about to happen. He had felt the same urge nearly seven years ago when he had left England, and it was calling to him, once again.
"Stupefy!" Harry heard Ron yell as he struggled forward. Smoke swirled around him in thick, black torrents, blocking his vision of the large, decaying entrance hall to the desolate, gray manor they had come to on the moor. Harry could still hear shouts, screams and flashes of light from the battle that was raging around him and outside the entrance just behind him. They had just entered the large, black manor located amongst the ancient trees and soggy earth of the moors. Outside, the battle between what was left of the Order and Voldemort's Death Eaters raged amongst the low weeds and eerie, white fog covering the land.
"Ahhhhiiii…!" Hermione screamed from somewhere to his right.
"Reducto!" He heard her scream. He could just make out the outline of his friend and a large black cloaked person as his head jerked over with the echoing explosion issuing forth from her wand. His vision was blurry from the pain coming from his scar and his left arm ached from the long gash that reddened his forearm. The smoke began to clear and Harry could feel it…he could feel him. He was here; this was it. It all came down to this moment. Through his peripheral vision, he could see his friends on either side. Ron was still at it with the inner-circle Death Eater he was fighting, and Hermione was binding her adversary. His breath caught in his throat for a moment and Harry could feel the magic in the room. Waves of it were rippling from him and another source. At once, his scar exploded in pain. A resounding crack could be heard like the echoing of cannon shot.
"Potter." Came the ice cold, high hiss of a voice sounding from directly in front of him. Fighting through the splitting pain from his forehead, Harry focused upon the thing that was before him. His pale skin showed in the eerie, greenish light that was bathing the room and his glowing, red eyes bored into the teen with hatred. Those eyes…so much had happened…he was supposed to have prepared for this moment; he wasn't supposed to be scared of anything, but at this moment, Harry Potter was terrified. Images of the past seven years flashed in front of him; he should just be normal, extraordinarily average Harry; he shouldn't be here, having to kill a dark lord…after all, he was only a boy. In what had been only three or four seconds since Voldemort had spoken to him, Harry pushed the pain and terror completely away. He had no time for these thoughts or feelings….he steeled his resolve and leveled his own sparkling. emerald-green eyes coolly towards the Dark Lord.
"Riddle." Harry saw another wave of hatred flash across the monster's face. He was well aware that Voldemort held his bone-white Yew wand towards him in anticipation of their duel. Harry raised his own wand defensively. The world around him seemed to drop away; it was him and Voldemort, the monster who was the cause of immeasurable suffering across the globe; his parent's killer and his destiny. He was here on this lonely moor to finish it, to kill or be killed, Harry could tell, it was time.
"Crucio!" Voldemort yelled, but Harry was not caught off guard; he rolled to the side, the curse just missing him by fractions of an inch.
"Incendio!" Harry yelled as soon as he spun back from his dodge, immediately sending a stream of fire blasting towards Voldemort, who blocked. They began to circle each other, wands out.
"So Potter, you think you know me. You think you know things about me….stupid boy. You know nothing." Harry remained stoically silent at they circled, Voldemort trying to taunt him into anger. The Dark Lord flicked his wand and a great, glowing, black whip, much like the red one he had seen Dumbledore use at the Ministry of Magic, appeared. He lunged, snapping the whip towards Harry, who darted to the left, then right, dodging the Dark Lord's advance. Voldemort growled and, as Harry attempted to dodge again, he flicked the whip slightly with his wrist, reversing the direction and catching the boy off guard.
"Ahh!" Harry let out a short scream as the dark whip caught him, leaving a deep, long gash across his chest.
Countering wordlessly he thought 'Percutio' with one hand clutching his chest, while his wand hand flicked violently at Voldemort. Voldemort sneered as yellow light rocketed out of Harry's wand, and with a sweep of his own wand, deflected the curse, which abruptly changed direction and slammed into a small, grimy table that Harry had not noticed. The table went flying and slammed into the wall, breaking into splinters.
"I may not know that much, Tom, but I know enough." Harry sneered despite the blood soaking his shirt and the battle raging around him. Voldemort flicked his wand back at Harry sending a spray of glowing orange sparks towards him.
"Protego!" Harry thought, again wordlessly, swishing his wand and blocking the orange shards the Dark Lord had shot at him. No sooner than he had blocked, released and spun to counter, he was violently thrown backwards into the door at manor's entry. As he impacted, he heard cracking sounds and splinters flying.
"Crucio!" Voldemort roared as he advanced on his downed teenage adversary. Harry reeled in pain. His whole body seemed set on fire, his vision flashed black before him, and his senses seemed to go numb.
"If you think you can defeat me, boy, you are sorely mistaken. I may have not known about the protection you were given when you were a child, but now, that protection flows through me as well. It can't save you anymore." Voldemort hissed at Harry, towering over the boy with his wand. He flicked his wand up, releasing the curse. The pain subsided quickly, but Harry's senses were stunned enough that he couldn't immediately get up. Voldemort was still standing over him, his wand leveled again, a sneer on his face. Harry knew what he would do.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort spat, the deadly, green jet sprouting forth from his wand. Harry was already moving before he finished, the death spell narrowly missing him as he rolled out of the way. He could actually hear Voldemort growl as the black cloaked man wildly turned to him and fired off several more rounds of the piercing, orange sparks.
"What's the matter, Riddle, getting slow in your old age?" Harry gave a sneer towards his opponent; they had resumed circling one another, wands ready. "I've been waiting for this day, Riddle….I've been waiting to see the look on your face when you heard the whole story." The dark wizard finally took the bait.
"What are you babbling about, boy?"
"The Prophecy; you never got to hear the whole thing…but it wouldn't change anything even if you did." Harry smirked as Voldemort's crimson eyes widened slightly, but only just enough to be seen by someone paying attention.
"Tell me, Harry, what makes you think I am still interested in that?" Voldemort asked, almost conversationally, still allowing Harry to circle.
"Despite what you might think, Tom, you and I have certain similarities between us; one of them being that fact that we don't like things kept from us. We like to know all the facts, and that makes me think you do want to know." Voldemort growled in hatred again; he flicked his wand again and summoned his dark whip once again, cracking it towards Harry, who quickly conjured a shield blocking it. His shield was somewhat like the one Voldemort himself had conjured in the Department of Mysteries, only crimson colored with a mighty, silver stag blazoned across it. Voldemort flicked again, ensnaring the shield and yanking it from Harry's grip. It clanged as it struck the floor and quickly disappeared.
"As you were saying, Harry." Voldemort silkily resumed their conversation as they resumed circling again. Harry was starting to get to the dark wizard; he could tell as the dull pain in his scar increased. He needed to end this somehow. As they were circling, he had seen his friends outside his own duel. They were fighting two Death Eaters apiece to a standstill, but they would tire. He had to think of a way to get through Voldemort's defenses; he needed time, and this might just buy him some.
"You heard the first part which says: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'"
"Yesss." Voldemort sneered and hissed in reply.
"Oh, but the second part is the most interesting. It goes on to say: 'And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."
Voldemort was clearly angry at this. His crimson eyes glowed even more brightly, and Harry felt the pain though his scar renewed once more. He brandished his black whip once more and struck across at Harry, who rolled and dodged several strikes, sending several incinerating spells back in response. Harry didn't realize until it was too late that Voldemort had quickly switched back to his orange shards. Harry's legs seared with pain and he sank to his knees as they impacted.
"Insolent Boy, you think you are my equal? Crucio!" Harry writhed in pain, trying desperately not to scream. Time seemed to stretch out. He didn't know how long he was being tortured. It could have been a minute or it could've been hours; he did not know. Harry's vision blackened again, and his senses numbed. Suddenly, something cut through the pain and blackness. Harry could see something in his mind. It was as if he was seeing the light made just before sunrise. As soon as he had noticed this 'light', Harry had it. He knew how to do it. He could not explain it at the time; he wasn't even sure he was really seeing anything, but in his mind he saw what looked like a flaring ball of white light against the darkness…like a sun of white. Time seemed to go into slow motion. He knew what to do; he knew how to destroy Voldemort!
Voldemort released the Cruciatus Curse he had held Harry under and snapped his wand back to deliver the final blow. Harry snapped his eyes open and, much to the Dark Lord's surprise, he spoke.
"We destroyed them…we know about them…all seven." Harry said at almost a whisper. He knew Voldemort would know he was talking about the Horcruxes. In a split second, he could see Voldemort's crimson eyes open widely in shock….then he saw it….fear. Fear of death, Voldemort's weakness. He must do it now.
"Sentio Amor!" Harry yelled, snapping his wand up at Voldemort as the Dark Lord lowered his towards Harry. Pouring fourth all his energy, all his emotion into his wand, a blinding white light shot forth, blasting through Voldemort's own killing curse, impacting the Dark Lord and causing him to turn full into the blast, and striking him in the chest.
Somehow, Harry knew he must keep it up, and he poured everything into the white stream. All his energy, all his magic, all his emotions, all his love, hate, insecurity, doubts, strengths, triumphs. Injustices done him over the years, his joy at meeting Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts express, his first meal in the castle, the last few months of searching, hiding, suffering, and watching death…they all poured fourth. He watched as Voldemort slowly rose into the air, mouth open…dimly, Harry registered that the man…or thing…must be screaming. He could see him writing in pain, the white light pouring into the Dark Lord began to shine out through his eyes, then his mouth, his head flipped back towards the ceiling as he rose into the air. He could feel his energies pouring from his mind and body into his arm and up through his wand. He had to hold out; he had to pour all he could into this. After a minute, it felt as if Harry were being drained completely; it started with the tips of his toes and the fingers of his left hand. He could feel where he was being drained, up through his arm and legs and out his wand…and left behind, there was searing pain, much worse than the Cruciatus Curse. With a final push, screaming from the mounting pain, Harry poured fourth his remaining energies, and Voldemort was completely encased by the light. Suddenly, the ball of light exploded, sending out great, white sparks in all directions and a shock ring of light spreading outwards.
As suddenly as it happened, it was over. The light dissipated, and a great clump of seared, black cloth fell to the ground. All grew quiet. The world had stopped, and after a moment, Harry struggled up from his knees, the pain still with him, blood still oozing from his wounds. He stumbled forward and bent down, grasping something from the mound of black robes that had fallen in front of him. Against the pain, Harry righted himself once again, and turned completely around, facing the door through which he and his friends had entered. Ron and Hermione were on either side of the door. Beyond, Remus Lupin and Tonks were not far from the entrance. He could see six Death Eaters bound at Ron and Hermione's feet, and all was quiet on the battlefield. Many of Voldemort's Death Eaters seemed to have been killed or captured, and those who were not, fled as soon as the great ball of light had been seen emanating from the house. Harry looked at his friends, staring at him in wonder, and those beyond, who were all perfectly still and quiet.
Harry held up the bone-white, Yew wand he had retrieved from the clothing and, with a resounding 'crack', he snapped it in front of him for everyone to see. Harry looked towards his friends standing on either side of the door.
"It. Is. Done." He said and then sank to his knees, darkness claiming him.
"Harry, Harry…" Amy said as she shook the dark-headed man lying on the sofa. Harry gradually seemed to awaken, blinking a few times and groaning slightly. He sat up and looked at Amy through narrowed eyes, running a hand through his hair and then doing something he hadn't done in a while…rubbing his scar. Harry studied Amy for a moment, taking in her appearance. She was standing over him, looking a little pale, as though she had just been scared from something. Harry gathered himself a second later and gave Amy a tired smile.
"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep here on the couch. Is something wrong, Amy?"
"You just scared me a little; that's all." Amy said, color beginning to return to her cheeks.
"Oh?"
"I was coming in here to tell you Mark and I are going to bed, but you were rolling around on the couch mumbling, and then, you just stopped all of a sudden. I thought you might have stopped breathing." Harry just nodded. A few years ago he might have cursed himself for letting his guard down and allowing others to see how 'weak' he was, but these days he was glad; he was glad others in his life cared about him enough to want and make sure he was alright.
"Sorry 'bout that. Just a bit of a strange dream. I'm fine." Harry smiled again at her, reassuring her he was as fine as he said he was.
"What's this about you going to bed, though? It's a bit earlier than you usually tuck in."
"I'm supposed to be spending the day with George tomorrow, and it's past Mark's bedtime." Amy said, relaxing again and grinning at the thought of spending a day with her boyfriend. Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled.
"Riiiight…" He said, playfully mocking Amy's giddiness. She feigned anger and hit him in the arm, but smiled all the same and headed towards the stairs.
"Good night, Harry." Amy called as she began to climb the stairs to the bedroom she occupied while she and her brother stayed with their neighbor. "…oh, and don't forget, George is coming over tomorrow night; I want him to meet you!"
"I won't. Good night!" Harry called after the blond. He smiled as he pulled himself up off the sofa and made his way towards his study. He was looking forward to meeting George; from Amy's description, he sounded like a very nice young man, and she always seemed to want Harry's approval of her boyfriends.
It wasn't long after Harry had entered his study and began writing in the thick book that lay on his desk that he heard a tapping at one of the high windows that bordered the opposite end of the study. Harry thought it must be Hedwig or Fawkes, since they seemed to still be out hunting. However, when Harry opened the window, a large, tawny owl fluttered in and hooted happily as it landed on the corner of his desk, sticking out its leg, to which was attached a tightly rolled piece of parchment.
"Thanks. Why don't you go over to Hedwig's perch and get some food and rest before you return. I don't think I'll be answering this tonight, or tomorrow, so you can return when you are ready." Harry instructed the owl with a smile. It seemed to understand and hooted happily as it swooped over to Hedwig's perch as he had instructed. Harry flopped back down into the armchair he had previously been occupying and eyed the letter. He knew what it was; it came every year about this time. And every year until now, without fail, he had immediately written his response as 'No, thank you.', and had sent the owl back as early as it was ready. This year, though….this year might be different. Harry sighed and peeled open the seal on the letter; he might as well read it to make sure nothing had changed.
Dear Mr. Potter,
As you well know, we are once again looking for a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As in previous years, I would, again, like to extend our invitation for you to join the staff here at Hogwarts in the shaping of young minds. Your experience and expertise is very much needed by our students, and I am certain you would make a fine teacher. The school term starts on September 1st, and we would like a reply to this letter within the next two weeks. If you wish to accept our offer, we would like a textbook list for your students along with your reply.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry got up and placed the letter on his desk. Nothing had changed, at least as far at the letter went, but something told him that he should wait a few days before deciding.
Harry paused while stirring the contents of the skillet on the stove before him. He was in the process of cooking dinner for himself, his two young house guests, and their visitor for the evening when his extended senses felt a presence in the area. It had started small, just a prick at the edge of his mind, but in the last few moments, it had grown. At this moment, Harry could feel the presence of another magical being, another wizard. Now, in most cities and towns, it would not be normal for someone to find at least several wizards or witches and their families. However, Harry only knew of a few such families in or near West Pines and he had only very rarely seen them during the course of the last seven years, and they in turn had no clue as to who he was.
No one might be inclined to ask why that was, since Harry had made no effort to change his name or drastically alter his appearance. The answer, Harry knew, was a combination of factors. First, while Harry's name and face were known all over the world by almost every wizard or witch alive, his most identifying feature was his scar, which, when he was in public, was kept dutifully hidden with a glamour charm. Second, Harry no longer wore glasses. When he had entered the Muggle world seven years ago, he had taken to wearing contacts, not only to disguise his appearance, but because he just liked not having to keep up with his glasses all the time. Finally, and probably most important, was the fact that just after his first 'defeat' of Voldemort, it had become very popular in the Wizarding community to name your child Harry, and as a result, there were lots of wizards a few years younger than he named Harry. In fact, naming male children Harry had become so popular that it had even spilled over into the Muggle community, so it was not so far fetched that you might meet a 'Harry Potter' that was not the real deal.
But this Harry was the real deal, and seven years of private magical study and a lot of soul searching later, he was standing in his kitchen, feeling the tale-tale presence of another wizard approaching his home. He could feel the presence; it was definitely near his house, just on the outside of his wards that extended to edge of the yard. At this moment, several things quickly fell into place in Harry's mind. He might have been a web designer for the past seven years, but seven years of figuring out mysteries surrounding his ties to Voldemort and three years as an Auror are not so easily lost.
Amy's boyfriend George was a wizard. It would explain a lot. Why he went to a private school, why Amy was so excited about him turning seventeen, and even why Amy herself had made several cheeky comments to Harry over the last few weeks about how George just 'magically' popped in from time to time to take her out on a date. Harry heard the doorbell ring and Amy yell that she was going to get it. He raised an eyebrow for a minute towards the direction of the front door from his spot at the kitchen stove. This was going to be interesting.
After quickly waving his hand in front of his forehead, wandlessly activating a glamour charm, Harry made his way towards the foyer.
"Well, you must be George." Harry stated as he rounded the corner and walked up to the two teenagers who had just entered the foyer. George was a tall, brown haired boy with a medium build, dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants. Harry held out his hand to the boy, who gave him a nervous smile.
"Amy has told me a lot about you, so it's nice to finally put a face with a name." Harry continued with a smile, shaking the boy's hand. "I'm Harry by the way, and whatever Amy has told you, I deny it." Harry said with a chuckle. He was definitely a wizard, and although he wore Muggle clothing and was accustomed to Muggles in general, Harry could tell for certain as soon as he had approached the two in the hallway.
"It's nice to meet you, Harry." George said, giving a nervous chuckle to Harry's joke. Harry caught the young man flick his eyes towards his forehead. Amy must have told George his full name sometime in the past, but he seemed fooled by Harry's glamour. "Amy never told me you were from England." George continued, seeming to calm down a little as they walked towards the kitchen.
"Well, you know, I don't really think about that when I talk about Harry. He's been here for the past seven years, and I guess I'm just used to his accent." Said Amy, joining their conversation.
It was now after dinner, and Amy, Mark, and George had retired to the living room while Harry was clearing the table and washing dishes. George was a good kid, and to his credit, even Amy's little brother, usually the quiet one seemed to like him. Harry could definitely tell that George had either been around Muggles a whole lot when he was a kid or that he was Muggle-born because of the ease he had not only carrying on a conversation with 'all Muggles' and the fact that he rarely slipped into using magical terms. He actually used the term 'Muggle' once, but when Harry asked him what he had said, he played it off as the way people at his school referred to those who did not go there. Amy or Mark didn't seem phased by what he had said, so Harry had a good inkling that they knew about George's special abilities.
It was certainly unusual for Harry. He had not been in prolonged contact with any other wizards much during his seven year absence from the magical world, and it caused a range of emotions to stir in him. Many memories good and bad had also come to the surface. Harry wasn't sure he liked it or disliked it at the moment.
Harry finished the dishes and made his way towards the living room. He could hear the teens in the living room laughing about something, and George seemed to be the one entertaining them.
"Accio Vase!" Harry heard uttered quietly from just beyond the door as he approached. The phrase seemed to cause tremendous amounts of laughter and even some clapping from the other two occupants of the room. Harry stopped dead. The boy was certainly courageous to be doing magic in front of two Muggles in a person's house who, for all he knew, was also a Muggle. At this point, he had a few options: he could go in there and act as if nothing had happened. Second, he could go in and yank George to the side and give him a talking to about 'how dangerous and stupid doing magic in front of Muggles is', or he could just not go in there. Harry did not like any of them. First, he wanted to see what the boy could and would do in front of his girlfriend and her brother; second, Hermione was the one who would give speeches, not him. Harry reached a conclusion, and with a swift motion, he brought his hand up even with his face and gave a crisp snap of his fingers. The effect was the immediate feeling of cold creeping from the top of his head, down his back and around his body.
Harry quietly stepped out from the behind the doorway, entering into the living room and taking up a position near the door, so he could watch. Across from him on the couch sat Amy and George wand in hand, and to his right in an armchair was Mark. Amy was smiling and giggling. Mark was looking in awe, and George had a big, satisfied smile plastered on his face.
"Do something else!" Mark said excitedly. George gave a little laugh. Amy smiled at her boyfriend, urging him to do so as well.
"Well, I don't know, I probably shouldn't be doing this, at least not here anyway." Amy and Mark gave two 'awwws' and George smiled again.
"Ok, Ok…let's see…alright, I know." George then gave a smile to the two, raised his hand and dropped the vase, letting it shatter upon impact with the floor. Amy's eyes got big, and Mark looked horrified.
"What did you do that for!" She asked him.
"Just watch." George said, smiling at her and Mark. "Reparo!" George stated, flicking his wand towards the center of the shattered pieces of ceramic. The two watched in awe as the vase instantly repaired itself. As soon as it was over, the two burst into laughter and applause. Harry smiled. The scene reminded him of his first year at Hogwarts, everything so new and so wonderful. He stood there for nearly thirty minutes, remembering and smiling.
Those were great times. He had first met Ron and Hermione. He got to leave his aunt and uncle for the first time, and he found out about an amazing, new world where anything was possible. Over the years however, magic had lost its appeal, somewhat. Sometimes, with all the fighting and death, he forgot how wonderful magic could be. It really did have the ability to create joy and do amazing, wonderful things. Sometimes, he forgot that, dwelled on the past too much. He remembered the pain it had caused, the death and suffering. Harry had put seven years between him and all of that, trying to sort out his feelings, learning about himself, and learning to live without war. Watching these young people clapping and laughing, he could finally see it again, the joy, amazement and wonderment that magic could cause, even to a wizard as powerful and wise as himself. As he stood there, watching the three, Harry Potter made an important decision. One that might be painful, one that would cause lots of bad memories to resurface, but one he felt would ultimately allow him to move on with his life. Unknown to him, a familiar shining twinkle appeared in his eyes.
To Be Continued...
End Notes
Percutio –Latin: to strike hard, pierce, transfix / shock, also seen as 'percussum'.
Sentio Amor – Incantation for "Sentio Idoneus per Amor"– Latin: To Judge Worthy with Love
I get my Latin translations from an online translator, so if they are wrong, let me know.