On an unusually hot mid-August afternoon, Harry sat on a bench that was one of many on Lambeth Bridge, over the River Thames. He was scanning through that day's "Daily Prophet" concealed in an old copy of "The Daily Mail", one he kept handy just for that purpose. There were many Londoners and tourists admiring the view of the city swarming around that bench, but he wasn't worried about anyone seeing the moving photographs in the newspaper from over his shoulder. Big Ben was close enough for everyone to be admiring (and to be taking pictures of that clock that wasn't a part of their daily lives.)

The bench faced out toward the water, where Albus and Lily were watching some ducks below on the water and eating their ice cream cones from their favorite Muggle ice cream shop. He knew they were slurping loudly in between their conversation about the ducks, but the chatter from the crowd around him and the obnoxiously loud phone conversation at the other end of the bench drowned it out.

"WE WILL… TRY TO COME BY… FOR A VISIT… BEFORE THE START… OF TERM!" Ron yelled into a flip-style cell phone from at least a decade ago, not noticing the concerned stares from Rose and Hugo and the glances from a few of the Muggles in his close vicinity that ranged from bewildered gazes to downright disgusted gawking.

"Ron!" hissed Harry, not wanting Ron's use of the telephone (or lack thereof) to draw attention to them and the children. They were trying to blend into the Muggle street and his yelling into the phone was not helping that. "Shut it!"

Ron just reached his arm behind himself and waved his hand, as if swatting at a pesky fly. "I… HAVE TO GO! MY… CALL IS SLIPPING!" He spoke the last few words so fast, they probably sounded slurred together to the person on the other end of the line, but he snapped the phone closed before they could get a word in edgewise.

"Dad, it's "my call is dropping", not "my call is slipping" ", said Rose, with a slight air of arrogance. "Seriously, you're going to get us caught by the Muggles."

"Stop sounding like your mother," said Ron, glancing at Harry with a smirk, who felt that same déjà vu of Hermione. At that moment, Rose had sounded just like her mother schooling Ron on the proper incantation of the Levitation Charm back in their first year at Hogwarts.

"But seriously, why can't Hermione's parents just use owls, like us? This… telephone thing is just ridiculous! We send them owls, but instead of sending back their replies, they call this thing," He said, thrusting the phone in Harry's direction.

"It makes sense if you grew up with them. I understand them, Hermione understands them, and Rose and Hugo understand them," Said Harry, still reading his newspaper.

"Pfft!" said Ron, looking out into distance at the view. "You think Hermione, Mum, and Ginny are done with James yet?"

"I don't know," Said Harry. "You wanna make our way to The Leaky Cauldron and see if we meet them?"

"All right," said Ron, putting his cellular phone in his pocket and starting to stand up.

"Why couldn't we have gone to Diagon Alley with James and Mummy?" said Lily while she gathered up her stuff.

"It was a special trip this time, love," He said. "This is James' first time getting things for Hogwarts.

"Mum and grandma Weasley wanted to make it a special day, just for them."

Lily frowned a bit, once again disappointed by the reminder of how far off her trip to Hogwarts was. She was only six, but had visited the school countless times already and was excited about her time there.

"You'll get your own special shopping day when your time comes, dear," He said, taking her hand.

He leaned down to her ear and whispered, "And don't worry: it's not that long off," He kissed her cheek and returned the smile she gave him.

The six of them started making their way off the bridge, Ron still complaining about phones to his children (who were mostly ignoring him and making faces to their cousins, who were walking with their father in front of them on the sidewalk.) Harry walked casually, making sure his wand was still tucked in the little secret pocket sewn into his jeans pocket by Ginny and making sure no unneeded attention was being drawn to them. He and his friends had become quite adept at blending into the Muggle world, but he still felt the need to always be on the lookout. Ever since Rita Skeeter (J.K. Rowling to the Muggles) had okayed movies to be made based on the "fantasy" book series she wrote after the end of the second war, the trio and their families were sometimes approached as "look-alikes" to the movie characters, wanting autographs, pictures taken with them, and other crazy fan requests. They usually played along, but never showed any indications that they were, in fact, magical. To those harmless crazed fans, his story was a fantastic book series: to him, those books reflected his life.

Suddenly, Harry felt Albus tug on his arm. "Dad, what's that guy doing?"

Harry looked out to where his son was pointing. He was pointing to a man on the nearby Westminster Bridge, standing on the retaining wall, looking down into the water, and drawing a crowd behind him.

"Ron…" said Harry quietly, trying to remain calm for the children.

Ron was still ranting about his in-laws' inability to embrace the use of owls and didn't hear Harry.

"Ron!" said Harry a little more loudly and urgently.

"What?"

Harry pointed at the man on the next bridge.

Ron's eyes widened. "What do we do, Harry?"

Harry naturally wanted to do something to help, but that would risk being exposed as a wizard. No matter how quietly he said a spell or muttered an incantation, there was risk of a nearby Muggle hearing him or seeing him secretly use his wand. But he also didn't want his children, or his niece and nephew to see a man commit suicide either.

While he was trying to sort out his options as quickly as possible, he heard screams from around him and saw a mass falling to the water. Both he and Ron brought their children's faces into their bodies, so the 6 and 8 year olds wouldn't see. The two of them continued to watch as the man splashed into the river.

But to everyone's astonishment, the man only created a few ripples as his feet hit the water. He bounded straight back to where he started from, as if a trampoline at been at the water's surface. He ended up back right where he started, standing on the edge of the wall, shocked being an understatement. Just a few seconds later, the man fell backward, fainting and caught by a group of people behind him.

As the attention of the Muggles on Lambeth Bridge focused on what was happening on the next bridge over, Harry and Ron turned to face each other. "Was that you?" asked Ron, bewildered that Harry was able to do magic without touching his wand, since his hands were covering Albus and Lily's eyes.

"No. You?" said Harry.

"Nope. I tried sliding my wand down my sleeve into my hand, but couldn't."

"There's another wizard around," muttered Harry, pulling Albus and Lily along with him as he ran in the direction they just came from.

Abigail Holland (or Abbey, as her friends called her) was enjoying her second day in London. She had turned 25 a couple of weeks prior, and her uncle had so graciously paid for her to take a trip as a birthday/ college graduation present. She needed a break from her every day routine, and a trip to a foreign place that she had been captivated by most of her life was a nice change, never having been out of the United States before. Sitting among the locals and among the charming architecture gave her perspective. She was constantly learning more about the culture and the history of London and that was doing wonders on her spirit.

After a day of being a tourist, Abbey decided to have a low key day. She had spent a couple hours wandering the streets near the river, eating lunch at a café and browsing some shops. Eventually she settled underneath a shady tree near the Westminster Bridge, a refuge from the midday heat and to enjoy a spectacular view of the city and the river. There were a few wrought iron benches strategically placed along with path, each placed in between two trees, but farther out to give easy access from the path. After looking at them, Abbey decided the grass and a tree trunk would be more comfortable and settled there.

In her messenger bag, Abbey had brought her favorite book, her journal, her iPod, and some stationery with her on her outing. Her best friend back home, Gwendolyn, had given her the cherry blossom stationery set the night before her flight to London and made her promise to write letters during the 3 weeks they were to be apart. She had only been gone about 2 days, but she felt she had seen so much and just had to share it with Gwendolyn.

Abbey had gotten all her belongings situated around her and was about to start her letter. Her bag was behind her as a backrest, and her journal was resting on her knee as a writing table. Her book would have made an uncomfortable, chunky lump in her bag, so one of her most prized possessions laid on the grass, with a couple of sheets of the stationery between it and the grass as protection. At first, she was terrified about possibly staining her book, but decided this was better than using it as a writing surface.

But she didn't get the chance to even start her letter. The commotion on the Westminster bridge distracted her enough to look up so she could see what all the hullabaloo was about. Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened as she saw a man teetering on the edge of the wall that was there to prevent people from accidentally walking off the bridge (but unable from doing it on purpose.) The walkers and joggers on the path had stopped and started to gather, watching to see what was going to happen next. Abbey wanted to look away from the bridge: just pack her stuff that was going to give her a quiet afternoon and get away from this uneasy situation. But it was like driving by a car crash: she wanted to watch, despite the sick feeling the situation gave her.

Abbey didn't join in on the collective gasp of the group around her, she was so shocked. The man was a blur as he fell and of all the thoughts that could have run through her mind at that moment, she imagined the man not landing in the water, but on those trampolines that were in the old cartoons, where silly firemen were trying to catch someone falling and ending up where he started from, as if this whole scene was just a crazy stunt. As she was trying to put that insensitive thought out of her head, it happened. The man bounced off the water as if it were rubber and gracefully landed back at the top of the bridge.

The on-lookers surrounding her whooped, hollered, and applauded the assumed acrobatic stunt they just witnessed. Abbey, on the other hand, couldn't believe what she just saw. It didn't make sense! Physics shouldn't have allowed that to happen! How did something she imagined just unfold in front of her, as if she had control over it? As the crowd dispersed, Abbey remained fixed on the spot. The evidence showed that she caused that man to bounce back up, but logic told her she was nuts. She stayed in that spot, staring at the bridge even after the man had fainted and was taken away by authorities, her jaw dropped and hung open until she was snapped out of her trance by a hand gently resting on her forearm.