Summary: Harry Potter killed Voldemort when he was seventeen, but Death Eaters have since made his life a lottery. After some years travelling, he returns to Hogwarts in a different role. There are still dangers, and not just from Death Eaters. Cornelius Fudge believes that powerful wizards are dangerous wizards.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. My stories diverge from Canon from the end of 5th year.
Important Note: When Harry was hit by a Death Curse at the age of 16, he was left with a sensivity to spells. A stunner can kill him, and even a lesser spell can make him very ill.
Chapter 1:
A young man alighted from a ship at Portsmouth, England. He had mid-brown hair, glasses with colourless frames, and a livid scar down his left cheek. He wore shabby jeans and a white T-shirt, but a good quality leather jacket. A small backpack was slung over his shoulder. A plain woman of about thirty was with him, but it was time to part. They kissed with a great deal of affection, and some passion. Her name was Susan, and she knew him as Henry Bellamy. His real name was Harry Potter. He walked off down the street, limping slightly.
He was undecided as to his next move. He had taken care to disguise himself as best he could, and the fortuitous scar down his cheek helped him considerably, taking attention away from the faded and inconspicuous zig zag scar that was usually hidden under his untidy fringe. That scar was an immediate identifying mark to all those from his world - the wizarding world. And while to most, he was a hero, to others he was a target. Since he had killed the Dark Lord Voldemort, he had been subject to determined attempts to kill him.
Only in the last six months did he seem to have thrown off his pursuers, and had lived a peaceful life working on a remote Australian cattle station.
But now he had returned to England. He had become lonely for the world and the people he loved, and muggle life no longer satisfied. He wanted his friends.
He was still undecided as to what he planned, and he wandered through the streets of Portsmouth, thinking. He was not relaxed. He was wary, constantly alert. But he was homesick, too, and when he noticed an unusual doorway, with a faded sign above it, he paused, watching. What had caught his attention was that the doorway seemed to be invisible to the people around him, and when he looked more closely, the picture on the doorway was of a little golden ball, with wings. It looked like a Quidditch ball - the Golden Snitch.
For a time he leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the street, watching, noting the type of customers who pushed open the door, and all the other passers-by who didn't seem to notice that it was there at all.
After a time, he straightened himself and entered the pub, which, he had become sure, catered for witches and wizards. His impression was confirmed. Inside, pretence had been abandoned and caped witches and wizards sat at tables and stood at the bar, many talking animatedly about a game of Quidditch that was to be held the following day.
His gold was at the bottom of his backpack, so he asked the bartender if muggle money was accepted, as it usually was, even in wizard pubs. The bartender looked at him curiously, accepted the money, and gave him a butter beer. He actually preferred the taste of a good lager, but he hadn't tasted butter beer in so long...
Standing quietly at the bar, sipping his drink, little notice was taken of him at first, although it was obvious that he was a stranger. They were talking about Quidditch, and Harry was interested. But he really pricked up his ears when they spoke about the players, Mason, White, and Weasley. Drink in hand, he joined the group, "Excuse me," he said, "What Weasley is it you're talking about?"
"Ron Weasley, of course! Where've you been? He's the best Keeper England has had in years."
Harry was excited. He so desperately wanted to see Ron again, and now it looked like he might be playing right here the very next day. But one of the men was looking at him suspiciously, and when he asked how to go about getting tickets, and where the game was to be, said aggressively, "It's not for the likes of you - I reckon you're a muggle! How'd you know about this pub, then?"
Harry said briefly, "Saw it."
"Well, I reckon you're a muggle, and if you're not a muggle, you're a squib, and we don't want them hanging around either!"
Harry was regarding him, thinking that a muggle fist-fight would be very satisfactory, but a wizard fight was too dangerous - not that he had the slightest fear of being hurt by this idiot lout, but he feared he would betray himself. He looked at the other people around, "Can anybody tell me where the game is, because I really want to go."
But they were all watching the first wizard, who seemed to be a leader - maybe the resident bully. So Harry sighed, finished his drink, and said, "Very well, I'll go."
But "Muggle!" was growled again, and then "Squib!" as he turned to leave. And then he heard the beginning syllables of a spell, and spun around furiously, drawing his own wand with lightning speed, and returned the spell to its originator. Furiously he said, "Not a muggle! Not a squib!" just in case anyone was left in doubt.
Wizards and witches were now staring at him, he was the centre of attention, exactly what he didn't want. But he was still angry, it may have been one bully, but all these spineless cowards had obviously had no intention of interfering, and he looked at them with some contempt.
A woman asked nervously, "Please, sir, what have you done to him?" She was kneeling by the man who'd been hurled to the floor, and was looking desperately worried.
"I returned whatever spell he threw at me - he'll be hurt to the extent that he tried to hurt me," Harry said, not knowing enough about the wizard to know whether that was a reassurance or not.
But the woman looked relieved and said, "He likes to erase memories - it rather serves him right, doesn't it?"
The wizard was already beginning to come round. But Harry had had enough of these people, and he turned and left, disgusted. What a welcome back to England, and what a welcome back to the wizarding world!
He was walking fast away from the pub, still limping slightly, but whirled around as he heard running footsteps behind him. There was no danger. One of the wizards from the pub was hailing him, "Excuse me, sir! Excuse me!"
Harry waited. He still wanted to know how to find the Quidditch game.
The wizard arrived, panting slightly, and held out his hand. "My name's Edward Frobisher," he said.
"Bellamy," said Harry briefly, although shaking the hand.
But Harry was a bit disturbed. Frobisher's eyes had seemed to be looking at his forehead, where that old identifying mark was. But surely the mark was so faded now, besides being disguised by his hair. He'd even developed the habit of using women's make-up over it every morning. He didn't know that that old scar could blaze into life when he was angry or fighting, and that his hair had whipped away from it as he had turned to face his attacker.
Frobisher had a strong suspicion that he knew exactly who this young man was, and was deeply ashamed that Harry Potter's return to England should be marred by such an event.
Frobisher was hesitant. He and his wife had tickets to the Quidditch game, and if this really was Harry Potter, he would be happy to give them up. But not if he was anyone else. He knew that there were no more tickets available, that they had been sold out weeks ago. In the end, he put off the decision, and asked Harry home for dinner instead, to make up for his rude welcome at the pub.
Harry craved contact with the wizarding world, the reason for his imprudent entry to the wizard pub. And maybe he was incautious now, as he replied, with a sudden frank smile, "Yes, I'd like that."
So Harry went home with Edward Frobisher, who asked him to call him 'Ned.' Harry abandoned suspicion for the time being, taking Ned to be just what he appeared, a bright, friendly chap, without guile.
When they arrived at his place, Ned took his wife aside, and whispered to her what he suspected. But his wife was not good at deceit, and first startled Harry by appearing terribly nervous of him, and then betrayed herself completely by calling him Mr. Potter, instead of Mr. Bellamy, or just 'Bellamy,' as he'd asked.
"Uh, yes," said Harry, giving up on disguise for the time being. This was a really nice couple, their two small children were well behaved, and Harry was enjoying their company. "Um, would you mind keeping that quiet for a while? I'd really like just a few weeks before it's known I'm back!"
That Harry Potter was under threat of death was no secret, and the Frobishers agreed, although Harry wondered how long the indiscreet tongue of the wife would last. (He did her an injustice, neither of the Frobishers breathed a word to anyone until his presence appeared in the newspapers not long after.)
Ned had effectively adopted Harry, for as long as Harry was willing. He pressed him to stay the night, and gave his wife's Quidditch ticket to him on the grounds that she'd never been much interested in Quidditch. And he was going with him tomorrow, to make sure that Harry found the match OK. He even found a wizard's robe for him to borrow, although Harry rejected the good clothing he was offered, in the interests of disguise, and selected a patched, brown robe, very different from the good quality black robes he used to wear at Hogwarts. He couldn't go to a Quidditch match in muggle jeans and jacket!
He tried to pay for his ticket, but Ned refused to hear of it. This was Harry Potter! What an honour to entertain Harry Potter!
It was a long time since Harry had been treated as a hero, and really preferred it when Ned forgot who he was, and they could just talk about common interests - mostly Quidditch, but he also raised the subject of the Ministry of Magic, learning that Cornelius Fudge, whom he regarded as a potentially dangerous enemy, was still the Minister.
The next morning, Harry smeared the make-up over his forehead again, and remembered to ask Ned how he had known who he was, and learned, to his regret, that his old scar, in the right circumstances, could still declare his identity to the world. It was lucky that this time, it appeared that only Ned Frobisher had noticed.
Ned and Harry found their seats in the stand, Harry roaring his excitement along with the rest of the crowd as the fast game proceeded. Although he tried to remember to be cautious, that he was surrounded by potential enemies, he found it increasingly difficult, as he followed every move of the game. Ron was now famed as one of the greats, according to Ned, and Harry was exultant, remembering Ron's first games when he had seemed to go only from bad to worse with nerves. Luckily, no-one paid the slightest attention to the average looking wizard in his worn brown robes.
The game finally ended, as the Seeker from Ron's team caught the Snitch. That thrilling chase at the end had Harry remembering the last match he had played at the age of sixteen. He had become sick not long after.
The wizards and witches filed down the stands, and Harry told Ned that he wanted to try and see Ron. Some of the players, including Ron, were found sitting at small tables signing autographs for the people queued up waiting.
Grinning to himself, Harry joined the end of the queue at Ron's table. Ron was popular, the queue at his table appeared to be longer than anyone's, even that of the Seeker. Ron had always craved recognition, and Harry was happy for him - Ron looked undeniably pleased with himself as his fans heaped praise on him.
Ron hadn't looked up as he took Harry's piece of paper, to provide him with the desired autograph, until the words, "Just make it out to Harry, please!" and he at last looked up, his mouth dropping open. And he was up, knocking over his table, and wrapping Harry in a bear hug that threatened to break ribs.
"Harry!" he said, "Harry!" until Harry said, "Hush, keep it down. I'm Bellamy now."
But Ron was overwhelmed, and stared at Harry still as if he couldn't believe it. Harry had been the last in his queue, and the rest of the players
had already packed up, so luckily no-one was close enough to hear Ron say, with a break in his voice, "Harry! I thought I'd never see you again."
Ned was standing nearby, and Harry introduced them. Ned was delighted. Not only had he entertained Harry Potter, he was talking to the famous Quidditch player, Ron Weasley! And there was another treat in store, for Ron asked them both to join them at the victory celebration that was now commencing, adding apologetically to Harry that he couldn't avoid the celebration, but that he was to come back to the Burrow with him afterward. There was nothing Harry craved more than to go to the Weasley family home, where Ginny and Ron still lived. So he picked up his backpack, and he and Ned left with Ron.
Neither Ned nor Ron noticed Harry's wary alertness, Harry had lived with danger so long that his caution was now a part of him. Ned could not have conceived the dangers which Harry had lived through, and Ron assumed that death threats were in the past. But Harry had dodged the most recent Death Curse when he rashly stayed a month in Finland, about eight months ago. Prior to that he had been in America, and discovered he was not safe there either. Dedicated killers apparently had an extensive spy network, and he hardly ever stayed anywhere for very long. His recent stay of almost six months in one place was an exception.
Ned, seeing Ron and Harry's animated conversation together, really thought that he should bow out, but the prospect of meeting all of his favourite Quidditch players was too great. After a bit, Harry remembered he was there, and broadened the conversation to include his newest friend as well as his oldest friend.
Harry soon saw that Ned was thoroughly happy just to be at the celebration party, where he seemed content to just stare at his idols. But two of the other players noticed that Ron was totally absorbed with his shabby friend, and took Ned under their wing. So Ned had a wonderful time, and Ron and Harry were allowed to catch up on nearly four years of separation.
At length, Ron felt that they had stayed at the party long enough. Ned was leaving too, and Harry offered him his robe back, which he was wearing over his jeans and shirt, his jacket now folded into the backpack. But Ned insisted he keep it, and as it was old and tattered and useful for disguise, Harry gratefully accepted.
Of course, he could have conjured clothes - just about anything can be conjured, but unfortunately, conjured things have a habit of suddenly vanishing, anytime from a few minutes to a few months after they were made, depending on the wizard. It could be quite embarrassing when clothes abruptly vanished!
So Ron and Harry apparated to the Burrow, where they crept upstairs, it being very late, and talked for another two hours. There was a lot to catch up on. Ron was a qualified auror now, and Ginny was in her last year of training to be an auror, too. Hermione, Harry learned, was nearly finished the four years of the training to be a Healer.
Harry had to admit that he had no career, that although he had travelled all over the world, he hardly ever stayed in one place long enough even to get a job. And thinking that Ron had to be warned, Harry said, "I've still got to be careful, you know - there're still people after me."
Ron said, "It's been four years!"
But Harry said, "If I stay in a place longer than a few weeks, and sometimes not even that, they find out, and I'm dodging spells again. But they didn't find me in the last place, and now with this new scar on my face, it might be better."
Ron was silent for a time. It looked like Harry was not going to be able to stay around for very long. And while Ron had made a good life for himself, he would have liked his old friend back, although not nearly as much as his old friend wanted to come back. He asked, "How'd you get that scar, anyhow? An attack?"
But Harry shook his head, "No, my horse was galloping, and put a foot in a rabbit hole. Cut my face when I fell. That's why I'm limping, too - broke my leg, and it's not quite healed yet."
Ron was a bit surprised, "How long ago was that?"
"Ten weeks," said Harry.
"Ten weeks!" exclaimed Ron. "Why didn't you fix it?"
"You forget - I can't take spells. It was a pest, though - it seemed so long!"
Ron suddenly said, "That scar'll mess you up with the girls!" For Harry's friends had tended to watch in bemusement as he effortlessly got himself seduced with monotonous regularity. Women thought he was cute, he told people who asked, and who was he to argue?
But Harry was laughing, and said, "I don't think so - here I was just out of muggle hospital, in a little bedsit, helpless with my leg still in plaster, and the sister of the landlady decided I needed consoling..."
Ron, picturing it, laughed so hard that Harry said, "Shhh! You'll wake somebody!"
The friends talked on until they were both yawning, and Ron finally provided a mattress on the floor for his guest, and they went to bed.
**x**
It was Sunday morning, and Ron was up, but he left Harry to sleep. Harry was lying on his front, face turned to the side, and in the warm June night, he had thrust his blankets away. He looked fit and muscular, his shoulders and back more solid than when Ron had last seen him. He was brown with exposure to the sun, and a thin white scar showed curving down the left side of his ribs until it was lost to view under a pair of sleeping shorts. One of his legs looked strong, tanned, but the left one was a little thin and much whiter, as it was not long since the plaster had come off.
Ron told his parents who was in his room upstairs, and they were thrilled, and waited impatiently for Harry to wake up. But when Ron told Ginny, she squealed and raced straight up the stairs to see him. She flung open the bedroom door, and Harry sprang up, wand flying to his hand.
But Ginny simply hurled herself into his arms, crying out his name, so that he dropped his wand and hugged her instead.
But Harry was no longer the childhood friend she had known - he was now a thoroughly attractive and highly sexual young man, which, in his half nude state, became immediately obvious.
Ginny backed away blushing, and Harry quickly turned away to pull on his jeans. And Ginny said, confused, "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have done that," but Harry looked back over his shoulder, and said, grinning wickedly "You can do it again if you like - I don't mind!"
Ron was at the door, watching - although he hadn't seen exactly what happened, he wasn't stupid, and while Harry was still smiling, Ginny was crimson.
Harry went off to shower, and make himself presentable, using his casual magic to make dirty clothes instantly clean and fresh again, and went downstairs to the very warm welcome he received from the older Weasleys.
Mrs. Weasley hugged him fiercely to her the moment he appeared, to the pleasure of Harry who regarded her as almost a mother. Even then, she wasn't satisfied, and would touch or pat him whenever she was close. Mr. Weasley shook his hand vigorously, patting him on the back at the same time. It had been so long that Harry had been away from these people he loved that he lapped up the attention. Ginny didn't come close to him again, but she was intensely aware of him, as he was of her.
Fred and George Weasley were sent messages that Harry was home, with the warning that it was to stay strictly secret. They were to come as soon as possible, have lunch, and stay as long as they wanted. The older brothers, Bill and Charlie, were both overseas. But Hermione Granger, Ron and Harry's particular friend from school, would definitely be coming.
Someone said, "What about Percy?" but without much said, it was decided not to tell Percy. Although Percy was one of the Weasley brothers too, he could not be trusted. He was still personal assistant to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Telling Percy, Harry thought, was the same as telling the Ministry, and telling the Ministry was the same as telling the world.
Hermione arrived, apparating in front of the house, with a loud bang, followed closely by two more bangs as Fred and George appeared. Their friend, Harry Potter, was back, and they couldn't get enough of him. So Harry told some of his experiences, in between seeking information on old friends. Neville Longbottom, for instance, was working in Herbology, and large, black Dean Thomas was an Interior Decorator. Seamus Finnigan had gone from job to job, and no-one was quite sure what he was doing now.
Harry's casual conjuring came in very handy as Mrs. Weasley decided to have lunch outside, and conjuring new furniture, to be vanished afterward, was easier than to bring out the inside furniture. Although many wizards could conjure chairs or other items for themselves when needed, Harry seemed to be able to conjure anything he chose, as easily as breathing, and without having to remember difficult spells. Harry's magic was in a class of its own, not having apparently suffered in the slightest for lack of practice during the years he had lived in the muggle world.
Lunch was a happy meal, although Mrs. Weasley now, as well as Ron, had become aware of the electricity in the air that seemed to fizzle between Harry and Ginny. They seldom even looked at each other, and never came close enough that they might touch. But Ginny sometimes coloured for no apparent reason, and tended to lose the thread of the conversation. And Harry was sometimes abstracted, once showing an expression of such sadness that Mrs. Weasley noticed and gave him an extra hug, causing Harry to look up in surprise, and not again show anything but simple happiness to be exactly where he was.
In the afternoon, the young people, even Hermione, mounted broomsticks and played in the air, zooming around, diving, and whizzing in between trees.
The others soon learned to steer clear of Harry. His superlative skill on a broomstick was a thing of the past. He had a handicap that dated back to the death of the Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort. And while on foot, his tendency to fall or stagger to the left was hardly ever discernible any more, his broomstick would constantly veer in that direction, making him a bit of a hazard to be near, especially as he still liked to go very fast. And even the old shaggy broomstick supplied by the Weasleys seemed to go very fast for Harry.
Ron, of course, was expert now, and so was Ginny, although she had not continued with the sport once she left school.
It was late afternoon, and Hermione as well as Fred and George had left. Ron and Harry were still sitting outside. They were both quiet after the constant chatter and laughter of the day. Harry's eyes were following the movements of Ginny as she helped her mother clear the tables, which were still littered with the debris from a generous afternoon tea. Ron was watching him. Suddenly, impulsively, aggressively, he said to his oldest friend, "You're not to hurt her!"
Harry looked around in surprise at the sudden harsh words. But Harry had an intuitive sensitivity, and he straightaway discerned the love for his sister that impelled the sudden words. Instead of taking offence, he merely said, "Of course not." And as they continued to sit, he explained a little further. "You know how it is with me - I doubt if I'll be able to stay around very long, maybe only a couple of weeks, maybe not even that. And one day they're going to get me. It sometimes amazes me that I'm still alive."
Harry had seldom spoken to anyone about this that he felt - that he just couldn't lead a normal life. Ron listened, and Harry continued. "You think it's funny, these women that I go with. But they're all older women, who take me for what I'm offering. We have a good time together, and as far as I know, I never leave them hurting."
Ron said, "But Ginny's not an older woman, and you want her - I can see it."
"I can't have her. And if she doesn't know that yet, she will the next time I have to dodge a Death Curse," Harry concluded in a matter of fact tone.
But Ron was looking at him as if he'd never really seen him before. This dispassionate way of looking at the probability of sudden death was alien to him.
***chapter end***