The Head Auror's office door was wide open, revealing the utter mess and chaos that was inside; no one had made an effort to change what consisted of what remained of the panic that had ensued. No one had disturbed the Head Auror, whose form was slumped helplessly over the desk as he poured over the several pieces of paper littered there, the thick and slightly shaky form of the handwriting pressed into the parchments worrying him far more than the cartloads of letters he had been receiving from all over England and the majority of Europe, though this worried him quite the bit.
Tired emerald eyes swept over the parchments as shaking, pale fingers came up to rub his temples as he fought internally with himself; he could either leave the country for a while to search through Europe for the new magical signatures, or he could remain here and focus on England before worrying about other countries. He couldn't leave other countries in peril, in times of need and depending on him, but the problem was far larger in England than in France, Italy or Germany and he couldn't afford to leave without expecting a big problem to occur within the Ministry about his absence; the Minister came once a day, an incompetent fool that rarely did anything without Harry's advice, to ask him about the problems that had developed and the best way to deal with them.
"Dammit," he cursed, shaking his head as he dropped the papers. Harry Potter knew that he would most likely stay home, for the Minister and for himself and his family. He couldn't afford to leave at panicked times like this.
People were appearing all over the country, people who had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and the world was welcoming it as a gift; more and more people were being escorted into his office each day to be questioned and he couldn't help but wonder whether this was a curse or a blessing for him – none of them had been Sirius, Remus and his wife Tonks, or his parents, and he would spend his time just pining to see their faces appear in the doorway and for them to be real. There had, of course, been plenty of imposters claiming to be Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black, or Dora and Remus Lupin, but they had been sent on their way or into Azkaban for impersonating war heroes.
He couldn't quite wonder why things were happening, or how they were happening. There were no spells to raise the dead, no rituals that could bring back bodies. He had been through the Black family library, searching for Dark magic that could bring them back. But they were good people who had been brought back to life and he couldn't find anything that would suggest how things were happening; he had asked the people who had been brought back but they, however, knew nothing. The last things they had remembered was the way they had died, but they couldn't remember their afterlife or anything else about what happened to them to bring them back to life. It frustrated him more than anything that other people were just taking it in stride and he couldn't quite do that.
Even Hermione Weasley was stumped about it; she was working overtime in the Department of Mysteries, working on theories and proven spells to figure out how things were happening, but nothing worked. Harry could relate to the frustration that was clearly shown whenever he spotted her within the Ministry as well as outside it, and the two would spend their time together hunched over various plans of new and improved spells that might work. They had even pondered over the Resurrection Stone for a while, but Harry hadn't seen or feel it move from the Forbidden Forest since the battle and, since he was still the Master of Death, he couldn't feel anyone else use it.
"You're overworking again, Harry," said an amused voice from the doorway, and he looked up at Hermione, who was leaning against the doorframe and flashing him a tired smile as she moved into the room. "You always did feel badly about not understanding things other people didn't, even if it wasn't your fault. Go home and relax for a little while, Harry, you're being ridiculous about the whole thing."
"Hermione, you know as well as I do that I'm not going to move much farther than three inches until my parents come walking through that door," he retorted, shrugging as he dropped the parchments and waved her to the seat across from his desk.
"About that, Harry," said Hermione quietly, settling in the chair. "I'm wondering whether this is actually going to happen, I mean… what happens if your parents don't come walking through the door, Harry? You'd be waiting in here forever and you'd be so heartbroken about it."
He sighed and shrugged. "I'd deal with it – I always do."
Hermione sighed along with him and reached across the desk to take his hand, squeezing it. "Take care of yourself, and don't stress out if they're not here straight away – it's only just started, after all. It might be the most recent to the least recent, you never know."
Harry nodded, forcing a smile and then watching her slip out of her chair and slide through the door. "Bye, Hermione!"
"See you later, Harry," she agreed, closing the door. "I'll be by later to see Ginny. We haven't had tea in a while."
Harry sighed and picked up the parchment, resigning himself to hours of reading over reports of old and new magical signatures being picked up in Cambridge. He didn't care about any other magical signature other than his parents, but he was giving up on hope of ever seeing them alive again. If they hadn't appeared so far, why would they?
Little did he know, in Godric's Hollow's graveyard, two forms, one with long hair and another with messy dark hair, formed on top of the graves of Lily and James Potter.