Ruby: Just found this sitting here, all neat and pretty and completed when I went through my old flashdrives. Enjoy!
(first year)
"Where is he?" McGonagall demanded to the other teachers, now practically sick with worry.
"Pr'ffesor," Hagrid rumbled. "Come see this. I've found 'im, bu' I can' believe what 'e's doin'."
McGonagall all but ran after Hagrid, closely followed by the other staff, Snape muttering about Potters and their 'bloody ego'.
"He's in here?" McGongall hissed, horrified, looking at the Forbidden Forest around her. She whipped her head around to stare in disbelief at the other teachers, but froze when she heard something just barely carried on the wind. "Is…Is that music?" she asked Hagrid, bewildered.
Hagrid pointed in the direction where it came from. "Safer ta go this way and then double back," he warned.
McGongall shrunk into her cat form and raced off the direct path, darting between plants.
She hesitated at the edge of the clearing and then slunk out from a bush, where she thought she might just have a heart attack right there.
Harry sat on a fallen log, softly playing a pipe of some kind—soothing, gentle, a subconscious message of I won't hurt you—a wide range of animals surrounding him, everything from squirrels to wolves to even a stray Acromantula that was about the size of a dog. Every single one of them were swaying to the beat gently.
A purr rumbled up from her chest before she realized and could suppress it.
Harry's emerald green eyes flew open and locked on his teacher, his eyes crinkling in amusement. The tune changed to a Scottish tune that originated from the 1700s. One of the squirrels squeaked in protest and chattered at him.
He played with one hand as he dug in his pocket and offered a peanut to the squirrel as a pacifier. The squirrel took the proffered nut and climbed onto Harry's shoulder, nibbling.
The tune finished and Harry didn't play another. The squirrel on his shoulder chattered at him once more, and Harry raised his arm to touch a nearby branch. The squirrel ran along his arm onto the branch. The Acromantula wandered off, closely followed by everything else except for McGonagall.
She changed back into her human form, quite nearly speechless. "Never…in all my years…"
Harry looked like he was having a good time watching her try to talk coherently and in complete sentences.
"How did you…?" she asked, gesturing expansively.
The boy shrugged. "I've always been able to do it. It's how I communicate with them. After a while, they'll see me and know that I won't hurt them, and therefore won't attack. I know, the forest around Little Whinging was my safe haven for a while there. All sorts of nasty creatures were rumored to be there." A small grin. "Werewolves, and the like. Things that go bump in the night. I've actually only had one werewolf sit in, but he seemed more tired than threatening. Fell asleep in the middle of the song."
"Harry James Potter! You're going to give me a heart attack!" McGonagall scolded.
"I was perfectly safe!" Harry protested, looking mildly wounded.
"This is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason!"
Harry rubbed his head. "Now you're just confusing me. Are we talking about here and now or back when I was young and foolish?" He paused for a second. "Well, still am young, but not nearly as foolish."
McGonagall groaned in frustration as Hagrid laughed.
(second year)
Harry played, the tempo ranging from dangerous and deadly to soft and gentle and everything in between. A couple owls and squirrels watched him play with his eyes closed, pouring his heart and soul into the music. Magic whirled around him in emerald green sparks, inspiring awe in anyone who happened to walk by.
But it was the dead of the night, so really, no one was supposed to be walking by.
"You play well."
Harry's fingers slipped and he blew a sour note before whipping around, the magic dissipating almost instantly. He sagged. "Charlie. Scared me."
"Sorry," he apologized. "I visited Gryffindor Tower. Ron tipped me off that you were probably playing somewhere on the grounds."
Harry shrugged. "Full moon tonight. I'm not ready to go into the Forest at a full moon yet. I've only met two werewolves in my life—one was practically my uncle and the other was practically passed out at my feet in wolf form. Neither were very dangerous. But in there? I don't know enough about werewolves in order to play my safety as well as the rest of the animals'."
"You could go to the library," Charlie suggested.
"I have been," Harry agreed. "But I can't now, it's closed and if I got caught, Madame Pince would have my head."
Charlie smiled in agreement. "What were you playing?"
Harry shrugged. "Anything that suited my fancy. Without dangerous animals around, I have a lot more freedom with my music."
A squirrel chattered at him, obviously irritated.
"You're going to eat all the peanuts I have before the night's out," Harry grumbled, digging in his pocket for a peanut and offering it to the squirrel. "There is a good reason why I named you Peanut."
The squirrel chattered at him and took the peanut, climbing up to his shoulder.
"Peanut, Charlie. Charlie, Peanut," Harry said shortly.
"I'm being introduced to a squirrel," Charlie muttered.
"This is tame when it comes to me," Harry told him, amused. "I'd hate to see what you'd react to with some of my more dangerous exploits."
Charlie chuckled. "Alright. I'll leave you to it. Peanut looks restless."
"He always looks like that."
The red-head laughed, got up, said goodbye, and left.
Harry turned back to his pipe, his magic churning in his gut. Goosebumps broke out and he began to play once more, his magic swirling around him again.
(third year)
"He's disappearing most nights, Minerva," Poppy Pomfrey said worriedly. "He's not getting enough sleep."
"He's perfectly safe, at least," McGonagall sighed, looking out into the Forest. "I'll talk to him about sleeping more."
It was true, Harry grew more tired each day, his callouses on his fingers growing more and more pronounced.
"I love his music—it's beautiful, don't get me wrong—but he's running himself ragged," Pomfrey said, looking out as well.
"Full moon tonight," McGonagall noticed. "He's probably somewhere on the grounds and not in the Forest tonight."
Pomfrey hesitated. "Should we go check on him?"
"It would probably put both of us at ease," McGonagall agreed.
The two teachers found Harry weaving his magic into wards with nothing but his pipe. Several owls, two squirrels, and a wolf watched Harry with interest.
It was amazing—the magic around him seemingly grew into something like fabric with holes small enough to poke a needle through, but nothing more. He played, and it grew like it was a music-loving plant, until the top knitted itself together and the bubble of magic flared with light, turned into something like green glass, and then seemingly faded.
Harry slumped forward, panting. The wolf whined and pressed itself against Harry's legs. "I know, Moony," he whispered. "That tired me out anyway. At least my magic isn't trying to make me throw up anymore."
Moony barked and Harry smiled softly, rubbing the wolf's head.
McGonagall realized with a shock that it wasn't a wolf, but a werewolf.
A squirrel chittered. Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled, making an exaggerated face at the werewolf. The squirrel chittered even more indignantly.
"All right! Fine! You can have a peanut!" Harry laughed, digging in his pocket and pulling out a peanut, holding it in his flat hand. The squirrel chattered at him some more, then took the peanut.
"You guys and telling me to sleep is something else," Harry snorted, leaning against the tree tiredly. "A werewolf, a squirrel, and two owls all telling me to sleep. Sounds like the start of a bad joke."
Hedwig hooted indignantly.
"I know, I know, and I'm the punchline," Harry grumbled, his eyes closed, his hands wrapped protectively around his pipe.
"I think the animals have it well in hand," Pomfrey said softly.
McGonagall nodded, smiling wistfully.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said gently. "You need more sleep."
Harry blew out his breath. "I'd love more sleep, Professor. If I don't, though, then I don't run the risk of being violently sick in the morning."
McGonagall's eyebrows raised. "You should've gone to Madame Pomfrey, Mr. Potter. She's the best St. Mungo's has to offer."
Harry grimaced. "You think she can help me? Even if it was my magic that was making me sick?"
Her eyebrows climbed even higher, and she sat down, thinking. "I see," she murmured. She shook her head. "No, actually, I don't see. What does your magic and you staying awake have to do with each other?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I just…I do a lot of magic at night…"
McGonagall's face turned wry and faintly amused. "Spit it out, Mr. Potter."
"Mostly wards…with my pipe…"
"And?" she prompted.
Harry sputtered. "And? Professor, you already know, don't you?!"
"Bits and pieces," McGonagall admitted. "I've already seen you ward with your pipe. Last full moon, actually. Start of a bad joke, indeed. If you're not careful, you're going to have to add this old cat to your list."
Harry flushed.
"Well?" she prompted. "What else are you doing?"
He hesitated. "It's…hard to explain. Do…do you have anything wooden and unimportant?"
She wordlessly handed him a pencil.
He seemed to be jerking as he reached for his pipe.
"You don't have to show me," she said, watching him closely. He looked quite pale.
"No, it's not you," he said softly. "Once I do this I'll be fine."
McGonagall stopped him. "Go see Madame Pomfrey," she ordered sternly. "Don't wear yourself out."
"Please," he pleaded.
She stopped dead, her amber eyes swiveling to his desperate green eyes. Never in her life had Harry Potter ever pleaded for something. James Potter had never pleaded to her, either. McGongall sat back, watching him like a hawk rather than the cat she was.
He played, his eyes locked onto the pencil, his elbows braced against his knees as if to keep himself from falling over.
It was well that he did, because his magic blasted out and wrapped around the pencil. It stretched and twisted and warped until it was a foot-high sapling, complete with tiny green leaves. It was over in mere seconds.
Harry sat back, his pipe leaving his lips, his color returning. He sighed a little.
"You transfigured a tree?" McGonagall guessed.
"I think I take the wood from the pencil and give it life," Harry said softly, smiling as he scooped up the sapling. "Because I can't undo it, and it's definitely alive—the first one that I did has now doubled its height."
McGonagall sat back, musing over the mystery that was Harry Potter. "Alright. Do all the magic you need," she conceded. Harry breathed a little easier, she noticed. "But do it in here when you're not on an outing to visit friends. Yes, Mr. Potter, that includes in the middle of the night if you need it. That kind of magic isn't subtle, and I assume you'd like to keep this a secret as much as possible, yes?"
Harry nodded, relief showing in his eyes.
(fifth year)
Harry staggered into the Transfiguration classroom at three in the morning, shutting the door behind him and collapsing to his knees. McGonagall was out of her private quarters almost instantly. "Harry!" she said, alarmed.
"No," he said weakly. "Get back."
McGonagall backed off just as his magic practically exploded out of him. Emerald green tendrils lashed out at anything and everything. They swirled around the room, and Harry pulled them back, a literal hurricane of magic whipping around the teen, becoming denser and denser until Harry could barely be seen.
And then it dissipated.
Tears dripped down Harry's face as he hugged his middle, obviously feeling like he was going to be sick.
"Harry?" McGonagall said, kneeling beside the teen.
"I can't do this anymore," he whispered brokenly. "I'm going to kill someone sooner or later. Voldemort could sit on his throne and do nothing but laugh and I wouldn't even be able to shut him up."
McGonagall chuckled at the phrasing, wrapping the teen in a hug. "You aren't going to kill anyone, Harry. Give someone quite a scare, probably, but kill them? No. And you can do this. Say you can't again and I'll hex you."
"You sound like Hermione," Harry grumbled.
"Don't use your pipe," McGonagall suggested.
Harry looked at her like she was crazy. "Wandless magic? Are you nuts?"
"You do it already," McGonagall said dryly.
"No I—oh, yeah, I guess I do," he said sheepishly.
"Yes, you do," McGonagall said dryly. "So, no pipe."
Harry reluctantly put his pipe back in its sheath. He called up his magic, weaving the strings together, his fingers a blur as he made his way around the four feet of designated space, going around and around until McGonagall got dizzy just watching him.
He stretched out his back when he finished, breathing hard. "That was…disturbingly easy," he muttered. "Pipe's faster, though."
"Wand's even faster, although more sloppy," McGonagall told him.
He made a face at her from inside the ward. She rolled her eyes and hexed the ward. It shimmered and became visible for a split second and absorbed her spell.
"Good," she murmured.
Harry ducked one spell and cast a shield to block another, whirling around and casting his own spells. One was stopped by the shield she'd put up, the other went wide and never hit her, but he was expecting that. The bookcase clumped up behind McGonagall and had her encased up to her neck in books before she could say 'kitty'.
"Wonderful," she said dryly.
"Hey, you suggested it," Harry defended.
"An error on my part. Very good with the animation spell," she conceded.
Harry was attracting some stares as he went toe-to-toe with Bellatrix Lestrange with nothing but a pipe. Half of the onlookers were thinking, What's he going to do, sing her to death?
But he put the pipe to his lips and played, wild and dangerous with no rhyme or reason to it. Bellatrix stopped, her eyes glazing over.
He kept playing, stepping closer to her, his magic whipping around him with faint tendrils wrapped around her, weaving magic into his music, entrancing her into her life like it was on replay.
People stopped and stared, stunned that a couple notes could stop the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange.
His eyes glowed as he changed the tune slightly, higher-pitched and the tempo more even, and her eyes lost her insane glint. Harry smiled into the mouthpiece, his eyes crinkling in satisfaction.
The tune finished, and Harry took his pipe from his lips, smirking as Bellatrix snapped out of her daze.
"What did you do?" she shrieked.
Harry hit her over the head with his pipe. "I fixed you, idiot. Now you don't have your insanity as yet another weapon in your arsenal."
Bellatrix gaped at him, and he hit her again, harder this time. She crumpled to the floor. "Cognitive recalibration works too," he said mildly, stepping over her.
"Potter!"
"Here," Harry said absently. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were calling roll."
Some of the still-fighting Death Eaters gawked at his gall to say that to the Dark Lord.
"She looks quite a bit better sleeping, don't you think?" Harry asked.
Voldemort's red eyes blazed with anger. Harry finally looked up, boredom and power swirling in an odd mix in his green eyes.
The Dark Lord immediately fired off three spells. Harry instantly had his pipe on his lips, playing, his magic building a ward around him in record speed. The spells slammed into the ward and were absorbed.
Spells were exchanged at a rapid rate, ranging from the Killing Curse to the Tripping Jinx. Then they both backed away, neither winded.
The Hall of Mystery's doors were slammed open, and the Order stormed through just as Luna cheerfully slapped a Death Eater into next week and then Stunned him for good measure.
"Six kids did this much damage?" Kinsley gawked.
Death Eaters lay sprawled just about everywhere. Ron was firing spells while sitting down, his ankle twisted and sprained. Ginny was next to her brother, shielding him and herself and firing off spells rapidly at the remaining Death Eaters. Neville had taken out three by himself but was covered in small gashes from where he shattered the glass. Luna was just fine with the exception of a gash at her hairline. Hermione was dueling toe-to-toe with two Death Eaters and winning. Harry was going against Voldemort and had already taken out Bellatrix.
"Voldemort's best and Voldemort himself and he's losing," Hestia Jones marveled.
"Badly," Tonks agreed. "C'mon! Let's help!"
"Yes, that would be appreciated!" Ginny yelled sarcastically.
Music echoed through the Death Chamber, suddenly at a crescendo. Harry's fingers were playing, fast and furious, magic whipping around him like he'd suddenly become a black hole, his eyes narrowed to glowing slits.
Voldemort gawked at Harry for a split second before Apparating out and breaking through the anti-Apparition wards like they were tissue paper.
Harry kept playing, his eyes focused on Hermione's dilemma. One of the Death Eaters got literally shaken up a bit and then dropped, and the other got a Blasting Hex to the back, courtesy of Ginny. Neville's seemingly dance partner was dropped suddenly by a couple Slicing Hexes to the Achilles' tendons. Neville took it from there and blasted him. Luna was teasing the quartet of Death Eaters that had surrounded her, neatly dodging all the spells and letting them hit another Death Eater.
"Oh, c'mon, Luna, quit teasing them!" Neville said, exasperated. "Harry trained you better than that!"
Luna looked at him, shrugged, then fired off four unknown spells that dropped them like flies.
The Order had done hardly anything.
"Wonderful," Harry said, smiling. "Neville? I think we're all in sudden need of some sleep, yeah? And possibly some time spent in St. Mungo's, yeah?"
Neville's eyes narrowed in confusion, and Harry gestured at Bellatrix. "Tested it on her. Seemed to work."
Neville's eyes widened, and Hermione grinned broadly, limping over to Neville and hugging him. Suddenly the six teens were hugging Neville.
"Meet you back at Hogwart's?" Hermione checked.
"Where Harry used to sleep," Neville said, nodding.
"Go get 'em, Nev," Ginny grinned.
Neville saluted.
Harry played his pipe strongly, light, feminine, and cheerful, but the tempo erratic and insensible. He slowly incorporated a tempo, and Neville's mum stirred restlessly. He slowed the beat, evening out the tempo, and let the note die off, slumping a little bit, tired.
"Oh, god, Mum…!"
Harry opened his eyes, smiling as Mrs. Longbottom held her son for the first time in fourteen years.
"J-James?" Alice stammered.
Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. James Potter was my father."
Alice closed her eyes. "Was?"
Harry exchanged pained glances with Neville. "James died two weeks after Bellatrix cursed you and your husband into insanity. Both my parents died. I'm the only one who lived. There's a lot to bring you up-to-date on, Mrs. Longbottom."
Neville burst into weak laughter at the understatement.
"Do you want me to do your father, or update Mrs. Longbottom?" Harry asked Neville after the half-hysterical boy calmed down marginally.
"My father," Neville said surprisingly evenly. "No sense in having to tell it twice."
Harry nodded and gathered his magic, exhaling. He put his lips to his well-played pipe, and his fingers danced out the notes.
"Thank you, Harry," Neville said softly.
Harry smiled as he looked at Neville's parents. "Not a problem. You would've done the same for me if our roles were reversed."
Neville's gaze was sad. "I wish we could bring your parents back."
Harry shook his head. "Strangely enough, I'm okay with the fact that they're gone now. Doing things like this…it makes coping a lot better. And the animals helped. They helped a lot."
"You still have to go back to that hellhole," Neville said darkly.
Harry smiled a bit. "If you don't mind, I have no intention of going back. I have every intention of getting to know my godmother."
Neville grinned—the first true grin in a very long time.
"What is he doing?"
"He's talking with the animals," Neville told his mum, smiling.
She gave him a strange look.
"I'm not changing my answer," Neville said, amused. "I've seen him tame werewolves at the peak of the moon before."
Alice kept giving him a strange look.
Neville went forward and sat down between an owl and a stray wolf. Alice gave a strangled gasp.
Harry's eyes flicked to her, his eyes crinkling in amusement. The tempo changed, free and frolicking, and the wolf stood up and leaned against Neville, then trotted over to Alice and licked her kneecap, and then went back into the woods.
Neville arched his eyebrows at his mum, a kind of 'what now' look.
Alice shook her head in disbelief, smiling.
Harry's tune dribbled off and he stood, smiling at his godmother. "Yes, I really am talking with the animals."
He offered a hand to Neville and hauled the older boy up when he accepted.
"That's amazing," Alice said wistfully.
"If I disappear on you, you can figure that I'm talking to someone, somewhere." Harry looked around, his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Hello?"
Harry suddenly crouched, holding out a hand and hissing. A snake curled its way up Harry's arm, hissing softly. Harry suddenly rose an eyebrow and an amused glint entered his eyes. A short, guttural hiss later, and the snake slithered off into the grass.
"That snake's got a dry sense of humor," Harry said absently. "I'll have to check that out."
He wandered off.
"Parseltongue?" Alice asked her son, startled.
Neville shrugged. "There were rumors of him being the Heir of Slytherin in second year, probably because of that particular ability."
Alice had to marvel at her son. "You're completely fine with that?"
He shrugged again. "Harry's the best person I know. His parseltongue saved a student's life in second year because we had an incompetent DADA teacher—again. Frankly, Harry's the best DADA teacher we've ever had, and he only taught some of the students because if we got caught we'd probably go to Azkaban."
Alice gaped at the casual mention of himself going to Azkaban.
Neville smiled at his mum and grasped her hands. "Harry's power, whether it comes from the fact that he's the Boy-Who-Lived or something else, I'd only trust in Harry's hands. Heaven help us all if Voldemort had Harry's power. He could rewrite the entire Wizarding World effortlessly to make us all Dark. When Harry revived you and Dad, he'd just gotten done going toe-to-toe with Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself. Was he tired? Yeah. A bit. Not enough to matter. And get this—he went toe-to-toe with her and Voldemort wandlessly. He revived you and Dad wandlessly. He hardly ever even uses his wand anymore. Harry could be anything he wanted to be and he just wants a couple animals to trust him."
Alice sat down hard where Harry had recently abandoned. Neville kissed her forehead, ran a hand through her white hair, and left with a smile.
"Neville," she called. "Why is Harry called the Boy-Who-Lived?"
Neville smiled sadly. "Because he's the only person in all of history to have survived the Killing Curse."
She was left to stew on that.
(sixth year)
"Hey, Harry…thanks."
Harry looked up from a pixie, startled. The pixie squeaked and took flight from Harry's hand.
"Sorry," Neville cringed.
"You're fine," Harry smiled. "She'll come back. What are you thanking me for now?"
Neville felt a little foolish now. Harry seemed half-exasperated and half-amused. "You helped me explain things to my parents, and having you there…well, my mum wasn't sure about you at first."
Harry nodded. "The Parseltongue probably unnerved her at first."
Neville nodded in agreement. Then he smiled a little. "Luna rubbed off on you the first couple of days at the Manor."
Harry smiled sadly. "I was kind of coping badly at the time. Then your mum welcomed me into the family, and it helped a lot."
Neville punched him, looking annoyed. "All five of us told you to open up when you're hurting, Harry! I wouldn't have thought any worse of you if bringing my parents back from insanity opened up all the old wounds!"
Harry did a double take at Neville, startled. "How did you…?"
"Now you know what the rest of us feel like around you!" Neville said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. His face fell. "But really, Harry. Open up sometimes. Being stone cold never helped anyone."
It was a double meaning, and they both knew it.
"Alright," Harry said quietly.
"I'm not going back there, sir."
Dumbledore looked tired. "Harry, you must. You going back there is important for your survival."
"Sir, myself and five other teens fought off Voldemort and a full squadron of his best just before the summer," Harry said softly. "There had to have been thirty Death Eaters. We were outnumbered five to one, and yet we came out on top. I have every confidence that we could do it again. Why is going back to the Dursleys so vitally important? What else haven't you told me, sir? The blood wards? The prophecy—in its full glory? Perhaps Voldemort's soul anchors?"
His voice chilled those in the room to the bone. There was no accusations, no rage, no aggravation. There was only his soft voice throbbing with intensity.
"If you had told me about anything, I could've told you that it was pointless," Harry said softly. "Hell, if you had asked Snape, he could've told you. Shows how much you rely on your supposed spy. Not to mention the fact that Voldemort knew that Snape was the spy. Voldemort only kept him around for laughs, watching you guys run around like chickens with your heads cut off." He cracked a smile. "I have to admit, that's probably the only thing I'll agree with him on. It is pretty funny, watching you run around after false leads. I could've told you that it was false. I could've told you that there was an attack in Soho at three a.m. last night but only two Muggles were killed."
Surprise echoed around the room.
"I could tell you what the attacks are going to be for the next six months if I wanted to," Harry continued, his voice soft, yet unyielding. "I could give you street addresses and times and draw faces of the dead of the past six months if I wanted to. If you wanted to. Fred and George had almost as much information as I did when we compared notes, and Hermione then added her input, giving what the total casualties would likely be for each raid. You wanted you keep the so-called kids out of the Order. And now you are paying for it dearly."
"Harry—"
"I did not realize that anyone besides Professor McGonagall had a legitimate reason to call me by my first name," Harry told him softly, his eyes glinting with a positively Slytherin light. "It was Professor McGonagall who helped me control my explosive magic, not you, sir. It was Professor McGonagall who I could go to in the dead of the night, panting and half-conscious, trying not to kill anyone. It was Professor McGonagall who pushed me to my limits and helped me with such a simple thing as sleeping."
Dumbledore again tried to interrupt: "Mr. Potter, I insist—"
"I insist on quite a bit, Professor," Harry said. "Normally things that two out of three people have. Like a family that loves them. I got that this past summer. I'm keeping it that way. I'm going home for Christmas for the first time in six years."
"What about the Horcruxes?" Dumbledore gave up on names.
Harry shrugged. "I'm the last one, of course. All of them are gone. I finished that quest during the third Task in fourth year."
He turned and walked out.
"He's about as happy with you as Voldemort is," McGonagall said absently.
"What did he mean, you helped him with controlling his magic?" Snape asked.
She smirked. "Harry has an excessively large core. So much so that he is actually sick if he's up to full power. It made him uncomfortable on a good day, when he was busy doing magic and keeping his levels down. When he was bored out of his mind and doing absolutely nothing, then he went from bored out of his mind to very busy spewing into a bucket. I wore him out, he went to sleep."
"Just that simple, hmm?" Sprout snorted.
Harry walked into the Transfiguration classroom just as dawn was breaking over the horizon and woke his favorite professor.
"Harry? What's wrong?"
He gave a sad smile. "Nothing's wrong. Voldemort's dead."
McGonagall reeled.
"I just thought you'd like to hear it from me," he said softly. "I'll keep in touch."
He turned, presumably to leave.
"Wait!" she called, scrambling from her bed. "What do you mean, you'll 'keep in touch'?"
He halted. "The Wizarding World wanted a savior. I'm famous for something that I barely remember. I've been alternating from the next Dark Lord to the Wizading World's savior for years. I have false books and dolls on me. I'm famous, I got that. But did it ever occur to anyone that all I wanted was to be a regular person?"
"No. It didn't. I've fulfilled my press-induced obligation. This Dark Lord is down for good. And I'm tired, Professor. I'm so tired. Maybe one day I'll rejoin the Wizarding World."
McGonagall strode towards the teen and gave him a soft hug. "Stay safe, Harry. And keep in contact with some of your friends, right?"
His green eyes flickered with surprise, and then happiness at her acceptance. "Of course, Professor."
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER…
McGonagall opened the door, leaning on a cane. "May I help you?" she asked politely.
The black-haired man smiled, his green eyes crinkling. "I think so. I'm looking for a former Professor of mine. She's very dear to me, you know, helping me control my explosive magic."
McGonagall's eyes widened. "Harry?" she asked, stunned.
He'd grown. A lot. He stood well over her, his aura no longer the roiling turmoil that it was sixteen years before. Confident. Happy. A woman at his side that she didn't recognize.
"All these years—Damn, Harry James, you grew up!"
Harry's eyebrows lifted at his former teacher's comment.
"He grew up very well," the woman at his side agreed. "I like your Professor, Harry."
McGonagall quirked a smile. "Come in, both of you."