Jasper Whitlock Hale was reTurned, at the hands of a certain witch: Hermione Jean Granger. Well, not her hands per say, but by her ankle. To be specific, it was Granger's tiny little blood vessel with the circumference of a needle that reTurned Jasper.
ReTurning is the most pleasant feeling in the world. It's not like being born, which is a miracle that nobody remembers. Nope.
ReTurning isn't a reversal either, because we all know there's things you can't take back. Ya 'Can't turn your watch clock back to 1875, 'least not in the legal kinda way. ReTurning is more like a revival. You remember all that's been forgotten. You get back most of what you lost. Like a pulse. Or a hunger for bananas. I like Plantains. I forgot I ever did.
Anyway, it's nothing like Turning.. It's a paradise, but it's a war zone.
"Hale!" A very British, very old voice bellowed.
"I'm on my way Headmistress, ma'm." Jasper Hale half twangs, half muses. For once his voice doesn't sound like it's woven in silk. It deep. It's earthy. It's kinda human.
Jasper ceases writing in his journal of events since the day it happened. It looks like chicken scratch. It's beautiful.
"I'm on my way!" Jasper emphasizes again, just to hear his voice: the way it used to be. Imperfect, cracking, high and low..and handsome. 'Least he thinks so. Jasper chuckles. For once he might actually be subjected to the criticisms of the female prejudices, sans vampiric allure to help him out. Nevertheless, the characteristic charm in the 'twang stubbornly echoed down the corridors of Hogwarts.
Hermione hears him coming, ReTurning back to her current phase of constant blushing.
Hermione Jean Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age. He certainly bit more than he could chew.
This is the story of how all that happened.