Chapter 1: The return of Harry Potter

A phone call arrived to a house at two minutes past twelve, the earliest hours of the Sunday morning, when the sky was as dark as it could be and even the birds had found better things to do. The house stood on the end of a row in a seaside town no one had heard of. On a melancholy morning, where the waves jumped almost as high as the brick wall separating the shore from Heartley Street, a man sat alone in a house far too big for one. With a garden attached to the rear as a means for forgetting boredom. He was flicking through a revised edition of Hogwarts a History. He, with square glasses and raven hair, was illuminated in an otherwise darkened room by a candle that hovered a few inches to the right of the plush green chair he sat in. It was one of the last bits of magic he'd seen Ginny do before she'd taken his children and left him to a life of forced solidarity. Ginny had walked out behind Kingsley and Hermione and the Weasley matriarch he'd once viewed as a pseudo mother. Ginny's magic had stayed and left the candle floating. Ginny had not. The call was received on an old rotary dial phone; the only line of communication to the man.

The ringing stopped after a few minutes of no answer and the man sighed reaching out to drink the last dregs of his stone cold tea and no sooner had he placed the cup back on the table did the phone start it's ringing again. Harry Potter, who owned the phone and the house he and the phone resided in, sighed heavily and succumbed to the fact that the incessant ringing meant whoever was calling was of importance. He stood with more uncertainty than he used to and shuffled over the to the cabinet the phone was placed upon. He gave a final sigh and picked up the phone bracing himself for whatever Kingsley was about to throw his way.

'Yes?' He murmured, placing the phone to his ear. 'Extending my "time off" again? If you want to fire me you should just say so.' Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He'd been aiming for mild irritation but the desperation to see his children, his family and the outside world came crashing though the wall he'd blocked it in. Instead his voice sounded strangled like he was seconds away from sobbing. He listened, removing his mind from the situation, to the sounds of the house and frowned at how depressing he found the silence and emptiness.

'Harry?' Was the reply. It was directed as a question immediately catching the-boy-who'd-lived's attention. No one called this number not knowing who he was. No one called this number with trepidation. He was supposed to be loony after all. Trapped in some room in St Mungo's laughing his head off with insanity. That's what Rita Skeeter was shoving down people's throats at any rate. 'On the right side of Kingsley Shacklebolt and the mad side of Bellatrix Lestrange.' That's what the heading of The Daily Prophet had claimed on that evening six years ago when his whole life had been stripped from him in a matter of hours.

'Blimey Harry.' Came the tinny voice 'Dean was right. Knew he was. Should'na had any doubt 'bout it really. God, how ya doing?' Seamus' Irish lilt hit him like a tornado, much like it had done six years before. It sounded even older now, more mature, but jovial in a way Harry hadn't heard a voice sound in a long time.

'Seamus?' He asked, just to be sure.

'Yeah Harry.' The voice sounded softer this time and he knew his desperate tone had bought out the sympathy he was used to.

'Ah.' Harry mumbled. He scratched at the back of his neck, absently noting he needed a trim. He opened his eyes and scanned the room for anything to talk about. The lull in the conversation seemed to carry on as if both parties had forgotten what they wanted to say.

'Right!' Exclaimed Seamus, startling Harry out of his musings, 'Dean 'n I wanted to ask ya something. He was paintin' a mural of the War heroes at the Ministry and overheard Kingsley talkin' bout tellin' ya to stay at the house longer. Dean told me and I was sure he heard wrong. All that stuff in the papers. Blimey Harry it felt like fifth Year all over again with me mam tellin' me not to believe you.' He paused to inhale a huge breath of air. 'Yer not in Mungos are ya?' Harry gave a shake of the head before realising Seamus couldn't see. It was peculiar hearing the voice of someone new after the months of isolation interspersed by Kingsley's occasional check-up-calls. Maybe if it had been Ron or Hermione, even if it had been Ginny, Harry could have thought of something convincing to say. Something to make it sound like he was okay.

'No I'm not. Listen mate I…'

'Harry wait we wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with us to send Billy off to Hogwarts.' Harry assumed he was supposed to respond. Seamus must have known he wouldn't for he carried on in a bumbling matter; nerves masked as clarification.

'It's just that we assumed you couldn't with James so. Well?' There was another prolonged and awkward silence that penetrated Harry's brain almost distracting him from the mention of a foreign name he found he could not recall.

'Who's Billy?'

'Our oldest remember? Ginny bought the kids to his tenth...' Seamus trailed off, most likely doing the math in his head, Harry gave a bitter snort and debated hanging up. 'Oh perhaps you never met him.'

'Perhaps. So You and Dean..?' Harry perked up a bit at this, feeling betrayed by his old and more caring ways. Children were something his childhood friends had been discussing before He and Ginny were even prepared to discover they were expecting one of their own.

'Yeah. Rita made a huge deal out of it. Wrote a six page article and everythin' tried convincin' everyone we were unfit to be parents and we'd end up like, well, you.' Seamus trailed off again and silence prevailed once more. Harry turned to the fireplace looking at the dying embers. He waved his hand and whispered the spell and soon enough the fireplace burst into life once more. He felt his hand clenching as his magic burned within to do something greater. To cast spells more powerful. But Hermione had always been great and the blocks she had placed on his magic could not and would not break.

'So you want me to watch your son board the train to Hogwarts? I don't think that's gonna work out very well. Do you? Night. Morning. Bye.' With that Harry Potter set the phone down immediately regretting ending a phone call so badly with the the only person who had bothered finding out if he was okay. Internally scolded at the fact the rest of his Sunday morning would be spent trying to focus on anything else but the events in his kids loves he'd missed and the contact with his friends and family Harry vowed that he would work out a way to get back in contact with Seamus and inform him he had changed his mind. Harry wasn't stupid however and was well aware it wouldn't be easy. He'd have to find a way to leave, for one, and avoid being recognised. Hardest of all however was the extremely likely possibility that his ex-wife, he assumed his ex now, and estranged children would be somewhere among the bustling crowd of platform nine-and-three-quarters.