I own nothing; it all belongs to JK Rowling: this is just for fun but be warned this is a fluffy romantic Slash! Nothing I have ever attempted to write before so be kind please. Enjoy and review if you like. Thanks for taking the time to read.

Dear Mr Potter,

You are cordially invited to the annual

'Renewal Ball' on Saturday 1st June 2010.

Please R.S.V.P prior to 25thMay.

Yours faithfully,

Parvati Patil,

Event co-ordinator.

Please come Harry, everyone always

asks about you. Parvati xxx

Harry Potter sighed and threw the invitation aside. "Renewal Ball, my ass," he muttered. Harry had attended the very first ball after he defeated Voldemort and the whole thing had been an excuse for the Ministry to bow and scrape and thank him. Harry frowned as he recalled it; he had not killed Voldemort because it was his 'destiny' but because he was tired of the visions, tired of watching his friends die and tired of the expectant looks in the faces of the 'order' as they waited for him to save them. He didn't want Balls, or (God-forbid) Parades but the worst had been that bloody statue which they had built in Hogsmeade at the site of the final battle. The statue had been the first thing Harry had destroyed after Voldemort, and it had lead him to the unprecedented step of hiring an agent and thus controlling how his image was allowed to be used. Though the agent had been thoroughly disappointed to learn that he was to simply deny all future request for statues or recent pictures, but Harry paid him well so he didn't complain.

Harry had tried to keep out of the limelight, he had not joined the Auror's, even when they had begged him to and he had refused Albus Dumbledore's offer of a job. Instead he had moved to near isolation and learned how to sleep again. In fact Harry felt as though he had learned more in the last thirteen years, than he had ever learned at school. Harry had travelled far and wide; he had finally seen the world and even taken a pleasure cruise or two. He had kept in touch with his close friends and sent regular correspondence to the headmaster. He worked under an assumed name as a writer. He had started by writing a few articles about Defence and then had been approached about writing a new text book for school age children last year. So far he had written first to fourth year books and was now half way through his fifth year text.

Other than Ron, Hermione, Neville and the rest of the Weasleys, Harry kept pretty much away from the wizarding world. He dated mostly muggles and after experimenting with both men and woman had decided he was most likely gay rather than bisexual.

Harry walked into his bedroom and picked up his photo album. Usually it was too painful to even open, it had become a who's who of Voldemort's victims – starting with his parents and his Godfather ending with his first boyfriend, Ernie McMillan. Harry had been furious when Ernie died and had broken through every one of the headmaster's wards surrounding the castle to escape to Hogsmeade and drown his sorrows.

Harry had never managed to get blind drunk that night because Voldemort had shown up somewhere into his second drink and the resulting duel had flattened half of Hogsmeade and ended in Voldemort's death. The Professors from Hogwarts and some of the older students had flowed down from the castle and helped to take down the remaining death eaters, earning themselves an Order of Merlin each and public recognition.

Harry was distracted from his memories by the arrival of Fawkes. Happy to see his old friend, Harry took the time to pet him and then took the note he carried.

My dearest boy,

I hope that Fawkes finds you well and that you are enjoying your peace and quiet. I must ask you to do a favour for an old man; I would much appreciate it if you could attend the coming festivities this one last time for my sake. I know how much you hate all the fuss but I assure you that you will not be required to make any speeches or sit through any overblown examples of gratitude.

Please consider it, I will look forward to seeing you if you decide to come.

Your friend,

Albus

Harry stared at the note and felt a shiver of fear through his spine, why was Albus suddenly so keen for Harry to go to the damn ball and why say 'one last time' Harry wondered. Was something wrong with Albus? He was after all a very old man, even by wizarding standards; Harry reckoned he had to be over one hundred and sixty by now. Before he could change his mind, Harry wrote an acceptance to the ball and sent it off. Then he penned a quick note to Neville, asking if he had noticed anything odd about the headmaster. Neville had been teaching Herbology at the school for three years since Professor Sprout had retired.

Two days later, Harry received a reply from Neville, saying the only thing of note was the Defence teacher leaving. Harry remembered the elderly witch who had taught them in his seventh year. They had all thought her another Umbridge at first but she had quickly disabused them of that notion with her strict rules and no-nonsense attitude.

The day of the ball quickly arrived and found Harry searching through the back of the wardrobe for his long abandoned dress robes. Harry shrugged on the green velvet robes (Mrs Weasley had picked them for the first ball) and then cast a few charms to make them fit his now broader frame. Hermione had dragged him to an optician years ago and finally convinced him to use contact lenses. Harry ran a hand through his cropped but still messy hair and frowned at himself in the mirror. All in all he didn't look bad, Harry decided – almost nothing like the boy who had slain the monster. The chime of his clock reminded him that he was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione at their house and that he was now ten minutes late – an unforgivable sin in Hermione's eyes.