Chapter 3: Harry

Harry flooed directly to Hermione and Ron's home, a rush of warmth filling his chest as he spotted his two best friends sitting close to one another on the couch.

"Hey, you two," he said softly once he'd caught himself and was dusting off his robes.

"Harry!" Hermione enthused, rising to give him a crushing hug.

"Glad you could make it, mate," Ron said, patting Harry's back and grinning fit to split his face.

"I've missed you both," he said with a grin of his own, looking between his two friends. In the six years that had passed since the war, they had grown into their full physical and magical strength, and the power signatures he could now see as easily as breathing were beautiful to behold. Hermione and Ron's power intermingled; he thought they could probably do tandem magic, if they chose, and the shifting colors that twined around them both were lovely to watch, almost mesmerizing.

"Well, if you'd stop gallivanting around the world, perhaps we'd see each other more!" Hermione chided, moving into the large kitchen with the two men trailing behind, exchanging a grin with one another.

"Actually, I think you'll be pleased to hear that I'll be moving back to wizarding Britain," Harry mentioned casually, smirking at Ron to share the joke of Hermione's surprise, only to see that Ron was just as pleasantly surprised as Hermione. After another enthusiastic hug and a toast with the firewhiskey Ron pulled from a cabinet, they settled into comfortable chairs around the kitchen table to catch up.

Harry had been traveling off and on in the four years since what he now called the Death Eater Debacle. While he didn't regret summoning the remaining followers of Voldemort, or obliviating their memories in order to give them a semblance of a fresh start, the hype it had caused was what he had run from when he left four years ago. He had spent time on nearly every continent, seeking out and learning from different teachers of magic until he finally felt he had his terrifyingly huge powers under control.

Whenever he had felt overwhelmed with his studies or by the now-inevitable sense of worship and adoration from the wizarding public, he had disappeared into the muggle world and spent some time forgetting how much power he held. In total, he had mainly spent the past four years alternately running from power and responsibility, and embracing it.

"Still can't decide what to do with your life, then?" Hermione asked sympathetically after he had finished telling an amusing story about his attempts at learning to paint.

"I still say he goes for the seeker position with a professional team—the Hollyhead Harpys have a spot open Harry, and I could talk to Dean for you and see if they'll sneak you into tryouts even though it's a bit late for it. I bet you could wear a glamor—" Ron shut his mouth at Harrys laugh and Hermione's exasperated look, smiling sheepishly between them. Every time Harry had visited in the past four years, Ron had suggested he play professional Quidditch, and as he never seemed to take Harry's denials personally, it had become a running joke on the red head, who was ever-hopeful of seeing his friend fly for a team again.

"I appreciate it Ron, but…I just want to do something without having to pretend I'm anyone other than I am, while avoiding all the fame and worship that people seem determined to throw at me. I know we've been over this many times, but I can't see how I could play Quidditch without either disguising my identity or turning into a puppet for my fans to play with." Harry said gently. He had mostly moved past the bitterness that would have in the past been an undertone to his words, but a shred of wistfulness still remained, and Hermione had to turn her head away so that the men couldn't see her suddenly teary eyes.

"I know," Ron sighed dejectedly, before perking up again, "but, you can at least join our amateur league! It's all a bunch of other Aurors and people from school, so most of them won't get all blubbering on you, and that way we can even play each other again! I know our rivals need a seeker," his hopeful expression turned to one of pure joy as Harrys face lit with guarded enthusiasm.

"I'd bloody love to clobber you in Quidditch again Ron, you're on! We'll give it a go and see how it plays out, but that sounds like a solution I can live with," Harry said excitedly. The other two were pleasantly surprised, as Harry had in the past avoided anyone who knew his name from Wizarding Britain, whether or not they were sycophantic about it or not. Clearly, he had learned to live with both his own power and how those around him reacted to it, to some extent.

"Brilliant!" Ron's face looked like Christmas had come early, and Harry and Hermione couldn't help laughing at his absolutely joyous look. "I'll call Seamus now, and let him know!" he was already up and moving towards the sitting room before the other two had gotten control of their laughter. When his voice became a muffled rise and fall of excited chatter in the other room, Hermione put her hand over Harrys and caught his eye, smiling.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said quietly, and he returned her smile, turning his palm upwards to catch her hand in his own.

"Me too, 'mione." After a length of time lost in their own thoughts, Harry broke the silence again, "one of my friends from Germany moved here last year and started a wizarding band. They're pretty good—and they need a bass player. I said I'd do it," he informed her, pleased with how happy she clearly was for him.

"Harry that's fantastic!" a sly glint crept into her eyes as she looked at him, "is this the 'friend' you told me so much about in your letters?"

Harry grinned unrepentantly at her, and winked before taking another sip of his firewhiskey. "We aren't lovers anymore, but yes he's the one I was telling you about. We managed to keep in touch, and I managed to get over the breakup—now he needs a bass player and since he spent so long teaching me to play, I figured, why not?"

"Do you think you'll…pick things back up where you left them?" She asked delicately, searching his face for any of the pain that had seemed to soak the letters in which this other man had been mentioned, and not seeing it.

"Nah, he was right. It was too weird, as lovers, because our power levels were so disproportionate. It really hurt at the time, but putting myself in his shoes I'd hate to feel so powerless in a relationship. Being a squib and being with someone with my power would be…overwhelming," He squeezed Hermione's hand in reassurance, and she believed him, but she was still overwhelmingly sorry for him. His lot in life might seem ideal and even worthy of incredible envy from the outside, but those closest to him knew how alone and adrift he really was. She could sympathize with the German—had his name been Mark?—but she couldn't quite forgive the other man for seeing Harry's power before his personality, even if Harry could.

Ron returned and Hermione withdrew her hand, smiling up at her beaming husband.

"Shall we order out, then? I don't have much of a mind to cook with Harry here," she suggested, to which both men enthusiastically agreed. A half hour later found them buried in Chinese takeaway cartons, having finished off the bottle of firewhiskey and waxing nostalgic.

"Snape? He's back in town as well?" Harry asked curiously. Hermione nodded as Ron grimaced, not understanding why they had even brought the man up.

"I saw him at Gringotts, though I haven't seen him since. Minerva has said he's back in Britain but being fantastically private about it—apparently he runs most of his errands in public with a glamor or polyjuice potion, these days. Can't say I blame him really," she was looking at Harry speculatively, making him nervous, "next to you, he's the most infamous person in the wizarding world,"

"But he wrote you a letter?" Harry prompted, ignoring the last. She sighed, looking into her empty glass as though looking for the answers to the universe.

"Yes, he's doing research and wants my assistance, as—and I quote—'one of the only mildly competent researchers that Hogwarts has produced in the twenty years he worked there'." The other two guffawed at the quote and she smiled at them indulgently. "I think it was a sort of compliment, coming from him. Come on, let's move to the sitting room and get more comfortable," standing, she cleared the takeaway with a swish of her wand. In the same moment, the cupboard opened and another bottle of firewhiskey floated out at Harry's unspoken command. It hovered in the air until the three of them had passed into the sitting room and then followed them out, bobbing along behind.

Taking the bottle from the air as he sat, Ron thanked Harry and poured for them all.

"What's the project he's working on, then?" Harry continued, and Ron groaned. Hermione shot her husband a look and faced Harry, pushing her hair back and ignoring the complaint.

"I'm not entirely certain, yet. He needs someone who's better at Arithmancy than he is, though of course he didn't say it in such terms. From what I could tell, he's trying to find a way to cure magical maladies such as Lycanthopy. He seems to think it originates from a botched attempt at magic, as opposed to a natural cause."

"That's actually…fascinating." Harry mused, "Keep me updated? I might have some insight," he asked, and she nodded.

"Can we please stop talking about Snape now?" Ron asked plaintively, "Harry was about to tell us more about this Wizarding band, before," Hermione looked with exasperation at her husband, but Harry just laughed.

"Actually Ron, if you want to come out to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow night, you can see for yourself. It'll be our first live show," Harry suggested with measured casualness.

"Are you going to go glamored?" Ron asked curiously, since the Three Broomsticks was bound to have people who would recognize him.

"Of course. Music is the one thing I don't mind hiding to perform at, it's too much fun," Harry grinned. Wanting to cut off Ron's indignant protest about Quidditch being just as fun, he hastily continued, "plus, I learned a new power-dampening trick I want to try out. Hopefully, no one will even be able to feel my signature."

The other two looked skeptical, as well they might. Ever since his powers had nearly doubled when he came into what others insisted on calling his Inheritance, everyone had been able to feel his presence like a palpable thing. Being the only Wizard alive with such a strong signature, it made glamors and polyjuice all but worthless to him as disguises. One of the things he had sought out from his magical lessons was how to blend in, become unassuming, and if possible, disguise his signature. He was eager to try it out the following night, and he could tell his friends were hoping it would work, for his sake.

"We'll be there, Harry," Hermione said with a smile. Ron was nodding in agreement.

"Yeah mate, I can't wait to see you play. I've gotta hear for myself how terrible it is, after all of that bragging you've been doing," Ron winced as Harry punched him playfully, but there was an undercurrent of warmth in the words that the redhead couldn't hide.

All told, it was a good first night back in Wizarding Britain, Harry decided. And tomorrow…tomorrow would sort itself out.