The first few weeks of term flew by. Harry was kept busy with classes, including his "apprenticeship" in Abeforth's First Year History of Magic Class. He found he enjoyed teaching the first years the most. He also found that his fame extended far beyond the bounds he had previously mentally drawn around it. Though he realized that most in the wizarding community knew his name, what he looked like and what he had done when he was only one and again when he was not quite 18, he didn't realize the extent of their admiration. When he finally sat down to count, he found that he was teaching no fewer than 15 Harrys in first through third years. He also had six Rons and four Hermiones.

The students seemed a bit afraid of him at first, or at least awed, but his direct teaching method, focusing on the practical and logical art of defense, soon won their trust. And with the trust came the questions and requests which at first had been suppressed behind their nervousness.

The most frequent request was to see his scar. Over time, Harry had allowed his hair to grow longer so that his unruly bangs hung low and covered his scar completely. Behind his hair, the scar was just as prominent as ever, an ever-lasting reminder of Voldemort's personal effect on his life. When he received this request, he always gamely pushed aside his hair and gave the students their fill. The next question was inevitably:

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore," he would always answer. And it didn't. The scar had not so much as tingled since that final meeting when the pain had temporarily blinded and crippled him.

There were other questions that were predictable, usually about his years with the Chudley Cannons or his adventures in breaking the rules at Hogwarts. Those were the easy questions. The hard questions sometimes were subtle, and sometimes were not.

"What does it feel like to kill someone?"

"How many students died during the war?"

"Tell us about the 'Boy Who Died'."

Harry managed to get through most of the questions, but occasionally he'd just smile and turn his back on the students, writing something on the board. When he turned back around, he was all business again and though the question still hung silently in the air, he ignored its presence and went on with the lesson.

September passed and toward the end of the month, Charlie Weasley knocked on his office door after his last class.

"Come in," he called from his desk where he was reading 6th year essays.

Charlie walked in, surveying the classroom curiously as he made his way to Harry's desk.

"It's September 20h, Harry," he said.

Harry looked up. "Go on . . ."

"I've been named Captain of the Gryffindor Alumni Quidditch Team."

Harry smiled and put down the essay he was reading. He stood up and reached out to shake Charlie's hand. "That's great news, Charlie! So as captain, you get to pick your team, eh?"

"Right," said Charlie. "So . . .you up for a go at it?"

"Professional players aren't banned?" questioned Harry, running his hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual.

Charlie put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "So you're a professional player, are you, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Well, no, I guess I'm not, Charlie. But with you on the team it looks like Gryffindor already has a Seeker."

Charlie shrugged. "Captain doesn't have to play. My job is to recruit the best team possible and lead us to glorious victory. You in?"

"In," said Harry with a smile. "I'd forgotten all about the tournament. When are we practicing? And who else do you have pegged for the team?"

"Well, it will depend on who I manage to convince to devote four weekends in October to Quidditch," Charlie answered. "And as for the who, I'm planning on Fred and George as beaters and Wood for Keeper."

Harry frowned. Ron had played Keeper for two years.

"Don't worry about Ron," said Charlie. "I've already talked to him and he suggested Wood. We get to have alternates so Ron's in for backup and he's going to co-captain with me."

"And chasers?" said Harry. Quidditch always put a peculiar itch in his blood. He thought longingly of his old Firebolt. He had a series of brooms since his Firebolt, mostly the stealth models preferred by Aurors, but the Firebolt held a special place in his heart.

"Ahh," said Charlie. "There are a couple of good possibilities from the last five years. Katie Bell's younger sister, for one. Katie's pregnant or I'd ask her. Kid named Oliver Mason—he's at the Ministry now. And . . . well, how about Ginny?"

Harry perked up. Charlie didn't miss his interest, though he tried very hard to be casual in his response.

"But she's in Paris, Charlie. You think she'd made the trip four weekends in a row?"

Charlie grinned. "You haven't heard then, eh?"

"Heard what?" asked Harry, a little too quickly.

"Ginny's back. Finagled a job transfer to London. She got back a few days ago. She's staying at the Burrow while she looks for a new place."

Harry's face had lit up. "No one told me," he said. "And I just heard from Ron and Hermione last week."

"No one knew," replied Charlie. "She showed up a few days ago and nearly knocked Mum's socks off. Funny how it works—she left home when you became an Auror and now that you're at Hogwarts, she's coming back home."

Harry smiled. "Coincidence," he said, hoping Charlie wasn't reading more into it than was there and briefly wondering it is really was a coincidence. "Well, the team sounds great." He sat down on the edge of his desk. "Practice here at Hogwarts, I assume?"

"Tentatively scheduled for Saturday," answered Charlie. "Gryffindor is up first—8 a.m. so get a good night's sleep Friday. We get two practice runs this Saturday and two the following. The games start the first Saturday in October."

Charlie left a few minutes later and Harry sat back down and picked up an essay. He tried reading it, but felt like a teenager again, butterflies in his stomach as he thought of Quidditch. Quidditch practice Saturday. Quidditch practice . . . with Ginny. He was beginning to realize how the thought of spending time with Ginny affected him. It left him nervous and breathless. Like Quidditch. He wondered if he should be worried.

At 7:30 on Saturday morning, Harry shouldered his Firebolt Stealth 2000 model and made his way to the front stairs. He sat down and waited for the rest of the team—they'd be coming from Hogsmeade—and while he waited he stared quietly at the golden Phoenix on the pedestal before him. The clip-clop of horse hoofs startled him a moment later, and he quickly got to his feet and walked toward the approaching carriage, a grin plastered on his face.

A tangle of legs, arms and mainly red heads appeared through the carriage doors when Charlie jumped down and opened them as the nine people inside extracted themselves and their brooms and jumped to the ground. Fred and George gave Harry high fives and grinned maliciously. "Never thought I'd play here again," said Fred. "Not after how we left this place…." George laughed and they strolled over to the memorial while the rest of the team disentangled themselves and left the carriage. Ron jumped out next and grinned at Harry as he stood back to make room for the others. Oliver Wood, looking slightly roughed up, greeted Harry with a handshake and a thump on the shoulder, then turned and offered his hand to a young witch who looked quite a bit like her sister, Katie Bell. Allie Bell introduced herself to Harry and practically beamed up at him as she pumped his hand and told him how she couldn't wait to see him fly. "I've been walking on air since Charlie owled me," she said gleefully.

Ginny stumbled out next, looking quite cross as she tried to smooth the bent twigs in her broom. Harry eyed the broom, noticing it was the same model as his. Odd. Why would Ginny . . . ? She gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek followed by a hug. Ron, who was facing Harry a few feet away, raised his eyebrows and Harry shrugged innocently. A small, solid man of about 25, Oliver Mason, jumped down next. Harry was surprised to see that there were two more people inside. They first alit with a big smile and a hug for Harry.

"Angelina! I didn't know . . ." he said, returning her hug.

"Just here as an alternate," she said. "I couldn't commit to every weekend but the twins convinced me to come." The last was Nymphadora Tonks.

"Tonks!" he exclaimed as she tripped over her broom and landed in Oliver Mason's arms.

"Er, sorry," he said, setting her upright and letting go of her quickly.

Charlie gathered the team and they shouldered their brooms and began to march across the grounds to the Quidditch Pitch. It was a carefree group, though Oliver Mason and Allie Bell seemed a bit overwhelmed surrounded by people of such . . . stature. Indeed, when they were in Gryffindor House, many of the people they were now chatting so amiably with were already legend. In fact, Gryffindor House had adopted the "Weasley is Our King" song into a type of cheer and still used it all these years after the original Weasleys had graduated from Hogwarts.

The team was quite surprised to find that the pitch was not entirely empty at this time of the morning on a Saturday. Instead, the stands were practically half-filled.

"What's this about?" said Fred as he looked up toward the red banner with the gold lion atop the stadium.

Charlie looked a bit apologetic. "Guess I should have warned you all. Just pretend that they're not there. I expect we'll be a bit rusty at first…"

"Charlie…." said Ron in a threatening voice. "Who are all these people?"

"Mainly students," he answered casually. His back was turned as he heaved the ball case on its side and opened it.

"Mainly students?" said Ginny.

The bludgers were already straining against the straps as Charlie turned back to the team.

"They remember us," said George lovingly, picking up his bat and throwing the second one to his twin.

"Who, the bludgers or the students?" asked Harry, nervously eying the crowd.

"The bludgers, of course," answered George.

"OK, look," said Charlie. "It's like this. The practice schedule and teams are posted in the atrium. There's been quite a bit of excitement about the Gryffindor team. Two former professional Quidditch players, after all, not to mention the Weasley twins and Gin-Gin."

"Don't call me that!" said Ginny, her eyes narrowed as she gazed at her brother, hands on her hips.

"Don't you like to be called that, Gin-Gin?" teased Ron. She threw the quaffle at him. He dodged it and Oliver Mason scooped it up, shooting it over to Angelina.

"Anyway…" continued Charlie loudly. "Quite a few of the faculty members planned to turn out, as well as some other officials…."

"Other officials? How did I miss all this, Charlie?" asked Harry. "I'm a teacher here. No one told me about this!"

"Well, they wouldn't now, would they?" said Charlie with a wink. "Everyone knows you can be a little . . . uh . . . .media shy. Didn't want to scare you off."

"Media Shy!" exclaimed Harry. Several of his friends were suppressing grins behind their hands. Ginny, however, was laughing outright.

"You should see your ears, Harry!" she exclaimed through her laughter. "You look like a proper Weasley now!"

"Well, if it's a story they're after, let's give them something to write about," he said, an evil grin spreading over his face. "Race you to the goal rings!"

He mounted his broom but Ginny was a step ahead of him. She pushed off before him just as Charlie let the bludgers and golden snitch loose. While Harry pursued Ginny, Fred, George and Tonks took off after the bludgers and the chasers followed, tossing the Quaffle back and forth in moves that looked completely orchestrated and not one bit rusty. Wood, Ron and Charlie pulled the rear, flying lazily as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Harry managed to overtake Ginny just before the rings. Her green robes were flying behind her and he managed to get a handful of them right before he passed her, throwing them over her head as he threaded the needle and came back alongside her as she slowed to disentangle herself. She pretended to be mad but Harry could tell she wasn't. He tweaked her nose and flew off to find the snitch while she looked after him, a strange, quite puzzled look in her eyes.

They soon forgot about the crowd, which had grown even more, and settled down into the business of playing Quidditch. Charlie put them through drills and aerial maneuvers. The chasers practiced formation flying and choreographed passing while the beaters wove in and out of them. Harry saw the snitch 20 minutes into the practice and captured it readily. The crowd erupted in chants of "POT-TER! POT-TER!" as Harry flew into the team huddle. It has been 6 years since his professional Quidditch days. This was heaven. The wind in his hair, the golden snitch, the roar of the crowd . . .

"OK, that was too easy, Harry," said Charlie as the team hovered above the pitch. "Ginny, this time you play seeker too. We'll pit you two against each other to see if it makes things a bit more interesting."

Ginny and Harry exchanged looks. Challenging looks.

"Right," said Harry.

"Let's go then," said Ginny, hunkering down on her broom.

"Nice broom, Ginny," said Harry, looking it over with an experienced eye.

Ginny appeared nonchalant. "Oh, this piece of junk?"

Harry handed the snitch over to Charlie. Charlie flew to the middle of the pitch and released it while Harry and Ginny played bombard the keeper with the rest of the team. In this practice drill, the keeper single-handedly defends all three rings while the players shoot three Quaffles at him. Wood did admirably well. The crowd was counting his saves, chanting in unison. "FOUR . . . . FIVE . . . . SIX . . . . .OHHHHH! . . . . . SEVEN . . ." At ten, Charlie stopped the drill and started a scrimmage and Harry and Ginny flew off in search of the snitch.

Harry kept his eye on Ginny for the next 30 minutes as he meticulously searched the air for the Golden Snitch. She hadn't played Seeker often, but she was still good and had a sharper eye than he did, though she lacked the speed and finesse needed in a head to head race. When he finally saw the Snitch, he glanced her way to note, to his surprise, that she was already on its tail, but from a further distance away. Still, he high-tailed it, slightly ahead of her when they reached midfield. The snitch was still hovering close to the ground, and in another moment he had it in his hand. He slowed instantly, checking his broom speed quickly and automatically beginning his trademark dismount, the one he always used when he was this close to the ground. The Potter Stall was accomplished by slowing the broom to a crawl from a high velocity then flipping over the handle with one arm still holding the broomstick. You hit the ground running, raising the broom in the air with one hand and the snitch in the other. Everyone knew that move. Even Ginny.

The problem was that Ginny had never actually been tailing him by mere meters when he'd performed it.

The result on this particular day was that he slowed to a crawl directly in front of a barreling Ginny. She recognized what he was going to do too late, attempting to pull up and out anyway. Harry felt all the air leave his lungs as something huge bowled him over. He was pretty sure he heard screaming before the lights went out.