Hello, dear and faithful readers!

I know, I know, this isn't a chapter, but it is the precursor to a chapter, I promise. (and there's a tidbit at the end!)

Here's the deal: I have NOT abandoned this story. I love it, I love where it's going, and I love working on it. I have been dealing with a lot of difficult things in the past year, some good, some decidedly not, and have been far away from fanfiction in general. However, I have pages upon pages of handwritten material, and have finally figured out the snag in the science that has been holding me back (after all, how can I write in a scientific approach to magic if I can't explain why it works that way? I know some of you would call me on that). The next chapter is partially written, as is the one after that. I am going to try and post them simultaneously, since the next one is probably going to be heavy on the magic explanations, which are important for the plot as a whole, and the other one will be more moving the story forward.

Thank you all so much for your patience and faithfulness. I can't tell you how blessed I am that so many of you have stuck with me all this time! I wish I had a way to send you all some fun little gift in the mail. Your reviews and support have helped me through a few hard times over the years.

So anyway, I'm attending a wedding today, and then it's back to the grindstone this week with a full time job, but the Harry-spiration centers of my brain are whirring, and I hope to have you a REAL update very soon. Until then, I give you the first small bit of the next chapter, to tide you over until I get the whole thing up…

Yours sincerely,

~ Minou

Previously in HPAA:

"I've done it," Harry panted, a smile nearly splitting his face open. "I know how to beat the Avada Kedavra."

Chapter 11 - Fruition

James stared at his son in shock, observing the boy's flushed face, shaking hands, and almost fevered eyes. There was a determined, joyful, fierceness in his appearance that James had never seen before, not in this version of Harry. For the last week, his son had been brooding and dark, smiling when jocularity required it of him, encouraging when his family was downcast, and always strong and resilient while simultaneously vulnerable and exceedingly breakable. Now, finally, James was beginning to see what he believed was a more truthful version of the boy - no, the man - that shared his name and face. For a moment, James didn't even care what Harry had discovered, just so long as whatever it was kept him looking like this forever. He looked like his mother right now, all fire and love and energy, and it took his breath away.

Harry didn't seem to need a response to his declaration. He just ploughed forward. "It's ridiculous, and stupid, and so fantastically, unbelievably clichéd that I never would have believed it could be so simple if I hadn't seen it myself."

Lily had excused herself from the room momentarily to put Prongslet in his playpen, safely out of sight, but she had still been in earshot herself. She came back into the room with hope written all over her face. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's love, just like we'd theorized, but it's more than that. It's not just love, it's… well, here. Look!" Harry rushed forwards and thrust his fist into his mother's face, displaying his knuckles.

Lily gently took the proffered hand, and squinted for a moment. "Did you burn yourself?" she said. And then recognition flashed across her fingers. "But that's like-" and she pointed tentatively towards Harry's forehead. Harry nodded.

"What?" asked James impatiently, and grasped his son's hand, examining it closely. There, between the third and fourth knuckles was a tiny, almost imperceptible mark, singed under the surface of the skin: three small spider-thin lines forming a perfect, delicate lightning bolt.

To Be Continued…