For a few seconds, everyone stood silent. The dark figures outside the magical barrier slowly disintegrated. Dumbledore lowered his wand and the other professors followed his example. The tense facial expressions relaxed and a sigh of relief escaped the mouths of some present as they listened to the clock resoundingly striking midnight.

" Happy birthday, Thomas, " the headmaster said, turning to me and letting out a small, but very warm smile.

" Thanks, " I muttered under my breath, having awaited the birthday I sometimes doubted would come.

House elves carried a chocolate cake into the Great Hall, big enough to feed my entire neighborhood. It was a real wonder of culinary - three layers of meltingly good devil's food held together by real fudge frosting and decorated with fancy little squiggles of white icing. Everyone took a piece and I hoped they wouldn't start to sing " Happy Birthday ". My parents always sang this song to me every year and I hated it. But they didn't and I wasn't hungry at all, much less for sweets. Nonetheless, I ate to show appreciation to the work of elves, who had probably worked hard enough to make this delicious mountain for me.

The next day it was time to pack for home. As much as I enjoyed Hogwarts, deep inside me, I had always hoped for this day to come and now it had come. I borrowed one of the remaining school owls, who was a little fractious, obviously not used to working in summer, and sent my parents a message that I would be home this evening. I couldn't wait to see their faces after a year of separation. The fact that I was actually going home, seemed almost unreal to me, I could hardly believe it.

However, I was bugged by this dark, anxious feeling that I couldn't get rid of. It felt as if nothing was over yet. It felt like Voldemort wouldn't come to terms with his loss after I had slipped through his fingers. An inkling that he far from accepting that a simple Muggle fooled him buzzed at the back of my head like a beehive. Maybe going home was a suicide, but there was no other solution. I couldn't live in Hogwarts forever.

Dumbledore himself accompanied me to the Hogsmeade station. Step in step we walked away from the castle and in a distance, I could already see the Express waiting for me. I was going to be its only passenger. Though summer was coming to an end, that day was very hot. The armpits of my shirt were sodden and the exposed skin had tanned to a golden bronze shade. Behind me I was pulling my travel bag, the wheels screeping on the ground path. It was much heavier than when I arrived, as now it was full of all the gifts I had received.

" Forgive me, Thomas, " Dumbledore suddenly said, " I'm very sorry. I know you're mad at me and you have all the rights to be. "

" I'm not mad at you, sir, " I replied, " why would I be? You saved my life. "

" And separated you from Harry. "

I shrugged. " It's for the best. We probably would have broken up anyway. We come from two different worlds after all. I never really expected it to last. "

Whether that was true or not was a better question. It was difficult to tell what would have come out of Harry and my relationship if there were no obstacles for us to be together. I knew there were cases of wizards and Muggles managing a successful marriage and family life, however, most of the time it didn't happen without sacrifices. Either wizards and witches had to pretend to be Muggles for the sake of their spouse or Muggles were forced to live in a society where they couldn't do anything that their partner could. Both seemed highly inconvenient for a long term commitment.

" I don't know what the future holds for you, Thomas, " Dumbledore said, putting his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly manner, " but remember this – magic will always come to your aid when you need it. "

Had I known this was the last time I would ever see Dumbledore alive, I would have given him a lot warmer goodbye. Instead, we just shook hands while the Express was whistling, ready to head into the long journey back to London. Through the window, I looked back at the Hogsmeade station where the elderly wizard was still standing, as if he was keeping an eye on me departing. The Express gained speed and Dumbledore's figure shrunk smaller and smaller until I couldn't see him at all anymore.

Hogwarts castle was the last thing that disappeared from my view and I tried to keep my eyes on it as long as possible. I knew I would never forget it, even if I never set my foot there again. The Express was totally empty and I could choose any compartment I wanted. The trolley lady was there as well, pushing her rattling cart towards me, even though I was shaking my head as soon as I saw her in distance. It seemed like it was her duty to approach everyone whether they wanted it or not.

I wanted no sweets, I had my bag full of them. Instead, I tried asking for a cup of tea, and this time it was the lady's turn to shake her head, stating they only sold snacks. The sun was shining right into the window, but I bore it for the sake of the landscapes the train passed by. I tried to look at everything and remember everything.

I recalled the September 1rst of the last year and a needle of sadness pierced into my heart. I remembered how lonely, unwelcomed, and nervous I felt when I was on my way towards the unknown. My heart was trembling when I first walked into the Great Hall, got sorted, and sat at the Gryffindor table. I thought I would never be accepted, yet I was. Professors treated me with respect and most of the students were as friendly as they could get.

For a moment I contemplated buying a diary and writing down all of my experiences to the tiniest detail while they're still fresh so that I wouldn't forget anything. But soon I realized what a reckless idea that was. If that notebook by accident came into the hands of someone else, that could be quite catastrophic. No Muggles were supposed to find out nothing about magic and I didn't want to be that stupid person who leaked the secret because of fear of forgetting. I had to rely on my memory only.

A few hours later the hunger started to get the best of me and I reached inside my bag in hopes to find some toffee or a bar of chocolate. While rummaging for the food that I had put deeper than I previously thought, my fingers brushed against something soft. This definitely wasn't anything edible and I pulled the item out.

It was a mitten. A knitted mitten in pecan color with Gryffindor crest on it, the other one was lying somewhere in the bag. That was Harry's Christmas gift to me. As I remembered how happy we were back on Christmas Eve, I wasn't hungry anymore. My hands were cold that morning when I sent Hedwig to my parents. That was the coldest winter I had ever lived through and I stuck the mitten back into the bag. I knew I would never wear these specific mittens again, even if the whole of London froze into ice.

King's Cross station was bathed in the ruby red gleam of the setting sun when the Express finally came to the stop. The train's hypnotic rocking had lulled me into sleep and I was awoken by the driver who said we had arrived. Even though it wasn't that late yet, the station looked pretty much deserted when I got off. On the platform Nine and Three-Quarters, there wasn't a single soul, all the students and their parents were at home months ago by now.

I walked over to the wall that hid a barrier, separating the wizarding platform from Muggle platforms, and hesitated. As soon as I walked through it, this magical journey would be over for me. Forever.

I reached forward and my hand sank into the wall as if it wasn't there. I pulled it back. This was one of the moments when you simply had to let go. No matter how much you wanted something and how painful was it for you to leave it behind, you had to let go. That world wasn't meant for me. I was a Muggle and where I was supposed to be was on the other side of the barrier. Nothing could be done about it.

Somewhere deep inside me, a tiny crack split into a ravine of pain. I sighed. Know your place, Thomas, I told myself as I took a step forward and walked right through the wall.

The Muggle King's Cross station was totally different and not abandoned at all. When I emerged from the barrier, I got dizzy from all the noise and bustle. Trains were honking and people walked in all directions like ants, carrying luggage of all shapes and sizes. Voices murmured all around me, somebody was complaining about their train that was delayed, someone grumbled about the price of the tickets, higher than last month. A mechanical voice in the loudspeakers announced which trains were close to arriving and departing.

I looked back at the wall behind me and pressed my hand against it, believing that the magic was still there. But my palm met the coldness and roughness, absolutely ordinary. Nothing but a hard, discolored brick wall. The barrier worked one-way only and now it was closed.

A middle-aged woman with a child by her hand came up to me. She looked alarmed and intrigued at the same time.

" Excuse me, " the woman addressed me, eyeing me from head to toe, " did you really just walk through the wall? I don't think I imagined that. "

I leered at her, annoyed, hurt, and bitter. And when I was sad, I was very irritable and she was sticking her nose in business that just like mine, wasn't hers.

" Go visit a goddamn psychiatrist, ma'am, " I said and left, leaving the woman open-mouthed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a chubby man with a thin mustache moving from leaning against the corner and coming over to her. He slid his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out what looked like the tip of a wand. I had never seen this man before, but he may be a part of Hogwarts staff, taking care of any accidents Muggles might witness. The moment of me walking through the barrier will be irreversibly erased from the lady's memory.

My parents were waiting on the furthest end of the platform. Seeing their faces was such a relief, as sometimes I was wondering if they were still alive. My mother was crying when she embraced me and I felt the familiar scent of her favorite perfume. Her hair was cut shorter than a year ago and she was wearing a summer dress with floral print, so long that I couldn't see her shoes. My father ruffled my hair and hugged my shoulders, keeping a calm, happy face, but his eyes were red, which meant he had been crying too. Not in front of me, of course. I don't think I had ever seen him crying in front of someone.

Together we walked through the smothery station. It felt like there's no air in the building at all and we were breathing other people's exhales, the steam of the vending machines' cups of coffee, the aroma of cheap flowers, sold in small, cramped shops, and the stench of unwashed bodies of the homeless. I was walking in the middle holding both of my parents' hands as if I was a kid again, even though now I was officially an adult.

" So is it over now? " my mum asked. " Are we going to live like before? "

" Yeah. We will. "

I wanted to believe it, but for some reason, I didn't. My eyes kept wandering all over the railway station, looking for something, someone that might have followed me to the Muggle world where I won't have the magical backup. Maybe I had become paranoid, but I felt like I was being watched. This must be the sensation the criminals who escape from the prison get, when they're trying to enjoy their freedom, yet staying alert for the cops. I didn't feel I was safe but I much preferred keeping these thoughts to myself, rather than putting similar worries in my parents' minds.

When the car stopped at our cream-color house and the last rays of sun illuminated the red tiles so brightly it looked as if the roof was on fire, I felt like I was dreaming. After a year of absence, it was surreal to open the gate of my fence, walk into my front yard, and past the apple trees the leaves of which had already started to turn yellow. They had given so much apple this year that we couldn't possibly eat them all. That's why after using part of them for jams, juices, and mashes, my mother put the remaining apples into cardboard boxes and placed them on the side of the street outside our property so that anyone willing could have them. And people seemed to be interested, as two of the boxes were empty and the third was half-empty.

Inside the house, I was immediately greeted by a familiar scent that was characteristic to our house only. It was fresh air, ground, vanilla, strawberries, and a bit of cleaning detergent. That's what home smelled like to me. Prior to going to the King's Cross to meet me, my mother had boiled potatoes and wrapped the pot into a thick down duvet, so now, hours later, the potatoes were still hot. This trick for keeping the cooked food warm had gone from mother to daughter for many generations in her family.

All three of us sat at the table and had a late supper. This was no Hogwarts meal, of course. Just boiled potatoes with sour cream, vegetable salad, and a bit of lean meat. But I was starving beyond beliefs and would have gobbled down anything on the plate. While we were eating, my parents wanted to know everything about my journey and I was eager to tell at first, but soon realized I must filter what I say.

I did tell about the Sorting ceremony, everyday life in school, the friends I had made there, the professors and their classes, as well as the different kinds of magical creatures and the wonderful Christmas celebration. I also mentioned getting into a fight with Draco Malfoy and my parents' reactions varied. Mother was shaking her head in disappointment and reproached that I shouldn't have let a bully provoke me like that. But father was proud and supportive, glad that his son had acted " as a real man should. "

What I left out were details no one had to know because no one would understand. I didn't say anything about Draco's multiple attempts to seduce me. I kept silent about nightmares that tormented me night after night and the source of which was Harry. I didn't mention hours that I had spent with tears rolling down my cheeks for many different reasons. And I said nothing about my relationship with Harry. So when my father leaned over to secretly ask in my ear if I managed to hit it off with some hot witches, I responded they preferred wizards, not Muggles.

My parents hadn't moved anything in my upstairs room, except for wiping the dust and airing. Everything was exactly where I left it a year ago. The backpack that I used in my Muggle highschool was hanging on the back of my chair in front of the computer desk. The laptop was laying closed on my bed and I realized I have to search through my notes for the password because I couldn't remember it anymore. My phone was finally working again and when I turned it on, loads of text messages and voicemails from my friends popped up one after another. On the bookshelf, the spines of the books of my favorite genres – thriller and mystery – faced out.

It was around midnight that my parents went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. After a while of tossing and turning, I got up, turned on the light, and started unpacking. I folded my clothes and put them in the closet, perfectly clean – the elves had taken care of it. I put toiletries where they should be and brushed my already clean shoes one more time. Then through the darkness, I tiptoed downstairs and took one of the cardboard boxes my mother used for storing apples. It was for what took the biggest weight in my bag.

Every wizarding item I owned went into the box. Dragon models, wizard chess sets, an enchanted razor, a lunascope, the Bludger souvenirs, and many other things filled the box almost to the brim. On the very top, I placed the mittens and closed the lid. Then I pushed the box under my bed. Two reasons – I didn't want to see a constant reminder of a world I had and lost, as well as I didn't want others to see it. Those were magical items after all.

I fell back into bed and Muggle problems started to occupy my mind. I read some of the messages my friends and classmates had sent me. Everyone was asking where am I and if I'm alright. I had to start thinking about the explanation I would give them when we meet. It was extreme for someone to disappear for a year without even answering their phone.

Another issue was education. All my former classmates graduated from high school this summer, but not me. I hadn't done one thing from all the subjects necessary for graduation and as I took a look at the books of Math, History, Science and Chemistry, I realized I have a big and hard work in front of me if I wanted that diploma. And I wanted it.

I considered maybe finding some kind of job to help with household expenses, but my parents didn't want to hear about it. " Not now, " father answered, finishing the last potatoes on his plate earlier tonight, " finish your studies and then do whatever you want. " I knew he wanted me to follow his footsteps and become a doctor but medicine didn't interest me. Mother wished I would study foreign languages so that I could get a job that allowed me to travel and see the world. I myself had no idea what career path I wanted to choose. Pretty much anything that paid decently and didn't have crazy working hours would probably be fine.

The window of my room was open, the curtains moved lightly in the breeze that had the tints of dying summer and upcoming autumn in it. A dog barked in the yard of some house across the street. A few still living cicadas were making their typical noise. An ambulance dashed on the main road, its siren piercing through the nightly silence. A company of young people who didn't feel like sleeping was laughing several houses away.

My parents were asleep in their room down the hall. They were happy that their son is finally home, safe and sound, and magic – the unexplainable mystery, the supernatural force that fundamentally messed with the ordinary laws of nature, was over. My parents were unable to fully understand the concept of magic and to be fair, neither was I. I was only able to admire it and I had witnessed so much magic unrevealing in front of my eyes that I could feel it. The unworldly sensation crept into my bones, seemingly coming from the items in the box under my bed.

Something pitter-pattered on the windowsill outside of my window. I slid the curtains apart and looked outside. It had started to rain. Heavy raindrops were falling from the pitch-black sky and when I closed the window, they splashed against the glass, creating miniature creeks. I knew I would feel like shit tomorrow if I didn't get any sleep tonight, but I couldn't bring myself to get under the blanket.

I was looking at the ordinary neighborhood where I was born and had spent my entire life. Twelve miles from the center of London, it was a safe and quiet town and I dared to say that no witch or wizard had come from here. Street lights threw orange puddles onto the pavement. On the other side of the street, lines of houses, quite equal in size were sinking into the darkness of the night. Only two windows still had light in them, left on by night owls like me or insomniacs.

The light was also on in the house next to ours and I did know who lived there. It was Ms. Haigh, a single, elderly woman, struggling with alcoholism, right now probably having a booze party by herself. My family would chat with her sometimes when she was sober.

I closed the curtains, feeling drowsy, and lied down on top of the covers. I thought I wouldn't sleep however, a few minutes later my eyelids shut close.

9