*6 years later*
Harry eased back into the couch, sipping quietly at the cup of tea that had just been handed to him. His heart was full of comfort and warmth, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed. Finally, he was back with his friends, back where he felt he truly belonged. He loved his family more than anything in the world, but there was something about being with the people who had watched him grow up that was positively magical. It felt like ages since he'd seen Ron and Hermione, his childhood friends from Hogwarts. The Potters and the Finnigans (the family Hermione had married into) visited the Weasleys as often as they could, but it was difficult for Harry to be with his family, let alone his friends. He was constantly being called off for some anti-Death Eater assignment the Ministry of Magic liked to send him on. Today, though, a warm day in late July, he was finally able to get together with everyone who meant the most to him.
"Pity about McGonagall, isn't it?" Hermione asked conversationally, sitting in a big, red armchair by the couch. "I mean, with her retiring and all. Oh Ron, don't look at me that way! I know it happened a few years ago, but I doubt Harry knew about it. He's been doing so much for the Ministry, I wonder if he even knows what day it is." With that she shot a look toward Harry, searching for support. He smiled. He had known about Professor McGonagall's retirement from Hogwarts through Dumbledore, but Hermione hadn't had the opportunity to discuss her new position with him yet and he knew she was just trying to lead up to that.
"You're right, sometimes I do get a bit preoccupied," he replied. "And Dumbledore told me all about her retirement. He also told me all about the new Transfiguration teacher he hired three years ago. Very smart, extremely witty, noticeably attractive…he said he knew since her early days at school that she would make an excellent teacher for Hogwarts." Beneath a mop of curly brunette Hermione's face glowed a brilliant pink shade.
"Harry, stop," she told him, though it was obvious she was pleased by his compliments. "I may be smart by book-learning, but you're just about the bravest wizard there is. Everyone knows that once Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts, you're the one the Ministry relies on the most to lead the fight against…against Voldemort. It's been like that for years. The only reason some of us feel safe in bed at night is because we know you and Dumbledore are defending us." Once she had finished listing off her own compliments (all of which she felt were true), she sighed contentedly and settled herself back into the original topic of discussion. Meanwhile, the back of Harry's ears had developed their own shade of rosy red.
"Imagine me, a Transfiguration teacher!" she continued. "Of course, I'll never be what Minerva was…it still feels so strange to call all the teachers by their first names. I still can't call Snape 'Severus'. The man gives me the creeps, and I work with him!"
"Professor Snape? Is that old bloke still teaching?" Ron asked from his seat on the couch across from the one Harry and November had taken. Harry laughed quietly to himself. Snape had been their Potions teacher back in Hogwarts, and had given him more than enough trouble to keep him on his toes. Of course, he was key to the fight against Voldemort now, and though he was often still bitterly cold toward Harry the two had learned to tolerate each other. Years ago Dumbledore had sworn them to a truce, and neither had gone back on it. It turned out one of the reasons (among many, several of which Harry knew nothing about) he had been so cold when Harry was young was because he knew Voldemort would return to power. He knew Harry would be expected to fight against him. He knew what his best defenses would be if that were to happen, and he knew he had to make the young man practice those defenses without letting on that he was training. It was also one of the reasons he had been secretly after a position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, which, unbeknownst to him, hadn't been so secret after all. In a way Harry almost appreciated it.
"Ron, he's really not that bad, once you get to know him. Well, not really…sort of…all right, all right, he hasn't changed since we were kids. Not much, anyway. But Dumbledore must think he's all right if he lets him teach," Harry pointed out. Ron simply rolled his eyes, but Hermione nodded in agreement from behind her teacup. November curled up closer to Harry, leaned her head on his shoulder, and refused to speak. She had never had Potions class with any of them-including Seamus, Hermione's husband-nor had she seen how "terrible" he had been to Harry. She agreed that he was a very cold person, but hadn't had the experiences the three of them had had and couldn't judge him based on that.
"It is a bit odd, though, teaching my own daughter," Hermione said knowingly, placing her cup back on the coffee table. "Hannah's going into her third year this year. Paul's only just starting; he got his owl yesterday. We're going into Diagon Alley next week to get his things. Abby's just about Paul's age. Has she gotten a letter from Hogwarts just yet?" Harry and November looked at each other. Their main focus of thought for the past couple days was suddenly being brought to an open table. Harry's brilliant green eyes searched November's. Was it all right to tell their closest friends what they had been thinking? He read a yes; it would be best if they received some input about their situation. Being a couple as young as they were, he was right on with his reading.
"Abby got her letter a few days ago," November explained, playing nervously with her cup. She stared deeply into the tannish-colored swirls that swam inside, as thought what she wanted to say lay hidden inside. "We're just…not too sure we want to let her go. We understand it's the best wizarding school in all of Europe next to Beauxbatons-in fact, it's the only one. And with Dumbledore we're sure she'll be safe and comfortable. That's not the problem. It's…it's Harry. You know how bad it was for him in school; famous for something he didn't do and couldn't remember. He's been a celebrity since he was barely a year old. Now he has reason to be known. He's practically as well known as Dumbledore himself, what with all he's done for the Order and all. I know, hon, I don't mean to embarrass you but it's true. And Abby? Daughter of the famous Harry Potter? Imagine all she'd have to put up with because of her father! I just don't know if she can handle it."
The six parents were quietly lost in thought for a moment. The only sound in the room was that of Abby and Paul's excited laughter from outside as they played together in the warm sunshine. November had an excellent point. What would life at Hogwarts be for the daughter of Harry Potter? Hermione hadn't realized that when she'd asked her innocent question, and couldn't help feeling a bit guilty about it. Finally Seamus, who was seated beside Ron on the side closest to his wife, spoke.
"True, it may be a bit difficult for her, but what other options do you have? Do you honestly think you can give her private training at home? I know they say experience is the best teacher, but she's certainly not prepared for the sort of Dark magic you two deal with every day. Besides, as you said, Dumbledore will be there. Harry, haven't you said Dumbledore helped you keep your modesty while you were there? He didn't let it go to your head nor anyone else's. Well, except Malfoy of course, but look where he is now. You had to work just as hard as everyone else, maybe a bit harder because you were raised by Muggles. I'm sure he and everyone else on staff will treat Abby the same way they treated you."
He made another good point, but Harry still wasn't too sure it was a good idea. He knew what it was like to be suddenly thrust into the limelight of fame for something he'd had no control over. The only reason he'd survived Voldemort's killing curse (which had been and still was his main claim to fame) was because his mother had died to save him. He'd been too young to do a thing. He certainly didn't want his daughter to have to go through that; burdened by an accomplishment she'd had no hand in achieving.
"He's right, you know," Mandy spoke up for the first time since Hermione's opening line. She had been a Ravenclaw, a year younger than Ron, when the two had first met. She was very shy and soft-spoken then, and even now she was still a bit quiet, especially around Harry. When she was much younger she'd had a bit of a childhood crush on him, but as the years went on she began to fancy Ron and Harry became more of a hero figure to her. "I mean, we all knew you were famous, but for the most part the teachers kept us from making too big a deal of it. Abby will be just fine at Hogwarts, you'll see."
November allowed her friends' advice to play freely in her mind. It didn't seem like a terrible idea anymore when they put it that way. And the Headmaster was a very skilled individual…She placed her hand on Harry's and gazed up at him, trying to read his thoughts. Was he thinking any of the same things she was? A look of relent flittered across his face for a brief instant at the look his wife gave him.
"I don't doubt her safety there; I just wonder…well all right, if you all think it's best for her to go…I suppose Em and I can't really teach her everything ourselves. The most we could give her are a few lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there's no way an 11-year-old child can handle those sorts of lessons…"
"Is that so?" Hermione asked, a sparkle in her warm brown eyes and a smile across her face. "And exactly how old were you the first time you fought Voldemort?" Harry simple made a face at her at her reference to their first year at school. It was less than the adult thing to do, but since they were talking about their old days an immature response seemed the most appropriate one. Ron took a final drink from his cup and set it down purposefully on the table.
"Right then, it's decided. Hermione will be taking Paul and Hannah to Diagon Alley next week, and you two will bring Abby-that is, of course, if the Ministry actually lets you get away for a day, Harry. Goodness, my father must be working you to death. I apologize for that. In any case, Mandy and I will tag along with you guys when you go, just to get out of the house a big. The Magical Corral-you know, that pet store down at Hogsmeade?-doesn't need us for another couple days after that either, so Hermione and Seamus, if you need anyone to watch the kids we're available.
"Anyway," he continued, sitting up a bit straighter and turning so that he could search for something behind the couch, "I know your birthday's tomorrow, Harry, so I picked up something for you last week. My brothers insisted I get you something from Zonko's. Would you believe Fred and George are still hung up on that joke shop? I swear, sometimes I think they visit it in their sleep. Still, I thought you might enjoy this a little more."
He finally found what he'd been looking for and pulled it out. It was a long, slender box, slightly taller than Ron and about as thick as the tree branch Harry and Abby used to sit together on. It was beautifully gift-wrapped in red and gold paper that shimmered in the pale lamplight. Our old House colors, Harry thought wistfully as Ron dropped the package on his lap. He went on to thank his friend for the gracious gift, having nearly forgotten his own birthday. Hermione was more right that she knew about his crazy schedule. He could still remember the days when he used to count down the seconds at night until his birthday. Now here he was, married with a daughter and about to turn 34. Life was crazy like that sometimes.
He unwrapped the box carefully, wondering what on earth could be inside. Whatever it was, it sure didn't seem to weigh too much. Once the paper was all off, he slipped the cover off and gasped. The surprise brought tears springing to his eyes. There, lying in the box beneath a mountain of tissue paper was a brand new broomstick. The word "Windcatcher" was written neatly on the handle in gold print, and the broom flew easily into his hands.
"They're the latest make and model, much like the Firebolt was for its time. We all pitched in and helped pay for it, so it's really a gift from all of us. November said it's been quite some time since she's seen you on a broomstick. It seemed an excellent tribute to the old days, back when were in school. Remember? You were our House Seeker, won so many games against Malfoy and his Slytherin team it was wonder they even bothered to play. You used to say that when you grew up you wanted to go play Quidditch for England. It was your dream. We figured we couldn't let you let go of that so easily."
Harry remembered all right. Holding the broomstick here in his hands brought him back to his days as Gryffindor House Seeker. His favorite thing to do was climb on his broom and soar into the sky, far away from the Quidditch game, far away from everything. All those long hours training in the warm spring sun, the light wind brushing past his face as he flew, the glorious feeling of being the deciding factor of the entire game…When he played Quidditch, for the first time in his life he'd felt like somebody. He felt like he belonged.
He closed his eyes against the wave of emotions that threatened to break through in the form of tears. "Thank you," he said with a broken voice. "I'd almost forgotten. In all the confusion I've forgotten how good it felt to play."