Chapter Eight: Revisiting the Past

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from his desk to see Hermione hesitating in the doorway.

"What is it, Mione?"

"Stephen Lewis sent a packet of mail..."

"Yes?" A lot of letters had been sent directly to the paper office in past months. Stephen Lewis generally had a packet of mail delivered once or twice a week.

"This was in it. It's addressed personal, to you," she held out an envelope.

"Hmm..." he took it. "It's probably just another application."

"Probably, but I didn't want to open it."

"Scared?" he laughed, remembering the letter from Mahood which had been charmed to do something nasty if anyone but Harry opened it.

"No," she denied. "But it might really be personal."

"Mione, what about my life do you not know?"

Her eyes danced. "Oh, I'm sure that there is something."

"I'm an open book," he said.

Hermione laughed. "Open book? Sure, Harry."

Harry slit open the envelope and removed the sheets of paper, unfolding them to reveal an unfamiliar script.

As he read, his face went white.

Dear Harry,

I am hoping that, should what I be reading in the news these days be what I think it is, that this letter will reach you through the tabloid offices.

I cannot tell you how happy I was to hear, after all these years, that you are alive and well. I know, and understand, the reasons you distanced yourself from us, and I can only hope that this letter, and my taking the opportunity to contact you, does not offend.

First, I do hope that you will take the word of a grown man and accept my apologies for my past behavior towards you. I know that nothing I ever did could in any way be considered acceptable, and I ask your forgiveness.

I also feel it my duty to inform you of the passing of my mother. My father passed some fifteen years ago, but my mother passed only three months ago, quietly, in her sleep.

In sorting through her belongings, I have come across some things that I feel you should have. Apparently, they were things of your mother's and should have been given to you years ago. I can only apologise for the delay. You should have had these things as a child, or at the very least, they should have been given to you when you left our home.

If you would like them, please respond to the address below, or telephone me. I understand if you are hesitant to make contact, and I apologize if I have brought up memories best left forgotten, but I would very much like the opportunity to meet you again.

I await your reply,

Malcolm

"Harry? Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked, stepping towards him.

"It's from Malcolm," he said quietly.

"Malcolm?"

"My cousin."

"What does he want?" Ginny's voice came from the doorway. She had a stack of clean linens in her hands, and must have been passing the doorway and overheard.

"He wants to see me," Harry said, still looking down at the letter clutched in his hands. Ginny came forward, laying the laundry on the desk and taking the letter from him, scanning it quickly.

"What on earth for?" Hermione asked. She remembered vividly the state in which Harry had returned to them each year after his annual stay with his aunt and her family.

"Apparently, my aunt has passed away, and some things were found in her personal effects that belonged to my mother. Malcolm would like to return them to me."

"Tell him to have them delivered," Hermione said dismissively. "That family!"

"No, Hermione," Ginny said, looking up from the letter. "It sounds as though he wants to establish a relationship with you, Harry."

Harry looked down into his wife's eyes. How did one respond to such a letter? It had been twenty years since he laid eyes on Malcolm, twenty years since he had even set foot in the village he had grown up in, and he'd thought it was over.

And now, with a single letter, he found himself almost curious as to what kind of man his cousin had become. Perhaps, too, a bit of it was a need to show someone from that family that he wasn't, and never had been, the failure that he had been cast as.

"Harry?" Ginny looked up at him with concern. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know what I want, Ginny," he said quietly. "But I know what I have to do."

The village was much as he remembered it. Apparating to an alleyway behind the small village store, he breathed deeply. What on earth was he doing?

He stepped out from the side of the shop and looked up and down the street. As he remembered, it curved to the east, and was lined with cars. The houses on either side had small front gardens, not leaving any room for parking. His aunt and uncle had owned a house off of this street, on another street with rather larger lots.

Turning left, he followed the street towards the village school. He'd spent the first eleven years of his life here, before finding out anything about his true background. The village school had been a difficult environment for him, both because he'd been ostracized by the other children and because the strange things that happened to him, which happened to most children of magical background, had marked him as odd, rather than special. A freak.

As he walked, he passed two women walking the other way. He noticed them watching him, and nodded politely.

"I swear I know that man from somewhere..." he heard one say quietly as he passed.

He smiled. He may well have gone to school with them. Who knew?

Turning left again, he glanced up at the street sign and saw it was the one he was looking for. It had been years since he'd been here. Strangely, he felt little reaction. Had he been asked, he would have thought he'd feel uncomfortable walking down this street towards the home that had never been a home to him.

But he felt... nothing. Mildly interested, but nothing more.

He walked along to the driveway of the home he had spent some of the most difficult times of his life in. The outside had changed remarkably, but he knew it was the house. The perfectly manicured lawn and symmetrical flower beds so admired by his aunt were gone. In their place was a flower garden, with a brick pathway leading through it. It reminded Harry of Hermione's wild garden at her cottage. This would never have been considered acceptable by either his aunt or his uncle, it was far too showy, even now in the late fall.

"Hello?" He heard a woman's voice. "Can I help you?"

She stood from where she'd been hidden, obviously tending one of the beds. He had missed her at first, but now he looked at her and smiled. She was plump and brunette, pretty in a homely way, with a friendly face.

"Hello," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was looking for Malcolm Rivers."

"Malcolm?" the woman looked at him closely. "He's inside. Was he expecting you?"

"I... doubt it. I don't think so," Harry said. "I'm sorry... I'm..."

"Harry?"

Harry turned to look at the man standing in the front doorway. He wasn't very tall, perhaps five six or seven, and was rather heavy, although not as hugely fat as Harry would have expected him to be. He looked... comfortable.

"Harry, is that really you?"

"Yes, Malcolm. How are you?"

"I'm... surprised, actually. I never expected..." the other man looked closely at him, seeing the lines around Harry's eyes, and the extremely fit body which was badly hidden by faded jeans and a dark green knit sweater. "Come in, come in... I... forgive me. I'm rather speechless. Marion? This is my cousin, Harry."

"Harry Potter?" she said quietly, with a smile. "Quite unbelievable, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Harry said gravely. "But true."

"I... you could have knocked me over with a feather when I found out..." she swallowed. "Can we offer you a cup of tea?"

"That would be... very nice. Thank you," he agreed, following the couple inside.

"The children are away at school, of course..." Malcolm said as he led Harry inside towards the lounge. Harry's eyes darted around, to the stairs, down the hallway, past the stair cupboard...

He felt a shudder go through him, but he followed Malcolm through to the kitchen and then into the lounge.

"...we have two. A boy and a girl. David and Susan."

"Ah..." Harry smiled politely. "How old?"

"David is nine and Susan is just turned eight," Marion said pleasantly, filling the kettle and setting it to boil. Harry noticed a few things about the room. Firstly, the décor had been changed drastically. Gone were the floral prints that his aunt had favored and in their place were clean lines of Scandinavian furniture, pale carpets and bright upholstery.

The kitchen had been painted a bright yellow, the dark wooden cupboards gone, and the window in the living room had been enlarged.

"Do you have children, Harry?" Malcolm asked.

"I... yes... five," Harry stated, bringing his attention back to the man in front of him.

"Five?" Malcolm grinned. "Been busy?"

"We have... my wife, Ginny..."

"You married her, then?" Malcolm smiled. "Your friend's sister."

"You remember," Harry was surprised.

"Yes. All that lovely red hair. And her brothers, of course, quite the pranksters, those two."

Harry tried to suppress a grin at the thought of Fred and George's particular brand of revenge. Malcolm laughed outright.

"Come now, Harry, it was funny. Don't deny it."

"I'm not, I'm..."

"Far too polite if even half of what Malcolm tells me is true," Marion placed the tea things on a tray and looked sadly at him.

Harry took a deep breath.

"So, you married your childhood sweetheart and have five children?"

"Well... yes. We've only been married a short while," Harry admitted. "Took me a while to figure it out, actually. And Ginny was married to a friend of mine right out of school. He's passed away... seven years ago now. Ginny and I have since married. She had three daughters, mine now. And together we have twins."

"Twins?" Marion looked interested.

"Yes... and... we've just found out we're expecting again."

Malcolm whistled, "Six children."

"Yes," Harry rather gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Marion, sitting down awkwardly as Malcolm indicated a chair, and sat down himself.

There was a rather awkward moment of silence, then Harry cleared his throat.

"I wanted to thank you, for letting me know about... your mother. I'm... sorry."

"Harry," Malcolm looked directly at him. "I think we both know that... there was little to be sorry about. Her passing..."

"She was a difficult woman," Marion said. "Perhaps it's best to just leave it at that, love."

"Yes," Malcolm nodded. "But I am sorry, Harry. For everything."

"We were children, Malcolm. Children... don't understand differences."

"But they shouldn't be encouraged to cause pain," Malcolm said quietly. "And I apologize for my part in... any pain you felt. I know it had to be rather difficult."

"Yes, but in a way, I'm very glad it happened the way it did," Harry sipped his tea.

"What?" Malcolm looked shocked.

"It gave me strength, strength I needed to do what I had to do," Harry said simply. "I don't know if I could have..."

"You mean..." Marion looked at him, shocked. "You mean, the books are true?"

Harry glanced between her and his cousin, wondering how to continue. How much had Malcolm told her?

"It's alright, Harry," Malcolm said. "I told her everything, but I'm not so sure she believed me."

"I... I thought it was just stories..." she said.

"No," Harry said. "They're... based on fact. A lot of fact."

"So you...?"

"Yes," he answered before she finished her question. "Look, I don't want to endanger you. You need to be aware that, well, things are happening again. Please, if you see anything... odd... you need to get in touch."

"Odd?" Malcolm said. "Odd, how?"

"Malcolm, it's common knowledge that I haven't seen or spoken to you for over twenty years. It's very unlikely that anyone would approach you, but you need to be very aware that these dangers exist. If you see anything out of the ordinary, as in strangely dressed people, people you don't recognize... just be aware, okay?"

"Of course, Harry," Malcolm nodded.

"So, you're really... a wizard?" Marion swallowed. "Magic really does exist?"

"Of course," Harry smiled.

"And you're... some sort of official?"

"I'm the Minister of Magic," Harry confirmed, reaching into his pocket and extracting a business card to hand to the other man. "Kind of like the Muggle Prime Minister. If you need to get in touch with me..."

"Oh," she looked at him, her eyes round.

"Now, see, that I didn't know," Malcolm said, taking the card. "I knew you'd make something of yourself, Harry, despite it all. If you managed to survive."

"Well, as you can see..." Harry said, standing. "However, I really need to get back... I apologize for not warning you I was going to show up... I didn't know, after your letter..."

Malcolm stood, looking at his cousin. "I'm glad it got to you. I hope... I hope this won't be the last time we see each other, Harry. I hope..."

Harry looked at the heavier man. "I think I'd like to drop by again to talk... about... well."

"I'd like that, too," Malcolm said, holding out his hand to shake. Harry took it firmly.

"Well, what about that trunk, then, love?" Marion asked.

"Yes, of course..." Malcolm turned, indicating an elderly trunk sitting in the corner of the lounge. "There are the things I wrote about, Harry... I believe... well, some of it looked rather interesting. I didn't touch much, didn't know if any of it was... special, you know. But it all appears to have been your mothers, some of it might have been your Dad's... I don't really know what some of it is. Do you need a hand...?"

"No... I'll be fine. Now, I'm going to do something rather... well, it could be rather startling, and I don't want to frighten you," Harry glanced at Marion, then back to Malcolm.

"You're going to pull that disappearing thing?" Malcolm looked almost eager.

"If you don't mind," Harry said. "I'd really rather not carry this back to where I apparated to."

Malcolm took Marion's hand. "Quite alright, Harry. We'll just watch, shall we?"

"Malcolm, it was good to see you again. Really." Harry looked at his cousin. He really had changed rather a lot. Harry wouldn't have recognized him.

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Don't be a stranger, Harry."

Harry placed a hand on the trunk, and apparated directly from their living room to the den at Potter Manor. When he looked around and saw he was alone, he sat down heavily on the trunk, his head in his hands and breathed deeply. That had been difficult, and perhaps he should have left well enough alone.

But he was strangely glad that he hadn't.

Whimsical Firefly: Mwahhahahha! I have you now...

Shotgunn: Yeah, yeah... you're psychic, my dear. You're also the EIGHTH reviewer on this chapter! And that little thing? Well, have you ever known me let the cat out of the bag early? Or was it ever the cat you were expecting? There are plenty of surprises waiting, trust me.

Dkandmax: Romanticize Malfoy...eeewwww! The guy gives me the heeby-jeebies. I guess there are some women out there who fall for that "you can change him" myth... I, however, am not one of them. Once a greaseball, always a greaseball. As far as I'm concerned, the conflict between Malfoy and Harry in canon, and to a lesser degree the conflict between Harry and Snape, epitomizes the books. They're ABOUT the struggle between good and evil, and Harry, as our classic self-sacraficing hero, is "good". If you make Malfoy "part good" then you have to make Harry "part bad". I don't think that that will exactly happen in canon, but I'm trying to show here that he's human, at least.

Kaylee Smith: "Harry can't die"? Well, we'll see, shall we?

Joe: It's all about the interpretation... as JKR once said about the "canon" prophecy... Miss Trelawney was very careful about the wording... as was Snape, in this case.

Merlindamage: Read on, dear reader... read on. All shall become clear...

Gigifanfic: Glad to see you back, I missed you! The story is playing out in rather an interesting way... even for me. In all honesty, my muse tends to take over and lead me places I never imagined going... it's really been quite an interesting month!

James Milamber: Do you think that Milamber would forgive me if I baked him cookies? I'm sorry about the delay, but hopefully these two updates in two days will calm him down, and I make a mean ginger snap!

CQ