Chapter 3

Clayfoot Cottage

For several blissful minutes, all of Harry's thoughts and concerns disappeared as if blown away by the sweeping wind. The roar of the air rushing past his ears deafened him, and he felt his eyes watering as the cold breeze battered his face.

The Moony was not a racing broom by any means. For someone slightly worse at flying than he was, keeping up with a broom as fast as James' would be strenuous at best and impossible at worst. Harry, however, had no problem following the older man as he zig-zagged through the air, following various landmarks on the ground.

They had long since flown past the edges of Hogsmeade. Briefly, he had noticed a crowd of people at Hogsmeade station. He was so high up that they looked like ants congregating around a dead insect. Half a second later, the station was already away from view.

Although the main village was far behind them, groups of moderately-distanced houses still scattered on the hilly green landscape below. No two houses were the same. There was a squat, cosy cabin surrounded by neatly arranged farmland. A hut was perched on a large, bifurcated tree. The pale marble wall of a grand, spacious manor contrasted heavily with the vivid green grass enclosing it.

How had he not noticed the sheer richness of life around Hogsmeade? Inside the village alone, there must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of houses crammed together. He must have passed hundreds more on his way to the Potters' home, spread across the wilderness beyond the village.

Between the houses were swathes of forests, lakes, and stretches of empty fields. Occasionally, packs of cattle and wild animals grazed on the grassy pastures. Not just muggle animals, too. A group of thestrals crowded around a glowing white carcass. A pack of Hippogriffs glided gracefully above a large black lake, their hooves barely brushing the water.

They followed the trail of a peaceful river which snaked towards a pair of tall, snow-capped mountains. Slipping into a more leisurely flying pace, Harry relaxed his strong grip on the handle and took a moment to admire the view. No wonder so many people lived here.

As he retracted his hand from the very tip of the broom, a set of small cubes brushed his fingers. He frowned, feeling the cubes before realising what they were: buttons. Out of curiosity, he pressed one.

Pop!

A segment of wood unwrapped itself from the tip of the broom and formed a parchment-sized board. It oriented itself in such a way that Harry could easily see its face. Images formed on the surface, like ink splotching on a page. The lines and shapes formed a rough map of the land below them, constantly changing as he glided through the air. Right at the top was the text: The Marauder's Map. Each landmark or building was supplied with a label. The river right below them had the label Upsnout River, and the small, dense forest to its side was apparently called Eldershire Forest.

James turned his head back towards Harry, perhaps to check if he was still there, and made a swerve to the right. Harry followed him, and they passed right above a cosy bungalow labelled Abbott House.

Harry fiddled with the other buttons, curious to see what they did. One turned the whole broom - and himself - invisible. His heart jolted, and he hastily pushed the button again.

"Almost there, Harry!"

He swooped down in an arc, following James' lead. His eyes widened as he saw where they were heading at once: a vast building which looked large enough to comfortably house all the Weasleys. He wondered what the Potters needed all this space for. The house was situated very close to the shore of a vast, twinkling blue lake which sat on the foot of the two mountains.

Harry landed, feet thumping the soft ground. James was already waiting for him, facing away from him with his broom slung on his shoulders. He took a moment to look around, taking in the scenery.

"Beautiful, eh? Prime real estate, this." James grinned at him. "Welcome, Harry, to Clayfoot Cottage."

The main building was tall and wide, coated by a wide assortment of greenery and vegetation. Smoke puffed out of the numerous chimneys scattered along the copper roofs. The granite walls held multiple high windows, revealing an orange glow from inside. Leading towards the front porch was a cobblestone path, which was squeezed between a lush, colourful garden.

Standing proudly right next to the house was a circular structure resembling a rather stout lighthouse. Harry peered at the building as he passed it - the only door he could see was around twenty feet above the ground.

"My workshop," said James, following his gaze. "Well, it used to be, at least. I made my brooms here when I first started the business. Now that Lily and Liza are at Hogwarts most of the time, I just fly to work."

"How d'you get in?" asked Harry.

"You fly in, of course - and out," said James. "That's how I used to test my new brooms; I just glide out. Problem is, they don't always work first try. Lily installed a cushioning charm after my fifth accident. You'll feel it once you get nearer."

Sure enough, there was a springy sensation to the ground surrounding the workshop, and Harry had the distinct feeling of walking on a trampoline. They reached the front porch of the house, but James didn't enter. He glanced at his watch and swore. "Shit, I forgot - put the brooms in the shed, will you?"

He handed Harry his broom and sprinted towards a set of large, circular gazebos perched on top of the lake, connected by wooden bridges. Harry couldn't see very well what James was exactly doing, but he seemed to be circling around a cauldron in one of the smaller gazebos.

Shaking his head, he walked towards the shed, located right next to the house. Inside, the room was magically extended, and hundreds of brooms of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. He placed the two brooms on an empty corner. When he returned, James was already by the front door, waiting.

"Sorry about that," he said, sheepish. "Lily told me to turn the Self-Stirrer the other way round at nine - a three minute delay shouldn't damage the potion too much, don't you think?"

With that, they entered the house. Streaks of light pierced through the windows, illuminating the interior with the warmness of the summer sun. The living room was spacious, not least due to the high ceiling. Exotic plants littered neatly next to puffy couches, bookshelves holding leather bound books lining the walls. It was a middle ground between the utter chaos of the Burrow and the deliberate cleanliness of Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Welcome home, Harry," said James with a beam. "We have several spare bedrooms upstairs; feel free to have your pick - we don't mind if you choose more than one. You'll need robes, too, I imagine. We'll go shopping tomorrow, but for now, you'll fit in some of my old robes nicely, I think."

James was muttering to himself as he walked off, presumably to find some clothes for Harry.

"Mr Potter - James," he said. His mouth was dry, his head spinning. James turned to look at him, and Harry found the words stuck in his throat. Finally, he croaked out: "Thanks."

He smiled. "Don't mention it."

Harry's head was pounding.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep for, but it couldn't have been that long. It was as if he had been perpetually trapped between states of consciousness - half dreaming, half awake. Images from the battle echoed in his mind, and he forced his eyes open. His dreams had been filled with visions of the days before. The memories were still vivid in his mind, but it felt strangely distant, as if it had all happened decades in the past.

Pushing himself up, he winced as a sharp burst of pain battered the side of his head, a lurching sensation gripping his stomach. His whole body ached. He took a moment to steady himself, staring at the room he had chosen. It was the smallest of all the spare bedrooms, though it was still double the size of his bedroom back in Privet Drive. The lamp was off, but streaks of orange light still sneaked through the edges of the curtains, indicating it was still daytime.

Several minutes later, still in a daze, he stumbled out. A plate covered by a silver coche sat beside his door, a note slipped underneath it. He picked it up and read:

Harry,

Sorry for not waking you up for lunch! You looked so tired that we thought it was better to let you sleep. If you can't find me or James, we're most likely in the gazebo.

Lily

He had wanted to stay awake, but his eyelids felt remarkably heavy the moment he had entered the room. According to the note, he must have been out for several hours, at least. His eyes roamed the hall, searching for a clock. He found one, hidden behind the tip of a potted bonsai tree.

6 PM. Practically dinner time. Bloody hell.

Bringing the plate with him, he climbed down the grand circular stairway which led towards the first floor. Every thump of his feet on the wooden platform sent a jolt of pain towards his head.

Dozens of lively pictures lined the walls facing the end of the staircase. In the centre was a large family portrait. The three Potters waved cheerfully at the camera, the shadow of a towering waterfall looming behind them. The portrait next to it showed Liza, chubby-cheeked; she must not have been older than three. Harry approached to inspect a smaller photo, featuring a much younger James shoulder-to-shoulder with a handsome, dark-haired man. The man in the picture grinned cockily, long length hair billowing with the wind.

His mouth suddenly dry, Harry waddled towards the kitchen which hosted a small dinner table. Not for the first time, he wondered what happened to Sirius, in this world. James had told him Sirius died fifteen years ago. What happened fifteen years ago? What went different?

A theory brewed in his head. He couldn't know for sure, but if he was right…

Gripping his fork, he continued eating, directing his thoughts to the creamy explosion of flavours in his mouth. His headache faded gradually with each bite, but the lurching in his stomach stayed.

When he was done, he busied himself by cleaning the plate, deliberately doing it the Muggle way. He and Ron had shook their heads, bewildered, when Mrs Weasley said sometimes preferred cleaning without magic. He understood her now.

The plate squeaked as he scrubbed it, his pale hand clenched on its rim.

Minutes later, he found himself outside. He closed his eyes briefly as the warm breeze greeted him, carrying with it a fresh, floral scent. Lily stood on one of the gazebos - the one with the cauldron. He considered coming over to greet her, before shaking his head and slumping into one of the seats on the front porch. He leaned his head on his fist, his eyes landing on the view before him.

The front porch was raised high enough that he was able to see beyond the front gardens, towards the scenery. Sunlight glinted on the lake, its surface perfectly reflecting the pair of mountains like a wavy mirror. The snow was fading on the mountain's tip, withering under the summer glare. Rough ledges cast shadows down the mountain, dimming the otherwise light brown surface.

He set his mind to nothing, instead letting it be filled with the swash and crackle of the waves crashing gently on the rocky shore, with the view of the clouds gliding across the vivid blue sky, with the feeling of the wind brushing gently on his long hair, swaying it to the side. He had not cut his hair for months - perhaps even a year. He wondered if he looked like Sirius, before snorting. Long hair never suited him. He probably looked terrible, but he couldn't bring himself to take care of it, even if it was a mere spell away.

Harry straightened in his seat, eyes following Lily as she strode towards the house. Years ago, when he had just started at Hogwarts, he would be elated beyond measure at this opportunity. Indeed, it had once been his deepest desire. He never expected to leave all his friends, his world, and his life behind. He didn't expect this.

"Alright, Harry?" said Lily, peering at him. "Have you had your lunch? James wanted to wake you up, but you looked quite exhausted."

"Yes, Mrs Potter - Lily," he replied. "Thank you, it was very delicious."

It was nothing on Mrs Weasley's cooking, though, he thought privately. He looked back at the house. "Where is James? I didn't see him inside."

"Still picking Liza up from King's Cross, I expect," said Lily. She turned the door open and leaned against the door frame, hand on her hips. "I'm glad you liked my food. I'm going to start cooking for dinner, actually - the first dinner after Hogwarts is always a special one. I think Remus is coming, too. I understand if you're not hungry, but it would mean a lot if-"

"Of course," said Harry, eager to meet a familiar face. Lily smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness in her expression.

She hesitated. "You should know… when I contacted James about you yesterday, he was with Remus, and, well - he heard everything I said… I hope you're fine with him knowing."

"Oh," said Harry. "It's okay."

"You know Remus?"

"Yeah," he said. He paused, before adding: "I don't think this world's too different from mine, actually - my dad was friends with Remus, too… and Sirius."

He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, if his mind made him see what wasn't there, but he thought he saw her wince at his mention of his godfather. A blink later and Lily was nodding, her face aggressively neutral.

"Oh," said Lily suddenly. "James and Liza will be here any minute now - I must get started on dinner-"

"D'you need any help?"

"What?" she asked. "No, it's fine - you don't need to -"

"I can help–"

"Really, Harry," said Lily. She scanned his face. "It's fine, I'll manage - but thank you for offering. You're very kind."

He was left alone once more. He wasn't sure why he had offered, really. It's not like he was an especially good chef. In fact, he had not cooked for the Dursleys in years. He'd be hopeless in a kitchen, especially a magical one. Wiping away the confusing, jumbled mess that was his thoughts and feelings, his mind wandered to what Lily had told him. Remus. He was forgetting something, like a word at the tip of his tongue…

Teddy. Fuck, how had he forgotten? Wasn't it just a few weeks ago now, when he met Remus at Shell Cottage? His old professor had seemed younger and livelier than ever. He had made Harry godfather, and feeling rather touched, he accepted. Why did he accept? Even then, he knew his chances of survival were narrow - he had been so caught up in his amazement that someone would trust him enough with such a responsibility.

Well, at least Teddy didn't have to go through the emotional trauma of losing his godfather.

Harry would just be another faceless name to Teddy, a part of the however many people had died during the battle. Including Teddy's own parents… His heart panged. He felt an odd sense of connection to the baby, even though Teddy himself was just a faceless name to him. He had no idea what his godson looked like, other than a vague image of a wrinkly baby with colourful hair. It would've been nice to get to know him.

Could Teddy exist here? Did Remus and Tonks…?

A great swoosh rattled the house, the walls behind him quivering like a freezing dog. The Floo. That must be James and Liza. He considered going in and greeting them. It was only polite; he was a guest in their house, after all. Harry, however, couldn't find the energy to stand.

He had slept for dozens of hours. Why was he still so exhausted?

The sun crept dowards, hiding between the two mountains. He let his eyes droop as the sky faded into a reddish hue, passing clouds obscuring the sunlight. Crickets chirped in the distance, and wild splashes echoed from the lake. His mind hovered like a feather carried by a gentle wind.

A nearby footstep jolted him awake.

Emerging from the front door was Liza Potter. She looked just as startled as he, her black ponytail bouncing up in the air. When she gathered her bearings, she seemed highly amused. "Did I wake you again?"

"Better not make it a habit," he grumbled, leaning back on his seat and stretching.

"Can't promise that, now, can I?" said Liza, grinning. "Dinner's almost ready, by the way. You still hungry? Mum said you just had your lunch."

His stomach grumbled, eager to make up for the year long starvation. "Yeah."

"So," said Liza. She perched on a nearby seat, head leaning towards him. "You told me earlier you'll answer all my questions… You do look pretty drained, though - I'll just ask the most important one: Dad said you played Quidditch - what position?"

"Seeker."

Liza raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling.

"What?" grumbled Harry. "There's nothing wrong with being a Seeker!"

"Nothing wrong?" asked Liza with a smirk. "You seekers get all the glory - it's the chasers doing all the important work, really. You're useful for, what, the second before the match ends? The rest of the time you're all just gallivanting around, trying to look busy."

"I'm guessing you're a chaser, then?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I can score in that second what you score in an hour."

"Oh, you haven't seen me on a Quidditch pitch, then," said Liza, grinning. She cocked her head. "Wait, have you? Am I - did you know me? Back there?"

"No," he said. "I was… an only child."

"Right, yeah," said Liza. She fidgeted, suddenly not meeting his eyes.

The house rattled once more. A second later, booming laughter echoed from inside the house.

"That must be uncle Moony," said Liza quickly. "Come on, dinner's probably ready by now."

Harry stood reluctantly, but Liza didn't come into the house. Instead, she sauntered towards the lake.

He trailed behind. "Where are we going?"

"Dining gazebo," said Liza. "Most days we don't bother walking all the way here to eat, mind you - only for big dinners and such, but mum considers the dinners after Hogwarts big, for some reason."

They stepped off the rocky shore and crossed a rattling, wooden bridge. The main gazebo was connected to several smaller ones, one of which held a round table. It was large enough to host over a dozen people, though only five chairs had plates set in front. Liza sat, and Harry took the chair next to her. He glanced at the other gazebos. One looked like an outdoor Potions laboratory, while the other had open walls. It was low enough above the lake that if you were to sit on the edge, your feets would dip below the surface.

Three figures were walking leisurely towards them. The two in front, one lanky and the other broad-shouldered, held lanterns. Even from afar, he could see small specks of light fluttering inside the lamps like fireflies, giving off a bright orange hue. Lily walked slightly behind, a handful of coche-covered plates casually hovering around her head.

When they got closer, Harry could see Remus' face, illuminated by the lantern. His scarred face was oddly free of wrinkles and stress lines, his hair more mousy brown than grey. There was an ease in his expression that Harry had only seen once: when Teddy had been born. Harry swallowed and buried his thoughts deep.

As they reached the gazebo, Harry stood to greet them. Liza stayed seated.

"Hello," said Remus easily. "Harry, right? Lily told me about you. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-"

"Remus," said Harry, shaking his hand.

"Yes, Lily did say you knew me from your old world," said Remus merrily. He released his grip on the lantern, and it floated up gently towards the ceiling. "What was I like, if I may ask?"

For a moment, as the light briefly left his face, Remus looked no different than he had when he was laid on the Great Hall, face grimly pale but serene. The two lanterns above latched into something in the ceiling with a click. A golden beam shimmered down towards them, illuminating the gazebo with a warm, cosy light. It shone on Remus' face, and the moment was gone - Remus looked young, kindly, and very much alive.

Harry shivered as he, and the other three, sat down. He saw Lily looking between him and Remus with a strange expression.

"You were my Professor," he said. "The best we've ever had, actually."

"Uncle Moony?" exclaimed Liza. "A professor?"

"What? I daresay I would do a good job of it," said Remus, smiling. "Better than your father, at least. I still remember him trying to teach me Conjuration during our OWLs. Never seen him more frustrated, and I was there when he lost the Quidditch cup to Slytherin."

"Not my fault you and Peter weren't getting it," said James.

"Yes, well…" Remus said. A flash of discomfort seemed to cross his face at the mention of Peter. James clenched his jaw and Lily shifted in her seat. It was Remus who finally broke the silence. He looked at Liza and said: "Speaking of OWLs…"

Liza groaned. "I just got home from Hogwarts and we're talking about school again?"

"Come on, now," said Lily. With a wave of her wand, the lids of the plates disappeared with a pop. A cacophony of aromas dispersed around them, travelling along with the soft smoke that oozed off some of the plates. "You did promise you'd tell me how you did in your exams once we were out of Hogwarts."

"You two are so boring - I bet Harry doesn't want to talk about OWLs, do you, Harry?" She looked at Harry, who stammered. She finally relented with a sigh. "Well… I reckon I did pretty well in the main three… Transfiguration should be an easy O - Charms and Potions, too, but I can't be certain - Herbology, Arithmancy and the others were… fine." She hesitated, glancing over to Lily. "Don't think I did too well on History of Magic - I think I just made up answers on the spot for some of the questions."

James barked out a laugh, but Lily shook her head sternly.

"I hope you did study your best," she said. "And not just spending all your time with your new boyfriend."

"Mum!" gasped Liza. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that - I knew you'd be unbearable with the teasing-"

"How could we not?" said James with glee. "It's the most hilarious-"

"Don't you dare!" said Liza, pointing a dinner knife at her father. "I swear to Gryffindor, if you try to threaten him, or - or intimidate, or give a talk-"

"Threaten him?" asked James, looking comically offended. "If anything, I should be threatening you, young lady. I know he's a good boy, but you, on the other hand… You're not corrupting him, I hope? Not besmirching his good virtue?"

"Dad!"

James cackled, but he stopped the teasing.

"Okay, let's calm down, everyone," said Lily. "Liza, stop pointing your knife at your father. I apologise, Harry, I'm sure you've never seen such rudeness at a dinner table before."

"It's fine," said Harry, putting on a reassuring smile.

After all, this was nothing compared to the pure chaos that was dinners at the Burrow.

The table fell into comfortable silence as they began eating. Harry took a modest amount of food towards his plate: a slice or two of meat, several sausages, and a couple of roast potatoes. He glanced towards the view. Only the very tip of the sun was visible between the slopes of the two mountains. If it weren't for the lanterns shining brilliantly above him, Harry would have trouble seeing the contents of his plate.

"I do hope you still did quite well on your History of Magic exam," said Lily. "I know it's not your favourite subject, but it is still very important for a wide range of-"

"I know, I know," said Liza, scowling. "I don't think I did too bad, anyway - it was just a few questions on the Goblin Rebellion that I flubbed. Never did care too much about goblins. Can we please stop talking about this?"

She met Lily's eye, and some sort of silent conversation played between them. Finally, Lily nodded. "Fine," she said. "Well, I have heard from Minerva that she has chosen-"

"Oh, she told you?" exclaimed Liza with a grin. She sat up straighter on her seat, looking at James. "McGonagall said she's making me Quidditch Captain next year."

"That's great!" said James, beaming. "I knew you could do it. I made Captain in sixth year, too. A Prongs Galloper is in order, don't you think?"

It took several minutes for Liza to calm down. The Prongs Galloper was, apparently, widely considered to be the best Quidditch broom in the world. Only the most successful of teams could afford to snatch one for their players. Harry was already finished with his meal when Liza went into a deep dive on all the strategies and plays she had in mind for next year's games.

"You've put a lot of thought into this," said Remus. "Are you thinking of pursuing Quidditch after Hogwarts, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, no," said Liza, snorting. "I reckon mum would kill me. Besides, it all gets to their head, doesn't it, the fame? Always something off about them, Quidditch players - not sure if I can think of a player who hasn't had a scandal covered by the Witch Weekly. But it must feel great, leading a team to victory. I'm just - I don't know if I'll do well, I bet everyone thinks Ginny should've been made captain instead. She's a much better Chaser than I am."

"Professor McGonagall chose you for captain for a reason, didn't she?" said Remus with a reassuring smile.

"I know, but…" she trailed off. "Harry - you played Quidditch. Were you a captain as well?

"In my sixth year, yeah," said Harry.

Liza almost jumped in excitement, but James chimed in: "You were Seeker since first year, too, weren't you? Now that I think about it, isn't there some rule against that? I've never seen a Firstie at the Quidditch team back in-"

"But that's brilliant!" exclaimed Liza. "You must be really good, Harry - you'll help me with Captain duties, won't you? We need a new seeker, too!"

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "I think I'll be able to help. Are you sure there's no better seekers out there, though? I haven't played in almost a year, so I'm not exactly at my sharpest."

"Didn't you say you made Quidditch Captain in your sixth year?" asked Remus.

All heads cocked towards Harry. He groaned inwardly - he should've watched his mouth! Better now than later, he supposed. He was legally allowed to use magic now - he'd have to explain it later anyway.

"My… world was one year ahead," said Harry. "When I left, the year was 1998. I'm not sure why, the Unspeakables won't-"

"But that would mean you'd be finished with your NEWTs," said Lily, frowning.

"Oh," he said. "Well… yeah, I suppose, but there were, er, some extenuating circumstances preventing me from… continuing my studies."

"Such as?" asked Lily, raising an eyebrow.

"It's complicated."

He braced for more questions, but James met Lily's gaze and shook his head. Lily faltered.

He could see James' eyes wander towards the watch on his wrist - the watch of Fabian Prewett. Just under a year ago, Mrs Weasley had gifted it to him as a rite of passage for his seventeenth birthday. The watch's bright gold case glinted under the lanterns, reflecting a beam of orange light towards his pale white plate. Harry slipped his hand under the table.

"We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow," said James. "We have to get you two your books for Hogwarts - Harry will need some clothes, too."

"You don't have to do that," said Harry quickly. "I can make do with my one robe - I'll just transfigure it for Hogwarts."

"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea," said Remus jovially. "I did try that when I was younger, but the results were never as good as a store bought robe. They have specially made charms for each robe, you know, and transfiguration only dampens the effect of those charms."

"Even still, I think I can buy for myself once I get a job-"

"A job?" asked James, bewildered. "Now? What would you need a job for?"

Harry gaped.

"Well, there's this little known thing called money," he said. "You need it to live, you see, and I have none."

"Harry, you're living under our house. You're a Potter," said James, exasperated, in a tone befitting a parent explaining something difficult to a toddler. "When Lily and I took you in, we agreed to cover all your expenses as you finish your education. For now, you shouldn't have to worry about your finances - that's for us to worry about."

"And I appreciate it, Mr. Potter, but-"

"Didn't I tell you to call me James?"

Lily cleared her throat. She sent James a sharp look, before turning to Harry with a fixed smile.

"James is right, Harry," she said. "As you've said, you don't have any money with you right now, and you can't go to Hogwarts without the proper uniform or books. I suppose you could fit into some of James' old robes, but kids these days would deem it terribly out of fashion, don't you think? While you could find a job for the summer with your OWL results, I would highly recommend spending the summer studying for your NEWTs instead. This is the most important year of your academic career."

"I…" started Harry. He glanced at Remus, who nodded at him. There was understanding in his eyes. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

The next few days passed in a restless blur. Occasionally, owls would come by to drop copies of forged documents to Harry - including his identification and birth certificates. To his amazement, the Unspeakables even managed to forge his Muggle IDs.

What he longed for the most, however, was his OWL results. Without it, no reasonable place would hire him for work. Even a job as a Magical Maintenance worker required it. Earlier, Unspeakable Halley had sent him a note regarding the troubles she faced circumventing the Department of Magical Education. Apparently, the department was quite used to attempts at forgery and fraudulence; they hired highly trained wizards from the Department of Law Enforcement to guard their whole office. This was good for the overall state of magical education, but it did mean Halley would have a hard time forging his exam results.

Meanwhile, Harry kept himself busy with household chores and other tasks. He may not be able to repay the Potters financially yet, but the least he could do was offer his labor. While Lily had initially tried to dissuade him from helping around too much, she did come around to asking him for help. In fact, she even started asking Liza to help around, too, to the latter's dismay. Liza kept sending him glares as they de-gnomed the front gardens and fed the bush fairies. When James had announced they needed to exterminate a colony of doxies living in their attic, she had locked herself in the room to "study."

She didn't sulk around for too long, though, as she began asking Harry for Quidditch advice. Harry, for his part, answered to the best of his abilities, though he had trouble with some of her more technical questions. It had been a long time indeed since he had seriously thought about Quidditch.

Lily and James must have said something to her, as she was very careful to not ask more personal questions. The most personal they've gotten was when they reminisced over Oliver Wood, who had also been Liza's quidditch captain.

Lily would often spend her days brewing potions on the gazebo. To Liza's bewilderment, Harry helped her with this, too. Lily, on the other hand, was positively delighted. She treated Harry like a student, explaining every step of the brewing process and answering all his questions. He tried his best to understand her words; if he was ever to be an Auror, he would need good marks in his NEWTs.

She, too, was careful with her words. Although he appreciated this in many ways, it did get rather grating the way they tip-toed around him in conversations like he was some sort of bomb. He could tell how much Lily wanted to know why he skipped a year of Hogwarts, and he sometimes wished she'd just ask him already. Whatever happened after, at least it wouldn't be as awkward and quiet as their current conversations.

As much as he tried to busy himself with mundane tasks, it would never truly distract him from what he was avoiding in the first place. At every moment, he felt as if he was forgetting something, as if he was leaving something behind. It was as if his brain had just realised that the battle was over - that there was no need to be alert at all times.

Voldemort was dead. In this world, at least.

Again and again his mind wandered to thoughts of his friends. Thoughts of what he left behind. Harry couldn't help but feel he got the long end of the wand. The choice to sacrifice himself, to face death to save his friends, was easy compared to what they must now be going through.

He trusted his friends. Ron would stop at nothing to protect his family, and Hermione knew enough spells to take down death eaters in five hundred different ways. But this was Voldemort, the man who had murdered the greatest witches and wizards of the age. Weakened though he may be from Harry's sacrifice, he was slimy enough to somehow find a loophole, like he did once with Harry's blood protection.

Harry still slept with his wand in hand. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps he thought Voldemort would discover where he was, and travel here to finish the job. Sometimes, he wished it would happen. At least then he'd know for certain his friends were safe from the maniac.

I'll never know what happened to them. The thought of it was like an iron fist gripping his heart. It froze his blood and made him want to scream until his throat went dry. He was supposed to just accept that thought? It does not do to dwell on that which you cannot control, Dumbledore had said. It was much easier said than done.

"Harry?"

He looked up, disrupted from his daze. He had just fed a rat to the Flesh-Eating Rafflesia in the garden. It was a flower the size of a car tire, with a gaping hole in the middle that was its mouth. He wasn't sure how long he had stood there, watching it digest the poor rodent he had caught earlier that morning. The plant would occasionally belch out a green, pungent smoke that shrivelled his nose

James waved from the front porch, and Harry approached him, warily avoiding the feasting plant. He was putting on his outer robe as he got ready for work. James always went to work late.

"Want to come around the shop?" asked James. "I did promise I'd show you someday. You can help around if you want to."

Harry brightened.

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves at Hogsmeade. Once more, James landed on the street with a Wronski Feint. Despite Harry's year-long hiatus from flying, he had no problem executing the move perfectly, landing right behind James. The streets were considerably busier, but no one paid them any mind.

A plump, bearded man greeted James as they walked past. "Morning, James," he said. "Now who is this? I didn't know you had a secret son, old chap!"

"My nephew," he explained, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "He's visiting Lily and I for the summer."

"By Godric's good grace, you two look alike," said the man. "You can fly, too, son. It must be in the genes, eh, James?"

They made small talk with the man, before heading for The Marauder's Broom. The interior was smaller than he had expected. A dozen brooms hovered neatly in by the walls, a plaque standing beside each broom with descriptions and dimensions. The counter was empty, but on the wall behind it were logos of important Quidditch teams and organisations that had bought a Marauder broom. It included the Holyhead Harpies, the Tutshill Tornados, and, strangely enough, the Auror Department.

There were two customers, each accompanied by a saleswizard. One customer was a short, chubby boy who was gaping at a smooth, black broom - the Padfoot. The other was a tall, grizzled man with a permanent scowl on his face. The saleswizard was nervously showing the man the Pop-Up Map in the Moony. James nodded at his employees, before striding towards the back door. Harry followed behind.

They entered a tall semi-circular room. A stairway lined the walls, spiralling all the way up towards the ceiling. Each level had a door, each preceded by a small platform. James knocked on the door on their current level, before pushing himself in.

It was a small, and rather messy office. Remus sat on the desk, furiously scribbling something on a piece of parchment. He didn't even look up as he greeted James.

"Morning, James," he grunted. "Woodworth's being stingy as always. Two hundred thirty for each aspen log, can you believe it? Sycamore, I can understand, but aspen? Crazy…"

"I'm telling you Remus," said James, placing their brooms on the corner. "It's time we start our own wood farm. There's several spots near Clayfoot Cottage that'd be perfect for wandworthy trees - I swore I saw a Bowtruckle swinging on a leaf the other day."

"And I've told you time and time again, that it is not a financially sound decision," said Remus. "It takes more to grow high quality wandworthy trees than simply planting a tree and watering it every day. I can haggle with the folks at Woodworth, at least."

Remus finally looked up. "Ah, Harry," he said with a smile. "How do you do? I apologise for the state of my office. James overworks me, you see."

"I do not!" spluttered James. He took a seat in front of the desk. "I give you three days off a week, and a week off every month. You're practically in retirement! Now, tell me, how did negotiations with the Bulgarians go?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Er, can I go have a look around?"

"Sure, go ahead," said James, waving him off.

He left the room and climbed upstairs. At the next floor, he stopped and inched towards the door. No sound emanated from the other side. He knocked. There was no reply, so he turned the handle and stepped in.

This room was much larger than Remus' office. Large desks were set close to each other, some of which contained half-finished brooms. Boxes scattered by each desk, each brimming with brooms of all shapes and sizes. On the back wall stood a small bookshelf, which held books as thick as they were wide.

He closed the door and, once again, up the stairs he went. There was no one in the next room as well. Every inch of the wall was covered by a green chalkboard. Incomprehensible scribblings, diagrams, and equations scattered on the board. Some diagrams looked like a crude imitation of a broom, with each part of the broom messily annotated with its own diagrams.

The only part of the wall that wasn't covered by the chalkboard was the back. Instead, there was a massive bookshelf. Sprawling below it was a mess of half-open books, stacked against each other like a waterfall of books pouring down from the shelf. In the centre of the room stood a desk, on which strewed layers upon layers of parchment.

"Enjoying the sights?" asked James as he sauntered in. With a wave of his wand, the lights turned on and the books on the floor jolted to life, hovering up in a neat line. The shelf seemed to rearrange itself, somehow increasing its space to accommodate books as they filed in. The final book slipped into a perfectly fit slot with a satisfying pop. "Welcome to my studio - it's where I plan our new brooms. Sorry about all the mess, I was in quite the mood yesterday. Magical theory is frustrating, let me tell you."

"What about the room below?" asked Harry as he approached the left side of the board.

It had barely legible jottings. An underlined text read: NAME IDEAS below which was a list. The list contained names such as MOONY Ranger and MOONY Voyager.

"Oh, that's the factory," said James. "Where we actually produce our brooms. These days, I hire a team of people to do that for me - they just follow the instructions I've written and make the broom. It's quite menial; anyone with a half decent NEWT score could do it. This, though, this is the fun stuff."

"You're planning a new Moony broom?" asked Harry, nodding at the board.

"A direct request from the DMLE," said James. "They're big fans of the Moony line, but they want something more attuned for their line of work. Raiding, cursebreaking, duelling - that sort of thing. We haven't decided on a name yet. There's a lot of things we haven't decided yet, actually - we're not even sure what wood type to use."

"The wood type matters?"

"Of course it does!" said James. "You can't make a wand out of any old wood, now, can you? For the Moony line, we usually go with Chestnut - trusty and reliable. But for the potential use cases for this new one, I'm thinking Holly will be more suitable. The problem is, most of the spellwork in the traditional Moony brooms rely on the properties of Chestnut. We'll have to specifically remake each spell and charm if we choose to change to Holly, or any other wood type. It's a nightmare…"

James sighed, rubbing his temples.

"We'll think about this later," he said firmly. "For now, I want to work on the Pathfinder. If you're up to it, I'd really use some help."

"Me?" asked Harry, blinking. "But I don't know anything about making brooms!"

"You'll learn fast," said James. "Besides, even if you don't have any new ideas, it would be useful to have someone to bounce ideas off of. I joke about overworking Remus, but Merlin knows the business side of things is already hard enough. Now, are you up to it?"

"I mean - yeah, sure," said Harry. "I'm not convinced I'll be much use, but I suppose I could try."

"That's the spirit," said James. "You are familiar with the Pop-Up Map in our Moony line. right? What I'm trying to implement is a pathfinding feature - you tell the map where to go, and it shows the best path to that location. As far as I know, there aren't any spells for this, so I'm inventing my own. I think I have it almost figured out - I just need to work on the finer details.

"I want you to research potential anchors for the Pathfinding spell. My best idea is to use the very tip of the broom as the anchor, and I want you to analyse its potential. Feel free to come up with new ideas. Oh, I guess you'll need my current notes for the Pathfinding spell. It's incomplete, mind you, I'm still working out the details."

He copied some written parchment with his wand and sent it flying to Harry, who scratched his head as he tried to make sense of the messy handwriting.

They got to work.

Harry had no idea where to begin. He knew the basic theory of anchors; they had covered it in Charms in his fifth year. Anchors are what separated basic charms to longer-lasting ones - what are called enchantments. It acts as a symbolic tie between spells and physical objects. The nature of the anchor must match the nature of the spell. This results in a sort of resonance, which strengthens the effect of the spell and ties the spell to the anchor, making it everlasting.

That was all he could recall from his OWL days.

He read the parchment once more, trying to make sense of the theory behind the Pathfinding spell. His head pounding, he headed for the bookshelves to begin researching, while James scribbled something on the board, muttering to himself. The broom's tip was certainly an elegant solution. Being the very front of the broom, it coincided nicely with the nature of James' pathfinding spell, which, in essence, leads the wizard to a specified location.

Picking up several books with promising titles, he walked towards the corner and sat on the floor. There were no chairs. Even while he worked, James never seemed to stop moving. He paced as he thought, and when he stopped to scribble on the board, he kept tapping his feet.

James had told him to analyse the potential of the tip as an anchor. What was he supposed to do, write a pros and cons list? Write an essay about the nature of the broom's tip? He suddenly felt as if he was brought back to Charms class, being assigned a particularly difficult essay by Flitwick.

No. This was different. Unlike his Charms essays, what he was working on could have actual tangible effects on the real world. The brooms would be used by dozens, or perhaps even hundreds of people. James had trusted him enough to give him this task, and he wouldn't let him down. He had been looking for an opportunity to repay the Potters for their hospitality. This was his chance.

For the first time in almost a week, all thoughts of his past left him, as his mind tunnelled on the task at hand. He pored over book after book after book, recalling what he had once studied and taking in any new information, scribbling his findings on the board.

"James?" he asked. "What if the anchor is a different object entirely? This book says you can burn an anchor towards an object, making it a part of the object."

"Huh?" said James, looking up from a parchment he was writing on. "That's the Wandcore charm, isn't it? We've done that for some of our spells - we used it to make the map - but the effect tends to be weaker compared to anchoring the spell directly to the broom. Unless you can find an object which fits better than the broom, then I'd suggest against it."

He had tried to ask more questions, but James didn't seem to appreciate being interrupted from his thoughts. An hour later, they had a quick bite at The Three Broomsticks with Remus, before returning to their work.

As more hours passed, Harry's hair became even messier, and stacks upon stacks of books surrounded him like a fortress wall. Sweat trickled down his forehead even though he hadn't moved much at all, and a pounding headache began to rage on his head. It was different to the sharp, throbbing pain that had plagued him when he first arrived at Clayfoot Cottage - no, this headache was caused by too much thinking.

He had analysed the potential of the broom's tip as an anchor, but he didn't have much to say other than it's a good idea. The nature of the tip matched perfectly with the nature of the Pathfinding spell. Indeed, he had scribbled a short, quick essay about this that would make even Hermione proud. He doubted James would be satisfied with it. After all, he had asked Harry to come up with new ideas as well. All he had done in the past several hours was merely confirm that James' idea would work.

So there he sat, staring out the window, thinking. He passively observed the motions of the gliding clouds. Occasionally, owls would pass, carrying letters and packages.

"Owls," said Harry with a jolt. "How're they able to find people? When I told my owl to go somewhere, she was able to find their way to the exact location. Can we use that, somehow?"

James stopped pacing. He put a hand on his chin, before turning to Harry with a grin. "Now that's a great idea if I've ever heard one. How did I not think of that?"

Relief flushed through his mind, and with it brought clarity. "We can use the Wandcore charm with an owl's feather-"

"The feather?" asked James. "I was thinking of the owl's eye, actually. I mean, it's how the owl finds their way to its destination, isn't it? It's how they hunt their prey… Sharp and precise - yes, it could be perfect!"

"Oh, right," said Harry sheepishly. "That makes much more sense. But where in the world do we get an owl eye?"

James began scribbling something on his parchment, before ripping it off and folding it. "Sluggs and Jiggers, I reckon," he said. The piece of parchment became a paper airplane. With a wave of his wand, the paper plane flew away, pushing past the door and barrelling down the stairs. "I've sent a memo for Remus to order some for us. If they have some in stock, it'll arrive tomorrow."

He peered at Harry, rubbing his chin. "I told you you'll learn fast. I should hire you, you know."

"What?" asked Harry as he stood. His whole body ached from sitting still for too long. "But I didn't even do much! And how d'you know the owl eye will work better than the broom's tip? Didn't you say the Wandcore charm was less effective?"

"We'll do an experiment," said James. "I think I've got the theory of the spell down, so we could try it out tomorrow." He approached Harry, towards the corner of the wall he had scribbled on. "Let me see - oh, your handwriting's much neater than mine - yes, yes, I agree with your analysis. I have a feeling that the owl eye could work better, though. So, how about it? You did say you wanted a job, and you could save me a lot of time."

Harry gaped. "Well, sure…"

"Brilliant! Well, you're hired then," said James. "You can talk about your salary with Remus, I was -"

"I can work for free," he offered. "You can think of it as payment for rent and food, and all the robes you bought me…"

"None of that, now," said James, returning to his work. "Lily would kill me if I hired you for free. In fact, I think she'd kill me anyway. She seems to think there's nothing more important than studying for NEWTs…"

As they fell into silence once more, his mind spun like a wheel. Wasn't it just a few days ago now, when James had ridiculed him for wanting a job? Now he was offering Harry a job? Who would've thought?

And who would've thought Harry's first ever job would be as a broom designer, of all things? He began searching for a Magizoology book. Was there a book about owls?

He knew one thing was for certain. He'll make sure James won't ever regret hiring him.

Sorry for the long wait, folks. I'm right in the middle of exams. The only reason I've finished this chapter is I gave myself a whole day off studying to finally finish it up. As an unfortunate consequence, that means I haven't edited the chapter much, so it might not be well written at all.

Unfortunately, this'll be my last update for a few weeks. My exams end only on the 18th of June, so expect to see Chapter 4 - and edits of this chapter - after that date. I did have another scene planned for this chapter, but at that point I had simply written too much, so I've decided to save it for the next chapter.

I apologize for the amount of magical theory I've inserted in here. Trust me, most of that will be useful for plot reasons.

Any feedback is highly appreciated. Thank you for all the support. I'll go back to studying now