warning:
will go into gay-themed fantasies of some characters.
no slash as yet, it may well happen, it may not.
may (in future chapters) explore youthful fantasies
about our beloved characters,
or their offspring:
if sensitive about this, don't read...

..o0o0o0o..

1.

Draco placed his bag on the bed and looked around the room he was allocated for at least the year ahead. House elves had brought his other luggage up, and lit a fire, making it fairly cosy. It may still be August, but Scotland had a knack of making autumn start early, he recalled. He noticed a vase with flowers in it, on his desk by the window, giving it a homely feel he hadn't recalled from the days that Professor Snape was Potions Master, which was mainly because the dingy, damp dungeon room he had once used was now a storage area, and these rooms were procured by Professor Slughorn, for which a sense of gratitude overcame him. Draco sighed, thinking of the task he'd agreed to take on from this year onward - or as long as he could cope with hoards of teenagers in varying states of hormonal mayhem. He grinned as he recalled his own days here in Hogwarts, before things turned downhill, now twenty years ago.

Potions Master Professor Malfoy. Draco looked at his reflection in the mirror, quite liking the way he now looked, almost hitting middle age, a far cry from the over-confident, light-haired youth he once was, here. There were some grey hairs amongst the light strands that were the Malfoy standard. Some wrinkles had appeared on his face, around his eyes and his mouth, giving away the three years he was removed from his fortieth birthday. His hair was still straight and lanky, cut just before he had left his former home in the hillsides near Weimar in Germany, where he had found happiness he never imagined possible. He liked this cut, and hoped he could find a barber's in Hogsmeade capable of reproducing it, but had a hunch he'd be Apparating to Germany a few times a year for this at least.

The new school year would start in a week's time, and the timetables had been handed out by Professor McGonagall earlier that day, after she'd welcomed him back into the castle. He had made his way to Hogsmeade first by way of Apparating, having had his luggage sent on beforehand, then took a carriage to his old school, with all kinds of emotions coursing through him, as he approached the building and the grounds where so much had happened, so much he had hoped to have put behind him, and time would tell how well he'd processed the events during Year 7. For now at least he seemed okay. In a bit, the teachers would be meeting up in the Headmistress's Office, which - if that was still the same - would be on the seventh floor, but he'd have to check the map he was also given by Professor McGonegall to be sure of this. The castle was looking fine again, after it had rebuilt itself, and it would be very likely to have a mind of its own still, driving students and teachers to despair at times.

He had been quite surprised to get an owl from Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, as was stated on the top of the parchment, in swirly letters, gold and black, dancing on the page. He had been living in Germany for many years already, happily doing his research for the Potions Department of the Wizarding University ("die deutsche Universität für Hexerei und Zauberei") which was situated there. He had even found love there, after it transpired that his research partner Anna had a lovely brother, who took rather a shine to him when he was invited around to her place for Christmas dinner and Draco was unable to resist his charms. Not too difficult really, when the last time he had been with a guy who wasn't a quick hook-up in a gay bar had been before he left England, four years before that. Markus was a musician, played piano and violin, and was away with the orchestra he played with for chunks of the year, which suited him fine. Time on his own was something he rather enjoyed, and the research sometimes took a lot of his mental energy, leaving little for his relationship. Markus was easy-going, five years his junior, dark-haired with curls and a sweet face, and amazing in bed. Unfortunately, his appeal was also noted by the orchestra's senior cello player, who had pilfered him, and as time went on, Draco found it harder to share his partner with the cello player, and they parted their ways, earlier that year. Part of him was hoping a challenge would come along, and the position of Potions Master at his old school seemed as good as any.

"Welcome, all of you!" Professor McGonagall greeted the assembled teachers in her roomy office. It hadn't changed a great deal from how he remembered it when Professor Dumbledore lived here, though there was less clutter, less mementos and books, but the gathered bits of the current inhabitant filled the shelves and cupboard space easily, Draco noticed as he looked around him. The portraits of her predecessors hung on the walls, Professor Snape glaring at him from behind the big chair McGonagall sat on. As if he was there in person, Draco thought, immediately feeling he had to prove the man worthy of sitting in the chair he now occupied, calling himself a professor. He felt this back in his schooldays, that although he seemed to be pre-approved as a Slytherin, there was a side to Snape that made him feel like this was only ever provisional.

"I'm so glad you are all here," she carried on, in her gentle Scotish tones. "As you can see, we have a new Potions Master, Mr Draco Malfoy has taken on the position." McGonagall smiled politely at him, nodded in his direction. The other teachers looked towards him, and smiled, and Draco felt himself flush, as he recognised a few faces from when he was himself a student - Professors Flitwick and Vector being the ones he had the most affinity with, and their aging faces smiled back at him, nodding. "We hope you will find yourself at ease here, Mr Malfoy."

"Draco, please... and I'm sure I will, Professor," he answered, and smiled back.

"Maybe it's a nice idea to all introduce ourselves, Minerva, share a little bit about ourselves with each other?" Professor Vector said, looking around with a questioning glance.

"Alright, Septima, that might work. Does nobody object?" McGonagall looked around the room and nodded, "Well then, I shall start and then we shall go from my right onwards."

The teachers all took turns to state their names, what their subject was, and gave a short description of themselves, patiently waiting for each other to finish (under the watchful eyes of the portraits, although Snape's was rapidly looking increasingly fed up).

"Also, I should add, during this year, we shall have the continued extra pair of hands provided by Mr Longbottom, who will soon be replacing Pomona Sprout, as she is finding it all rather hard work, dealing with spotty teenagers and volatile plants…"

Murmurs sounded from the group, and Draco found himself raising an eyebrow. Longbottom being quite the hero at the end of the battle, he recalled. In a beige cardigan and a sudden force in his voice, he surprised everyone that had gathered on the courtyard that day, either in shock or hopeful glee. To his shame he had been one of the latter, although he remembered how his doubt was gaining ground very fast. Quickly he cast memories of that day to the side.

"Now, on Monday, a new group of first years will start here, and the others obviously returning. Hagrid has made sure they will all be picked up from the station in Hogsmeade, the Thestrals ready for action, and we shall make the new students feel at home as much as possible. As we always do, may I add…" the sound of murmuring again rose form the group. "But before we get focussed on any teaching, I want to ask you to join me tomorrow for a special day-long activity, put together by myself and young professor Wenlock, who shall be teaching Apparition again, thank Merlin…"

"Has her hair grown back then?" Draco heard to his left, as a burly man who had introduced himself as Arthur Braithwaite, Muggle Studies. His grey hair looked like he had been plugged into an electric socket, and his cheeks were red.

"Yes, Arthur, it has. She's back to her old self pretty much," she replied, looking seriously at Braithwaite, before he could get ideas.

"It had been singed off in a rather unfortunate Apparition accident, at the end of last year…" he filled Draco in, quietly. "Like an enormous matchstick she looked. Poor girl…"

The meeting carried on in a jolly fashion, talking about the roster and possible snags, and they were treated to dinner at the enormous table in the other area of the office.

Hours later he allowed himself to fall onto his bed, filled with the gorgeous food and a glass or so too many of Fire Whiskey, and the feeling of mirth after he found himself in high jinks with Braithwaite and Vector, as well as a remarkably sprightly Professor Sprout ("Please call me Pom!"), who was dancing to music provided by Flitwick and a beautiful dark-haired woman called Cassandra (he had forgotten her last name), who was the Music teacher and played the accordion brilliantly. If anybody had told him in Year 6 that he would be cavorting like this with his teachers in twenty years time, he'd have laughed at them in their face.

He pulled the heavy blankets over himself and fell into a restless sleep eventually.

..o0o0O0o0o..

"Who the fuck put my papers on the floor! Oh, never mind…"

Harry heaved himself back up as he grabbed a handful of parchment, slapped it on the table and bent down for another handful. His head was hurting, and his eyes felt like soggy sacks of flour, and the light in the lounge of the Inn he was staying in, now for the fourth week running, annoyed the shit out of him. How was he supposed to do research for his new book, if these were the conditions he was made to work in?!

"You can always look for a place of your own," Gertrude, the current Innkeeper, had suggested more than once, and Harry knew she was right, but he preferred to have the cooking and cleaning done for him, since he was less than capable himself, these days. Well, he could, he just wasn't arsed to… Why the fuck should he have to bother with that, anyway… He was Harry bloody Potter… Saviour of the Wizarding World… Twice… He should be waited on hand and foot… Sadly, not everybody seemed to share his opinion, and he was tossed out of his last address by a more than sick of his antics girlfriend. Bloody cow Clara… He didn't need her anyway… He had shitloads of money, and if he wanted to drink a bottle of Elderberry wine every day, then he was damn well going to. The fuck did anyone think, telling him what to do…?!

After arranging his papers in the order he thought they were the right way around, Harry grabbed the bottle of wine he had been slowly emptying of it's content and poured the last of it in the glass in front of him. It was getting very late in the evening, it had gotten dark by now, and Hogsmeade was winding down for the night. The Three Broomsticks was quiet, the few customers who had rooms going up to their beds and the others finding their homes to go to. It had been getting busier, that week, as Hogwarts would be filled with students soon, and some families wanted to get supplies here, as well as spending the last precious days with their kids. The Inn was doing a roaring trade, and the quiet Harry had enjoyed previously was being replaced by the noise he recalled from his student days… what… nineteen years ago…

His son - James - would be there he knew. From the sporadic correspondence he had with the boy's mother. Ginny lived with her parents in the Burrow, so she could pursue her career as a sports journalist, now that her Quidditch days were over. James was fifteen, and a lovely young man. He'd spent some time with him that summer, when Ginny deemed Harry sober enough, and they went camping, with Ron and Hugo, in Wales, and they had a brilliant time. James had been sorted into Gryffindor, and expressed a strong interest in Potions and Arithmancy, much to his aunt Hermione's delight. He had been an unintentional child, a 'mistake' as his aunt Petunia would've undoubtedly named it, as he and Ginny had broken up the year before, weighed down by the expectation that was on them as the Golden Couple of Britain's wizarding community, the hero and the Quidditch champion…

They never stood a chance. Soon after things went kind of back to normal, Ginny voiced a desire to pursue her talents with the Holyhead Harpies, something Harry wholeheartedly understood and supported, and he became an auror, along with Ron and Neville, but the latter stopped soon after, finding it all too galling, and then Ron joined his brother in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, and Harry was left in the auror department on his own. He moved into 12 Grimmauld Place, living there whenever James was at his mother's, and spent much of his time piecing together the relationship between the Marauders, especially Sirius and Remus Lupin's, as they seemed to have cohabited at No. 12 for quite a few years, before Sirius was wrongly accused of being Voldemort's right hand man and aiding in his parent's death, and again in the few years before his death. His findings resulted in a book, which he published under a pseudonym ("James H. Walburg") but it very quickly became common knowledge that none other than the Boy Who Lived was the actual author of Howling At The Moon, A Tragic Lovestory Between Two Animagi and his talent for writing helped him move away from his auror career, into a life of debauchery and gay abandon. He blamed his publishers for this. They found an editor for him that was way too distracting.

Somewhere in the distance Harry heard Gertrude clear her throat. His mind was far away, but he registered the sound, knowing he had again outstayed his welcome downstairs in the lounge area. "You know how the lights go out, don't you Harry?" she said, as she placed a last checkered cloth over the brass taps.

Harry nodded, feeling a bit woozy. He had been there before, the last one to leave the lounge, Gertrude ready for her own night's rest. He looked for his wand, ready to point it at the lights and murmuring the spell, at some point in the near future.

"Please don't let me find you on the bench in the morning…" she sighed, knowing how likely it was that she would.

"No worries, I'll be up in a bit…" Harry's voice said, not as steady as he hoped.

Now, where was he. His novel about Albus and his adventures - the eighth chapter of the third book - was wanted by Adrian, his editor back in London, three days ago. Harry had almost finished it, but couldn't quite find the right words to wrap up this part. Adrian had threatened to come and find him, but Harry had managed to hold him off for now. Although the distraction of Adrian in his rooms was also incredibly welcome…

The blond-haired man was a menace to Harry's equilibrium. Ever since they were introduced to each other, eight years ago, and it was obvious that Ade was very out, and very attractive, it was clear to Harry that it was hopeless to remain adamant that he wasn't possibly bisexual. Ade wreaked havoc with his feelings, and he knew it. The bastard flirted with him, seduced him, pushed him away again under the guise of Professional Inappropriateness (what the fuck?!), then seduced him again, and when Harry responded to his seductions more than willingly, introduced him to his partner. This carried on for two years, and then Harry had enough, demanded another editor, which was Celia, who was curt and incredibly professional, and thoroughly not his type. They worked well together, she was wonderful at suggesting directions his stories could go in, and Harry responded by writing his best book by a mile. And then she died…

Harry sighed, and looked at the clock on the wall next to the bar, with its blue cuckoo snoring away on its perch. Half past midnight - not that late really. He had no appointments tomorrow, it was promising to be a nice day, and he was very close to wrapping up chapter eight. Maybe he should invite Adrian over, make a day of it, and go back to London together. Hm… Adrian… Yummy Adrian… Harry allowed himself to slide down onto the bench he was sitting on, just for a minute, the legs of the table becoming a hazy blur, as his mind swerved and swooped from one image of a very fit blond guy to another one, and in both he was being kissed and touched, and before he was consumed by arousal, his eyes closed and sleep got the better of him.

..o0o0O0o0o..

"Rose! Hurry up, will you?!" Ron ushered his daughter onto the platforms at King's Cross Station, ready to walk them onto platform 9¾, knowing Hermione and Hugo were close behind them, waiting for a convenient and unobtrusive point, where they weren't going to be noticed. It had been so many years ago that he had done this for the last time, nineteen years to be precise. He had waved Hermione off to her last year, the weird Year 8, after Hogwarts had been deemed fixed up sufficiently to have students again. He had no desire to go back there, and only Hermione's graduation had him walk through the enormous doors, be confronted with the cold, grey walls and the annoying gargoyles, the many paintings with attitudes, not to mention the horrific memories from the end of his school career...

"Coming, daddy!" Rose called out, having noticed her cousin Lucy and lagging behind. "Can we do the wall thingy now!?"

"Yes, but we need to make a good run for it, remember? Grandpa Arthur told you all about it, didn't he?"

"Yes, I remember… If you don't go quickly enough you'll crash and then the Muggles will see us…" she grinned at her dad. "Can we do it now?"

Ron grabbed the trolley, and sped up his walk slightly, feeling a bit apprehensive, as it had been so long since he had done this. His mother had always made it look so simple. "One, two, three - go!"

They wooshed through and were suddenly in the busy, steamy part of the station that felt as much like home as the Burrow did. Soon the others were on the platform with them, and there was a sudden collection of Weasleys, as Perce- no Penny was there with her girls (Ron was sure he'd never get used to his brother now being a woman…), George and Angelina with Roxanne, Ginny and James, and Hermione and Hugo all stood in a big group.

"Has anybody any idea where Harry is?" he heard Ginny say, looking around for the messy dark hair and the spectacles that were so stereotypically her ex, and his best friend. God knows where he could be, Ron thought. Last thing he knew was that he was holed up somewhere writing the latest chapter of a book he was working on. This was after he and Harry had taken James and Hugo camping, which was in July, just before Harry's birthday, and he hadn't seen much of him since then. He wasn't even sure if he was still together with Clara.

"Wasn't he with Clara?" George offered, as if reading Ron's mind.

"No, they broke up last month," Hermione said, looking confused. "She was sick of his…" She stopped short before revealing the state of James' dad when she saw him looking their way. "Last thing I heard, anyway…"

"He never told me," Ginny looked annoyed, wrapping an arm around her son. "Wouldn't surprise me, really."

"Maybe Adrian knows." Ron tried.

"Who's Adrian?" Angelina looked confused. George shrugged when she looked at him for clarification.

"Someone from the Publishing House, I think he helps him with his editing, and other stuff," Hermione explained. "More like his PA at the minute…"

"Get's him straightened out, that kind of thing," Ginny said, her voice sounding flat.

"Straight being the oxymoron here…" James grumbled, and all grown ups turned to look at him. "What!?"

"You know?" Ginny asked, her surprise evident. "How?"

"Rather obvious, when you see them snogging on a regular basis…" James looked at the six relatives staring at him. "Surprised none of you ever mentioned it. Dad told me, when I stayed with him in the spring. He fancies Adrian, but not enough to want to be with him… He wanted to be with Clara, but I guess that's not happening now…"

"So where has he been, this past month? With Adrian?" Ginny looked at her son bewildered.

"Hogsmeade, I think he said."

"James, why didn't you tell me?" Ginny was furious now. "What if there was an emergency?"

Ron watched the scene unfold, and saw that the Hogwarts Express was filling up with students, their luggage being loaded onto the train. Then the whistle sounded.

"Guys, the train won't wait for you, you know…" he tried to break the moment. The children all grabbed their bags and hugged the parents that were there, James reluctantly walking up to his mother.

"Sorry mum, I didn't want you to get upset…" James said as he approached Ginny. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.

"Don't worry, son… I just wasn't sure how to tell you…" she smiled, and placed a hand gently on his cheek. "Have a great fifth year, James…"

"Bye mum… Bye!" he shouted, and walked onto the train, following Lucy and Roxanne, and Ron hugged Rose tightly, then shooing her into a compartment. They all waved, smiled and noticed classmates, and left their parents standing on the platform, ready to tackle another year at Hogwarts.

"Wow, that was weird…" George sighed, as the train disappeared out of the station, wrapped into a huge cloud of steam.

"You can say that again," Ron grinned, trying to hold back his tears, as his farewell to Rose had been more emotional than he'd wanted.

"So, Harry Potter likes blokes…"

"As well, yeah."

"The Boy Who Couldn't Make Up His Mind…"

"Shut up, George," Angelina chipped in.

"What? He should just pick a side, he's old enough…"

"Not how it works, you twerp…"

"Can we just leave it, please?" Ginny glared at her brother, and turned to walk away, back to her life, away from assumptions about Harry.

"Do you want to come back to ours? I could do with a coffee and some cake," Hermione asked, and all said yes, bar Per- Penny, who had to go back to her work.

Ron smiled, but was quietly wondering what was going on with his best mate. Why on earth had he missed James going onto the Hogwarts Express?

~ to be continued ~