Chapter 14 - Epilogue

"You'd better hope and pray,

That you'll make it safe back to your own world.

You'd better hope and pray,

That you'll wake one day in your own world.

Because when you sleep at night

They don't hear your cries back in your own world

Only time will tell

If you can break the spell back in your own world

Stay with me, ooohhhooo, Stay with me"

"Its four minutes past six and I'm Tim Clarke, here with you for the next four hours on the breakfast show. That was Shakespeare's Sisters with Stay from back in 1992, and now …"

Joseph Rattyear hit the snooze button on his combined radio-alarm clock and, not for the first time wondered what his life had meant. It had been very eventful for sure. He had been orphaned as a baby and had grown up in various care homes and foster families, or at least that's what he half remembered. Unfortunately when he'd tried to research it, the records had been lost due to frequent changes of computer systems. Joseph wished he could find out something more concrete about his past and his parents; after all he had inherited a small fortune from them.

His own memory wasn't very good either. His early teenage years seemed to be filled with gaps and inconsistencies. He guessed he must have tried a few too many hallucinogenic substances in his youth. Joseph thought these may also explain some of the weird nightmares he still occasionally had, especially the one involving him slaying a giant snake like creature with King Arthur's Excalibur sword in an underground cavern!

But the loss of his parents and childhood weren't the only tragedies in Joseph's life, his beautiful wife Julie had died recently. She had contracted an infection in the hospital after going in for a routine operation to remove a troublesome wisdom tooth. This was something that Joseph felt particularly guilty about, as he hadn't even been with her when she passed away. He'd been abroad playing for the England team.

Joseph looked around the London home that he shared with his 11-year-old daughter, Lily and his 10-year-old son, James. It seemed so empty without Julie. She had been the rock that held the family together, the sensible one who blocked his hair-brained schemes. In short she was his everything. Now that she'd gone, it was time for him to rethink his life. His two children were more important to him than anything else and that included football. At the age of thirty one he knew his best days were behind him and he couldn't go on playing for ever.

Joseph decided he wasn't going to let his kids mess up their youth like he had, nor was he going to let them go through school and their teenage years without a loving parent. He certainly wasn't going to leave them alone to die like he had his wife. Guilt racked his mind as he made the decision to retire from the game he loved.

With his mind made up, he got up, put on his trademark dark glasses and cooked a fried breakfast, shouted at his kids to hurry up while he waited for the baby-sitter to arrive. Joseph caught sight of himself in the mirror and sighed. If he was going to act like the responsible parent perhaps it was time to look like one. Maybe he should lose the beard, it made him look too much like a hippie from a bad seventies cop show.

Joseph trudged back upstairs looking for a razor and some shaving foam. When he finally got to the mirror he stopped dead. Staring back at him was a clean-shaven face. Joseph just stood and stared at the mirror, how could this be happening? The simultaneous ringing of the fire alarm and the doorbell brought his attention back to the burning bacon and the arrival of the baby sitter.

Joseph dodged some very admiring glances and comments from the baby-sitter and hopped onto his battered old motorbike, hoping it would start and take him towards the stadium. He didn't even know why he kept the old bike; it wasn't as if he couldn't afford to replace it. All his team-mates had Ferrari's and BMW's and he earned more than any of them. It was just every time he went to get rid of it he couldn't. It was almost as if it had a link to his missing past, even if half the buttons and switches on it didn't seem to do anything.

Joseph thought to himself as he rode up the motorway, today was going to be different it was the last game of the season. A win against Arsenal would secure an unprecedented treble for the team, European Champions League, Premier League and F A Cup. Football couldn't get any better than this, so what better opportunity than to retire from the game at the top and spend more time with his children?

While he queued in traffic he considered his future. He'd never really felt like going into football management after he retired, and now after the loss of Julie he just wanted to retire to the quiet family life. That was assuming he could avoid the press and public intrusion into his life. Everywhere he went he got asked for his autograph and now the local council had just re-named the neighbouring street in Charing Cross after him. The same street that he'd first kicked a football in, where he'd been wandering alone at the age of eighteen, when a Sunday pub side had persuaded him to make up the numbers. Humble beginnings for the most successful striker in history thought Joseph wryly.

As he glanced at himself in the rear view mirror, Joseph thought he'd have to lose his trademark long auburn hair. He'd get it cut and dye it maybe bright red, no that stood out too much, black would be better. Nice and short too, well maybe not too short, leave a bit to cover than flaming scar that was on his forehead. Not for the first time Joseph wondered how he had come to have a lightening shaped scar on his forehead. The doctors had told him that it was a wound of some kind, and definitely not a birthmark. But it was unlike anything they had ever seen before. When he next glanced in the mirror Joseph almost fell off his bike. For staring back at him was a shorter, black haired Joseph Rattyear. Some helpful tips from other drivers got Joseph's concentration back onto the road and he was able to turn safely into the officials' entrance at Upton Park.

"Ere ooh the 'ell do you fink you are? Joseph friggin' Rattyear? Go on sod off," yelled the guard.

"Well yeah I am, Winston," said Joseph raising his glasses.

"Oh sorry sir, thought you was trying to sneak in without paying … didn't recognise you … sorry sir, err nice look there sir," stammered the guard.

Joseph's new look attracted similar comments from his team-mates; although they speculated that he must be either hiding from or trying to pull a woman. It even took the match commentator a full five minutes to identify who he was. Joseph thought it was probably the 35-yard drive that had somehow curled into the top corner of the Arsenal net that had finally convinced everyone of his identity.

Joseph scored twice more in the 3-1 victory, each time with one of his trademark swerving shots, where he seemed to able to just will the ball into the back of the net. As he walked off after the final whistle to the congratulations of his team-mates he wasn't too surprised to hear he'd won the man of the match award.

"… and now to present the bottle of champagne for the West Ham Utd man of the match award, would you please give a warm welcome to today's match sponsors 'Thomas Brown Associates'. Presenting the bubbly and the match ball is the managing director and life long 'Hammers' fan … Mr Dean Thomas. Annnnnd of course our winner is today's hat trick hero, the Premierships top scorer, step forward Mr Joseph Rattyear."

"Thanks," said Joseph accepting the champagne and the football, while trying to pose for the camera. "I would like to thank everyone here at Upton Park for the tremendous support they've given me over the last fourteen seasons. It's been my honour to play for such an illustrious club and I don't think it can get any better than this, winning the treble and being the country's top scorer. However, sadly my beloved wife, Julie is not here to celebrate with me. Her death has made me see things differently and as a result I've decided to hang up my boots and spend more time with my young family."

The announcement stunned the crowd and created an impromptu press conference that took Joseph a good half an hour to escape where he bumped into Mr Thomas again.

"Sorry for stealing your thunder back there," said Joseph, sweeping his hand across his forehead to wipe the sweat away. "It seemed an opportune moment to retire."

The sponsor looked stunned for a split-second, and Joseph realised he'd seen his scar. Eventually Dean Thomas replied "No errrr problem. Ummm, would you sign an autograph for my son please?"

"Sure," said Joseph putting down his awards and raising his glasses to make polite eye contact with the sponsor. As he glanced down to sign the paper, he missed the look of shock that crossed Dean's face as he stared at Joseph's green eyes.

"What's your lad's name?" asked Joseph.

"H… H… Harrrrrrrrrry?" stammered Dean.

"Ok. To Harry, with best wishes, Joseph Rattyear," said Joseph as he wrote the words on the paper. "Got to rush, could do with a shower and all that."

Joseph rushed off to the changing room leaving Dean looking as if he'd seen a ghost; a ghost from fourteen years past.

"You would have thought that after all these years that the idiots would have stopped claiming to see Harry Potter everywhere," sighed Ron Weasley as he sat down for dinner in the cottage he shared with his wife Hermione and their children.

"Look at this welsh tit, she even claims that the Muggle 'Prince Harry' is Harry Potter, apparently it's conclusive proof because some Muggle newspaper 'The Sun' named him Harry Pothead. Silly cow; she's even got a stupid name Ceri Crackers."

Trying to juggle preparing her husband's tea, planning the new term's lessons and keeping an eye on three troublesome children meant Hermione Weasley could only nod half-heartedly at her husband's work.

Ron had only been working for the ministry for a few months, having retired from playing professional quidditch as keeper for the Chudley Cannons. He had been their most successful keeper ever, playing a leading role in the team's only victory in the last hundred years. Although even Ron would admit that it was fortuitous that the snitch had flown through the open fly of Cannons Seeker's jeans. A place where the opposing Seeker did not dare feel around for it.

Ron opened another of the letter's he'd brought home from work. "This one thinks that Harry Potter is the Muggle pop-star Stevie Wonder … What planet are these people on?"

Ron glanced up to his wife to see why she wasn't laughing, "Oh sorry dear let me help," added Ron apologetically. "How was your day?"

"I never knew how much a deputy-head had to do, I guess Minerva never seemed so busy when we were at school, mind you she doesn't have a family to look after. I'm a bit nervous as the Hogwarts letters go out tomorrow, and I've got to visit some of the Muggle-borns for the first time."

At Ron's blank look Hermione continued, "If the family has no wizarding connections then we can't just send them an owl. Minerva usually takes it in person to explain about Hogwarts and the Magical World. This year, as she's getting older, the task has fallen to me."

"Why you, can't they get someone without a family to do it?"

"There's nobody else Muggle-born, or even capable of talking to non-magical people without scaring them half to death."

"Good luck Dear," said Ron absentmindedly opening the last envelope. "This …this .." Ron swore as he read the piece of parchment in his hand.

"Ronald Weasley not in front of the children," admonished Hermione.

"Err sorry, this idiot thinks that the Muggle Soccer star Joseph Ratty-ear is actually Harry. Ha Ha Ha this is the best yet, He's nothing like Harry, a complete scruff with a long blonde beard and pony tail."

Hermione looked thoughtful, noticing it Ron elaborated, "Dean took me to see West Ham a couple of years ago, and this Ratty-ear bloke plays for them. It's a dead boring game anyway, not only do all the outfield players stay on the ground all the time, but even the bloody keeper isn't allowed to fly either. How stupid is that? Now let's see which clot sent this; it's from a Dean Thomas …"

Ron stopped in shock. "Oh now I understand, it's a joke. The idiot is trying to wind me up because he knows I'm in charge of answering this crap."

"Ron … Ron," called Hermione desperately. "Tomorrow, I'm going to see a Joseph Rattyear to give a Hogwarts letter to his daughter … Lily."

Ron looked shocked but quickly recovered, "No love Harry died, remember there was a Muggle who saw it. Anyway if he was still out there he would have contacted us by now, he wouldn't have put us or Ginny through that."

Hermione rushed into her overstocked Library, returning with a book entitled. 'The Fall of Vol … Volder… err …You-Know-Who' by Jurgen Furgutnow. She started reading out loud. "From tests on his wand, it is known that Harry Potter cast the final and fatal incendio curse. The resulting fireball not only killed Lord Voldemort but tragically enveloped Harry Potter as well. There has been much speculation as to how Harry came to die as well, but we do know for sure, from the amount of blood found at the battle site, that both wizards were seriously injured by this stage in the duel. Although no wizards bore witness, the disaster was seen by a passing Muggle. Joseph Rattyear picked up Harry Potter's wand, but he was unable to save the Boy-Who-Lived's life. Joseph was obliviated by MLE's and at the time of writing was still living in North London unaware that he had witnessed the greatest event in wizarding history."

Ron looked at Hermione still confused. "They found his body, remember we had to try and identify it."

"No love, they found a body, which was unidentifiable. It could have been anyone. Snape for example, he's not been seen since. Maybe he died fighting alongside Harry and isn't living in disguise as a Muggle as we all thought!"

"But if he's Harry, why didn't he get in touch? I thought we were friends. I'll bloody kill him for putting Ginny through fourteen years of agony."

"When you're obliviated they remove all wizarding memories from you. I'll be willing to bet that Harry didn't know that when he let himself be obliviated, and that now he doesn't know anything …", cried Hermione.

"But why did he want to pretend to die?" asked Ron.

"I suspect he couldn't handle the thought of all the fame. I mean the ministry are still getting those stupid letters about him even now, so imagine what it would have been like if he'd survived."

"Wait a minute, … hairy ugly footballer … it can't be Harry. He could never have changed his appearance to fool ministry aurors, and anyway he didn't even know anymore about football than I did. Also we sent Hedwig and she couldn't find him and Fawkes sang a lament and has bonded with Bill. There's no way he can be Harry," protested Ron.

"I don't know dear, I'm as confused as you are. Owls find people by homing in on their magical signature, or in the case of deliveries to Muggles and squibs by flying to their address. How could Harry disguise his magical signature? Similarly Fawkes reacted as if Harry's magic had died."

Hermione suddenly opened her eyes wider and smacked her forehead. "Wait a minute. Do you remember when we found thiefsbane potion in the Hogwarts dungeon? What if Snape wasn't going to use it on himself to escape Azkaban, what if he used it on Harry? This Joseph really could be Harry and not know anything about it. I'll find out for sure tomorrow when I go and see him."

Ron Weasley couldn't fall asleep, he was too busy wondering if his best friend from school could really be alive after all these years, but worried as well at all the secrets he'd been hiding from his friends before the battle with Voldemort. Had Harry planned to abandon our world all along? How had he fooled the aurors into believing he was a Muggle? Well they would find out tomorrow who Mr Joseph Rattyear was. Giving up on sleep, he got up carefully, so as not to disturb his wife, and flooed over to the Burrow to see his younger sister.

Early the following morning Hermione sat on a bench, in the newly named Rattyear Road. She was nervous about today, was it possible that this man was her best friend Harry Potter, and if so how? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She needed to be professional today as this was primarily Hogwarts business. Slowly she relaxed and picked up her copy of The Quibbler and glanced at the headline.

Awake after 29 years. Exclusive in today's issue of The Quibbler we bring you the incredible story of Frank Longbottom, who has spent over half his life in St Mungo's totally unaware of his surroundings.

Frank, father of world-renowned herbologist, Neville Longbottom, 31, was tortured along with his wife, Alice, into apparent irreversible insanity by Death Eaters shortly after the first defeat of Lord Voldemort. However, his son Neville never gave up hope of restoring his parents' minds, and last week succeeded in returning his father to good health using a memory restorative potion, brewed from several new varieties of plants which he had bred himself.

See page 2 for details of Neville Longbottom's life-long work in the field of memory restorative plants.

Page 3 - Exclusive Interview with Neville Longbottom about his hope that he can help his mother next.

Page 4 - Exclusive interview with Frank Longbottom.

Pages 5 to 6 our medical experts consider the implications of this new potion which is understood to also reverse memory charms.

Hermione flicked through the paper, stopping at page seven, which contained a large photograph of Ginny and Harry kissing in the Gryffindor common room. The photograph Harry turned and winked at Hermione, who started reading. Today, as we celebrate the fourteenth anniversary of the incredible defeat of the most evil wizard of all time, The Quibbler remembers the sacrifices made by the many brave wizards and witches who fought the Death Eaters.

See pages 8 to 14 for details of those who lost their lives so we could live free today.

For the first time ever, in her-own words, read the heart-wrenching story about The-girl-who-loved-the-boy-who-lived. Hear how she lost both the love of her life and her unborn child in the final battle with the evil Voldemort. Interview with Ginny Weasley on Pages 15-16.

Stories by Luna Longbottom, Photographs by Colin Creavey

"Oh Ginny, why?" sighed Hermione aloud.

"I finally thought I had laid his ghost to rest," answered a very real voice from behind her, causing her to jump. "Then something like this comes along, and as I knew when I was just thirteen, I can never get over Harry. Thanks for letting me come with you today."

"It's against my better judgement, and school policies," said Hermione, as she got up, giving Ginny a quick hug. Together they strode up to a nearby house and knocked on the door.

Joseph eyed up the two women who were stood at his door. They didn't look or act like the obsessive fans he'd had to contend with in the past. In fact they looked somehow familiar, especially the red-head. Joseph realised he was staring, and as if suddenly remembering his manners, he invited them in. "Please take a seat," he said as he showed them into the living room.

"Mr Rattyear, thank you for seeing us at such short notice, I'm Mrs Weasley and this is Miss Weasley" said Hermione as she sat down and took out a sheaf of papers on a clipboard.

"Now, I'm afraid you'll have to explain all this to me. You see, my late wife, dealt with all the arrangements regarding our children. Although I must say, I had no idea that she had put Lily down for a boarding school in Scotland. I daresay she thought I might get transferred to Celtic." Joseph chuckled but stopped abruptly when he caught the look on the two women's faces. He assumed they didn't understand what they had heard, and not that they were trying to figure out whether or not he was Harry Potter.

The man seated in front of Hermione and Ginny looked very much like Harry, but they couldn't be sure. He was much more muscular and fourteen years older, than the Harry of their memories. If only they could see his eyes behind those damned dark glasses he was wearing.

"Sorry footballing joke, now before we start can I offer you two ladies a coffee?"

"Your late wife?" Ginny asked, eventually ending the awkward pause.

"Yes, sadly she passed away a few weeks ago," Joseph paused and sniffed. "So bloody, pointless really." As he said this the cup in his hand shattered. "So, sorry, this seems to be happening to me quite a bit lately. I'm not really used to being a host. How do you like your coffee?"

Joseph had to repeat the question, as Hermione was scribbling notes on the paper in front of her. This bloke did look very similar to Harry, but she still wasn't sure, and no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't see a scar on his forehead as his thick black hair covered it at all times. In any case, why would he have called himself a stupid name like Rattyear? It was worse than Voldemort and that was a bloody anagram?

"Milk no sugar, and the same for Ginny," said Hermione hesitantly, as she continued to scribble on her sheet of paper.

"Ginny" said Joseph thoughtfully while offering her a biscuit. "I don't mean to sound rude, and I know that this is going to sound a bit silly, but I feel that I know you from somewhere?"

Ginny looked shell-shocked, but before she could answer Hermione gave a loud cry, " OHHH … NOOO !!!"

Joseph and Ginny turned quickly to see great big tears rolling down Hermione's cheeks as she covered her mouth with her hand. The clipboard, covered in notes, slid off her lap and landed with a bang on the floor. Ginny bent over and picked it up. She started to work her way down Hermione's writing and after five seconds she gave an ear-splitting scream and promptly fainted.

Joseph's sporting reflexes cut in as he easily dived to his knees and caught Ginny before she hit the carpet. Hermione was still frozen; the tears were now falling from her bright red cheeks onto her jumper as she stared wide eyed at Joseph.

As he held the red-head gently in his arms, Joseph caught the scent of a familiar smell; a nice, calming smell, almost like a garden he once knew. He tried vainly to recall exactly where he remembered it from, but in the end all he could think about were gnomes.

Joseph was brought back to the present as the woman in his arms groaned. Instinctively, he knew what he had to do. "Have you got any chocolate?" he asked the other woman, who had now stopped crying, but was looking oddly at him.

"She needs chocolate," elaborated Joseph. "It helps if you collapse after an attack of deme… err, I mean, if you err faint," finished Joseph lamely as he berated himself for mixing up real life and his ridiculous dreams.

Hermione thrust a strange packet into Joseph's hands before dissolving into tears again. Joseph stared at the wrapper, which read 'Chocolate Frog.' That's a new one he thought to himself as he tore it open, jumping in shock as a lifelike frog shaped chocolate hopped from the packet and out the open living room window, leaving Joseph looking blankly at a card which had fallen from the packet. Staring back at Joseph from the card, was a portrait of a boy; a boy whose hair looked remarkably like his own. Both Joseph and the boy stared unblinkingly at each other, as they simultaneously ran their hands through their respective hair, revealing that each had an identical lightening bolt shaped scar. The boy in the photo gasped and ran out of the side picture. Instinctively Joseph turned the card over, but the boy had vanished.

The back of the card read 'Harry James Potter 1981-1997. Known as the chosen one, Harry Potter is famous for defeating the dark wizard, Voldemort, twice. The second time bravely sacrificing his own life to banish the evil wizard for ever. Harry Potter was also the youngest wizard to play House Quidditch at Hoqwarts in over a century.

Feeling movement in his arms, Joseph looked down to find the red-head had come round, and was now staring wide-eyed at his scar. Joseph didn't find this as unnerving as he usually did, there was something comforting and familiar about those beautiful brown eyes. As he looked down at her, their eyes met and Ginny breathed one word, "Harry?" before she fainted again.

Fainting, hysterical women, escaping chocolate and now animated photos of himself, were quickly becoming too much for Joseph to take. He looked around desperately scanning the room for answers when he noticed the clipboard. He reached out for it and glanced at the top sheet of paper. It was covered in words which had been crossed out. He read the few that remained; 'Anagram' had been repeatedly underlined and at the very bottom of the sheet was,

'MR JOSEPH RATTYEAR HARRY JAMES POTTER.'

Joseph stared uncomprehendingly at the clipboard for a few seconds, before he looked up bewildered, searching for an answer.

Hermione took a while before she was able to reply with out bursting into further tears. She looked deep into those familiar green eyes and asked "Harry, would you like to know how you got that scar?"

The (real) end