Disclaimer: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world.

Notes for the convenience of the reader: Harry's children: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie.

Chapter 5:

The Ministry was relieved that Harry had decided to resume his spell-breaking, especially that he would be willing to travel, even if it was only every alternate year. Like the Americans, they thought they should do everything possible to keep him happy, and instead of having the new Ministry Healer preside when he worked his magic, Vernon, who was still to be the Coodinator, spoke to Catherine Rutherford, who had been the Ministry Healer for many years. Harry liked her, and almost always cooperated with her. She was well into her seventies, but still well and active.

Before, when Harry had worked his cures, it had been at the practice of Healer Ben Weasley, and before that, Ben's mother, Hermione Granger. But Ben was retired, and Harry had made no moves to find himself a new healer. And security was so important. Harry Potter must not be lost to the world of wizardry. Arrangements were made. It took a few weeks, but finally, Harry was instructed to report to the Ministry, where he was to work his cures. He was to work every Thursday and Friday. It was expected that there would be heavy demand, as there was no longer anyone travelling. The clients had to come to London.

There was a large new room provided for him, actually within the Ministry building, a long way from the public areas, but close to the Transport Bay. Franz had ensured heavy protection. Harry sighed as he noticed that one side of the room was a transparent wall, behind which at least twenty chairs waited for observers, but brightened when Catherine stalked in. Catherine always seemed to stalk, an arrogant and bossy stride that pleased Harry. She'd been very good indeed when he'd really needed her, but didn't fuss otherwise. The Ministry Healers before her had fussed. He'd become fond of Jodie and Therese, but definitely preferred Catherine. Jodie and Therese were old too, now...

He ignored it when several observers were shown into their seats. He couldn't hear what they said, although they could hear him.

Catherine was flipping through her notes. "There's a lot," she warned. "Not many English, but quite a lot of Europeans, including three pumpkin-heads from Italy. About sixty patients all up."

"Pumpkin-heads!" said Harry. "There's been no pumpkin-heads for a long time."

Catherine was frowning at her notes. "Three weeks ago! They should have called you in earlier."

Pumpkin-heads were urgent. It was a wicked spell, luckily difficult to perform. A person's head was abruptly replaced by a pumpkin. But the person was still there, unable to see, hear, taste, or even feel, imprisoned within their own head. Nearly always, a pumpkin-head quickly went mad, and then he died, although the man/vegetable could live on for years before slowly withering away. It was a tragedy with a sickly comical appearance. None had ever been rescued before Harry had learned to do it.

Among the observers was a young medi-wizard who'd been doing some research on Harry's work, even reading a book that Harry had written on spell-breaking. For many of the things that Harry did, there were no words, and he had added something to the book. Only one with some telepathic ability would be able to fully understand that book, but Clarence Holmes had that ability. He was showing off his knowledge. "Pumpkin-heads often go berserk when rescued," he explained to those around him. "Harry's often been injured by them, including a severe head injury that left him crippled for a time."

"I'm surprised he still does them," said one.

"So am I," said the first. "I'm sure I wouldn't risk it!"

The pumpkin-heads hadn't arrived yet, and Harry was only doing the routine clients that he could do in his sleep. Holmes tried to extend his senses to look at his mind, as he could do with others. Instantly, he felt a block descend, and Harry, for the first time, was looking directly at the observers, frowning in annoyance. Holmes shrank back in his seat as the penetrating gaze found him.

For a long moment, Harry stared. Then Catherine asked, "Anything wrong?" and the auror drew his wand.

Harry still frowned, but said, "No, no, nothing wrong," and returned his attention to the room, where a witch with grossly enlarged breasts and buttocks waited hopefully, although very shame-faced. She'd gone to a charlatan, who'd promised that he could enhance her beauty, and could not then undo what he'd done. A scant glance from the great wizard and her clothing sagged from a more normal body. It was notoriously difficult to change one's appearance by magic, and that one very much regretted the attempt.

There was a break then, and a tea tray was wheeled in. Harry helped himself to coffee and leaned against the wall, drinking. The auror, Patrick, was by his side, but Catherine still sat at her desk.

Patrick glanced at the observers, most of them still watching. "It's like being in a bloody zoo!" he muttered.

Harry glanced at them, too, and agreed, suggesting they find somewhere else to have their coffee. Catherine was making some notes, and declined their invitation to join them, but looked up as they left the room. She knew Vernon wanted Harry to stay in the well guarded room, but she, too, thought that he deserved some privacy, and she, too, was feeling the annoyance of so many watching eyes.

Harry was leaning against the wall, now in the corridor, frowning into the distance, contemplating refusing to work while people watched. He was thinking about that wizard, too. He wore the insignia of a mediwizard, and he had some telepathic ability. Maybe he could work the telepathic cure. He'd taken a dislike to him, as he resented the attempt to probe his mind. But he should really talk to him. Maybe he could teach him. He should not be the only one who could break the 'unbreakable' spells.

But then Patrick was asking about the surfing, and Harry forgot the man whose name he still didn't know, and became enthusiastic as he spoke about surfing, and the dolphins that sometimes joined them. He needed his hands, then, to show how a dolphin could stand out of the water on its tail, and laugh with the humans. The coffee was set on the floor. Vernon was shyly waiting, reluctant to interrupt, but it was time to resume work. Harry noticed him and nodded, turning back to the room. Vernon picked up the half-drunk coffee. He'd organise something different for the following day, as the great wizard didn't seem to like having his breaks in the workroom.

Catherine greeted him. "The pumpkin-heads are here. I thought you might check whether they're alive so we know how many ambulance teams are needed."

In the waiting room, three monsters sat placidly, side by side. Harry nodded at the first, "Alive," hesitated at the next, before touching him, "Alive." He held the hand of the last for a few minutes, concentrating, searching, before pronouncing judgement. "Dead," he stated calmly, although he'd been upset the first time he'd found that. But that had been many years before, and now he took it for granted that some pumpkin-heads would die very quickly. He wouldn't do anything with that one. Probably, the healer would put him down, so that he could be buried. Before Harry had been able to state with certainty the fact of their death, it had been very hard for the relatives, having to wait until the vegetable started to wither away, and even then not quite sure when the time came for burial.

The observers waited and watched the empty work-room. They were looking forward to seeing the pumpkin-heads cured. From what Holmes had been saying, this could be exciting. Instead, the door of the observers' room opened, and the famous wizard was with them. He nodded at a few people he knew, and then spoke direct to that young medi-wizard, holding out his hand, and saying, "Hello, my name's Harry Potter."

Holmes was very nervous, but shook the hand, and introduced himself.

"Come with me," invited Harry. "I want to show you something."

Holmes rose, still nervous. He'd tried to look at the mind of the great wizard, and had been caught. He was frightened of punishment. But Harry only took him to the waiting room, and invited him to see if he could tell which of the pumpkin-heads were still alive. Holmes cast a nervous glance at Harry, but was told, "Forget about me, I won't hurt you. Just touch the patient, which often helps, and feel for the man inside." Holmes did as he said, forgetting Harry, who watched, and instead, concentrated. As Harry had done, he pronounced the first alive quite quickly, and hesitated over the second, finally saying, uncertainly, "I think he's alive." He took even longer over the third, finally saying that he could feel nothing.

Harry nodded. "Well done. That one's dead. Even if you don't learn to cure them yourself, at least you'll be able to say whether they're dead or alive."

Holmes gave a rather sickly smile, and Harry, seeing his trepidation, changed his mind about suggesting that he try and teach him to do the cures, only asking whether he'd like to join him in the workroom or return to the observers' room. Holmes was pale. He even felt rather ill. He was not a brave man, and there were many who still referred to Harry Potter as the Monster, because of his enormous magical power, because he was known to have telepathy, because he had single-handedly wiped out a race of magical creatures that had preyed on Wizardkind, and because of his unnatural longevity. Holmes chose to rejoin the observers.

Harry was frowning a little. Sometimes he heard thoughts whether he chose to or not. And that word 'Monster,' still hurt.

Pumpkin-head cures were telepathic cures. This was an alternative to the strong magic. It was a lot less effort for Harry, and he sometimes used it when he was ill or tired. The telepathic cure had been invented by Harry, before his power had grown so great. He'd sometimes had failures then. It was a matter of a telepathic probing within the mind of his patient, finding a particular point, that part of the mind that knew what the person should be like. With just a touch of magic, then, he could nudge that point, or awareness, and, reminded, the body would itself, cast off the spell that had changed it from what it was meant to be. But too often, it left his patients unhappy. Many felt it as an invasion, almost like a mental rape, although a few didn't feel it at all. Sometimes there would be an abrupt revolt against his intrusion, and as Harry had been in deep concentration, he'd be slow to react. He'd been quite often hurt by irate patients when he'd used that method. When healthy, therefore, he always preferred pure power. But he'd never yet managed to cure a pumpkin-head with pure power.

The observers straightened when the famous wizard reappeared, Catherine leading the pumpkin-head. An ambulance team was ready. Harry never started these patients until an ambulance team was actually there, waiting. Pumpkin-heads were not dangerous because of the horrible feeling of someone else's minds in their own, instead they went berserk because someone had done something unbelievably awful to them, and they wanted to kill. And somehow, they always knew that it was Harry who had probed. It was always Harry they wanted to kill.

Cissy had no telepathic ability, and only Harry's daughter, Beth, aside from himself, could work the telepathic cure, although she'd never attempted to cure a victim of the Pumpkin-head Curse. Beth seldom travelled from her sunny home in the Pacific Islands.

Patrick had been joined by another auror, and Harry was introduced to a large young man called Gareth. Harry used a barrier to try and protect himself from rescued pumpkin-heads now, but still preferred to have extra wands out and drawn, just in case.

Harry indicated, and the pumpkin-head was placed in a position.

"Do you remember how to do the barrier?" he asked Patrick.

Patrick nodded, and Harry showed where he wanted it. Try as he might to make his spells 'softer,' Harry could not make a spell that others could undo, which could be a problem if, for some reason, he was not available to undo it himself. A yielding, transparent barrier now stretched across the room, but Harry then added something to a door-sized portion. That portion was now almost transparent to telepathy, and this is where Harry went close, in order to do his work. Pumpkin-heads had become a lot safer for him since he'd developed the barrier, although he'd had to wait until his telepathic skills had increased sufficiently to work the cure from a distance, and without the physical contact, which had previously helped.

He was ready. Patrick had seen pumpkin-heads cured before, and warned Gareth how unpredictably dangerous they could be. Even when apparently calm, they could suddenly attack.

Harry had forgotten the observers now, as he began to concentrate. Holmes would have liked to listen in with his own telepathy, but didn't dare. For a little, there was nothing to see, just the famous man with his head down, concentrating. The monster melted back into a man, but no-one moved. Harry still concentrated. The cure was the easy part. Now he tried to keep the man calm, fighting the panic and berserk rage that Harry could feel within his patient.

At last, he raised his head, and stepped back. The man slumped to his knees, sobbing bitterly. Harry retreated to the wall, leaning against it, as Gareth called for the ambulance team. They had a hospital trolley ready, as sometimes these patients had to be stunned, or at least have a spell of Deep Calm imposed. This time, he was just led away, still crying. There were frightened glances toward Harry, but they were from two of the ambulance men, not from the patient.

The second pumpkin-head, and again Harry dropped his head, concentrating. This one was more difficult; he'd begun to die. Harry moved as close as he could, and was thinking he might have to do without the protection of the barrier. It took much longer, but the rescue was made, and the sick man sagged to the floor. Harry frowned at him. The man was pretty far gone. And yet, such was the nature of ex-pumpkin-heads, that when the ambulance men tried to lift him onto the trolley, he caught sight of Harry and struggled toward him, screaming in absolute rage, hands raised to attack. Gareth moved in front of Harry, and now that the patient could no longer see what he perceived to be his attacker, he collapsed. Harry waited until the patient left the room, out of sight behind the big auror, then calmly thanked him. All in a day's work.

There was a break for lunch then, to his relief. He'd worked hard, especially with that second one. Catherine noticed that he was trembling, and suspected that he'd over-tired himself, but said nothing. It was mental fatigue, not physical fatigue, and as soon as he'd stopped trembling, he said that he was just going for a walk, and would be back in an hour.

Vernon edged himself into the room. It was the fault more of his supervisors than of Harry that he was becoming more nervous. Mr. Potter had to be made as happy as possible, and Mr. Potter had to join the Minister and the Heads of Department for a formal luncheon. But Mr. Potter said Thank you very much, but he was going out. And he slipped off his cape, draped it over a chair, and walked out, quickly followed by Patrick.

"Where are we going?" Patrick asked after a while.

Harry answered, "I just wanted to walk for a while. They always give me the creeps, pumpkin-heads."

Patrick nodded. He could understand that. Harry stopped, scenting, and a few minutes later, both Harry and Patrick were eating some greasy fast food, washed down with soft drink. Two more aurors, who'd followed them, were envious. Patrick was on duty, too, but he could argue that it was important that Harry saw him as a companion, and didn't disapparate and leave him behind. The others were hungry, but had to put up with it.

Back at the Ministry building, poor Vernon was being rebuked. The elaborate luncheon had rather lost its point when the guest of honour declined to attend.

Patrick mentioned it to Harry. "Drysdale expected you to join him for lunch."

Harry agreed, and said casually, "They stop organising these things if I just don't turn up."

Patrick laughed, but said, "He's the Minister for Magic! He could make a bad enemy!"

"Too bad. If he has me killed, well, it's time I died. And now the Dementors are gone, I doubt if anyone could keep me prisoner - or not for long." And when they started to walk back, Harry referred to it again. "There was a Minister once, who adored having me at formal functions. I pandered to him. It wasn't any good. One day, I was working the strong magic, and an auror hit me in the back with a stunner. It made me very sick. It seems he thought I was a potential danger - or something."

Patrick said that he thought it very unlikely he'd be attacked by the Ministry again. "These days, we just keep getting told how vital it is that you're kept alive."

But Harry replied in an irritated tone, "I'm not going to be alive forever!"

That was the second time that Harry had referred to his own death, and Patrick took note. It was a matter for concern - it was as if the great wizard was not really concerned whether he lived or died. He would report to Franz, especially that earlier comment, If he has me killed, well, it's time I died.

The afternoon's work went smoothly then, and the following day, and the weeks after, Harry found that fairly simple refreshments were provided in a nearby room, for tea-breaks, and for lunch. He forgot about his half-formed intention to ban the observers, especially after the transparent wall was treated so that they were not so clearly observable from the workroom.