Chapter Ten

   Harry returned home around ten o'clock that morning drenched in his own sweat and aching from head to toe. Dudley's idea of a "beginner's" workout had required Harry to use muscles he previously hadn't realized he possessed. Harry had been surprised to find that interacting with Dudley had been the easy part and the working out extremely difficult, having expected quite the opposite. Of course the strenuous exercising hadn't allowed much leeway for conversation, other than the occasional directions and sparse praise from Dudley. The end of the session had ended in a sweaty handshake, an "Atta boy," from Dudley to Harry and an arrangement to meet at the same place at the same time the day after next. Although he had to admit that it felt nice to leave his flat for somewhere other than the dank, dim bar, Harry also could not pretend that the day had been easy. He hadn't expected it to be, of course... but he also hadn't expected it to be as challenging as it had been. It was like a rude slap to Harry's face for him to discover just how out of shape he had let himself become. Harry was feeling positive in the moment however that under Big D's tutelage, he would shed the extra pounds packed on by both alcohol and long periods of inactivity, and perhaps along with them, his negative attitude. Harry wasn't sure where this recently acquired sense of confidence had come from, but he found that he rather fancied it.
   Remembering his promise to call Hermione and tell her about his day, Harry made his way into his sitting room, stripping out of his wet, foul smelling clothing as he went until he was down to his boxers by the time he reached both the telephone and the couch he collapsed onto. Realizing that his wand had been tucked somewhere amongst his clothing, Harry bent forward with an audible groan at the stretching of already sore muscles until he was able to unearth it from under the crumpled heap of scarlet that was his sweat pants. He flopped back into his seat and held the wand aloft as he said the words, "Accio Water." Moments later he reached out and snatched out of the air the bottle of water that had came zooming towards him from the kitchen. Cracking the lid, he gulped down nearly half the bottle in one long swallow. Feeling slightly replenished, he found the bit of strength he needed to pick up the phone and dial Ron and Hermione's telephone number.
   "Hullo?," Ron's voice answered.
   "Hey, it's Harry. Alright, Ron?"
   "Yeah mate, I'm brilliant. How are things for you?"
   "I feel like I've been chased and beaten by Dobby's rogue Bludger," Harry answered with a derisive snort.
   "That good, eh? Hermione told me her plan. I told her she was mental. But she was determined... and you know how Hermione gets when she's got her mind set to something. I just never thought she'd actually get the Muggle to go along with it!," Ron sounded genuinely surprised.
   "Yeah, me neither. Outsmarted me once again, I suppose."
   "Well mate, I mean it's not like that's very hard to do...," there was a smile in Ron's voice.
   "Yeah, yeah... put Hermione on, will you?"
   "Hello?," Hermione's gentle voice issued from the phone speaker now.
   "Hi, Hermione. Just called to let you know that I'm still alive... barely."
   "Glad to hear it! How was it? Are you all bulging biceps and rippling abs now?," she questioned, a tone of mirth detectable. Harry laughed out loud before he managed to answer her.
   "No, not quite yet. I think I might can at least manage to get back to the body I had right before I er.... left work."
   "Well that's a start. I mean you can't really expect more than that, can you? How was it with Dudley? Was he as terrible as you imagined?," Harry could sense a note of sarcasm coloring Hermione's voice now.
   "Oh ha, ha. Yes, he was absolutely dreadful. Worse than Snape and Filch combined," Harry retorted.
   "Well he sounds just downright delightful then," and Harry could tell that Hermione was now grinning. "Did Ron tell you about the owl his father sent him today?," she asked, turning suddenly serious.
   "No, he didn't. What owl?," Harry found himself getting nervous now.
   "Oh well Mr. Weasley sent a message for you, care of Ron. He didn't want to take a chance on you not receiving his owl. He says that he heard from Percy that the Aurors are holding a meeting tomorrow about the new information that's been cropping up. He says that they're also going to discuss electing a new Head of Department. Arthur reckons that you ought to show up and convince them to let you have your job back."
   "I'm not ready to go back to work yet," Harry immediately replied.
   "Well yes, I know you're not ready right now but you will be! I'm sure Harry if you just go in there and explain that you're trying to get your life back in order and that you really want to come back they'll at least consider! And if all else fails you can still throw around the fact that you're Harry-bloody-Potter, that's still got to count for something!," Hermione swore vehemently.
    Harry smiled in spite of himself. He couldn't help but get fired up when Hermione was impassioned like this. He could practically visualize her eyes ablaze with her brand of steely determination. Maybe there was something to her suggestion. It did seem like the right time for him to return. He knew when he'd been unceremoniously thrown out on his can years back that the Ministry had claimed that they would contact him, but all the same it felt quite foolish to sit back and just simply allow someone else to take claim to what he still thought of as his position. With a certainty that Harry hadn't felt in a long time, he quickly made up his mind. 
   "He's absolutely right. What time is this meeting taking place?," he asked Hermione now.
   "Nine o'clock.... why?"
   "I'm going to be there, that's why. I'm going to try to get my job back."
   "Oh Harry, that's wonderful!," squealed Hermione. Harry could tell she was grinning again. A smile broke out across his face too.
   "I'll talk to you later then, I haven't eaten yet today and I'm starved. Oh and tell Ron I'm proud of him for learning how to talk properly on the phone."
  "Will do. Call me tomorrow and-"
   "Tell you how it goes. Will do," Harry echoed. He and Hermione said goodbye and then hung up. Harry sat back on the couch taking another sip from his bottled water and began to contemplate all the sudden changes that had taken place as of recent. They all led back to one source: that mysterious brown eye within Sirius' mirror.

Chapter Nine

  Morning dawned brightly, a soft golden chink of sunlight shining through a gap in the tan colored curtains covering Harry's bedroom window. It was this beam of light that prevented Harry from drifting back off to sleep like he wanted to when his alarm rang at 5:45. Harry pushed back his covers and climbed a little stiffly out of bed before drifting off towards the bathroom to grab a quick shower. Harry turned his face up towards the warm spray issuing from the shower head, trying desperately to wake himself up. Harry wished he had a flask of Invigoration Draught however for all the good the shower was doing. Dressing himself quickly in an old, slightly snug T-shirt and a pair of faded, scarlet sweat pants, Harry decided against breakfast as he sat on the side of the tub, lacing up his worn trainers. He had a feeling that this was something Dudley would likely advise against, but Harry also had a feeling that he would be vomiting up his insides later after exercising, so better an empty stomach than a full one. Stuffing his wand into the waistband on his sweats and covering it with his shirt, Harry exited the flat and with a loud crack that rent the quiet morning air, Apparated seconds later into the alley behind the gym Dudley was waiting for him inside.
   Harry strode quickly around to the front of the small brick building, eager to begin now that he was here. Pushing his way through two sets of glass fronted doors, it didn't take long to spot Dudley among the sparse crowd of people that populated the little gymnasium. Dudley looked up from the spot where he stood lifting weights at the sound of someone new entering the building. Realizing it was Harry, Dudley replaced the weights on a large metal rack and made his way to where Harry stood, stalled on the small black mat right inside the doorway. A smile spread across his face which frankly surprised Harry. "Harry, good to see you again, mate!," Dudley called as he hurried forward, hand outstretched for a handshake as he approached an apprehensive Harry. Coming to his senses, Harry lunged his hand forward, firmly grasping Dudley's slightly sweaty one and giving it a vigorous shake. He didn't know where this happiness was coming from, but Harry knew the tightness in his cheeks meant he was enthusiastically returning Dudley's wide smile. "Good to see you too, Dudders!," Harry replied at last. Who was he and where had the real Harry gone?
   "Sorry if I'm late...," Harry began.
   "Oh no, you're right on time. I was early," Dudley replied briskly. "Er, well then, let's get started then shall we?," Dudley said, throwing a nervous glance in Harry's direction. Ah yes, there it was, that familiar awkwardness that Harry had come to associate with Dudley Dursley. Harry gave his cousin an appraising glance and discovered that he was still just as tall, blond, and large as he remembered. Fat had given way to muscles however, and despite whatever reservations Harry may have had, he knew that there was no doubt Dudley could get the job done.
   "Right then, where should we start first?," Harry asked, looking around now at the machines within the gym, wondering vaguely which one would hurt the least.
   "Let's start with some cardio. Get the blood pumping a bit," Dudley replied, nodding his head in the direction of an intimidating looking treadmill. Harry swallowed hard, nodded once, then trailed Dudley over to the machine. "Right, hop on then," Dudley instructed. Harry obeyed and waited and watched as Dudley fiddled with buttons and knobs on the machine's front, everything very foreign to Harry despite having grown up with Dudley and his parents.
   "How does this work?," Harry wanted to know.
   "It's easy. Just hang on to these bars and walk with the pace of the treadmill. Ready?"
   "Er, yeah, I guess...," Harry didn't feel at all ready, but he was determined not to make a fool of himself in front of Dudley. Dudley pressed another button and the belt beneath Harry's feet began to lurch forward. Startled by the sudden motion, Harry forgot to move his feet and as a result very nearly landed on his face. With a slight flailing of limbs and many muttered curse words, Harry regained his balance and began to walk in rhythm with the machine. Luckily conversation was impossible as within a minute or less, Harry became significantly out of breath. Dudley required him to huff and puff along for what felt like several hours, but Dudley assured him was only twenty minutes. Sweat dripping into his face, Harry stumbled off of the treadmill and bent over with his hands on his knees, wheezing and spluttering for air. Dudley disappeared from Harry's side and reappeared moments later with a soft, white towel and an ice cold bottle of water. Harry gratefully accepted both and proceeded to mop himself up and rehydrate. Feeling slightly refortified, Harry looked up and into Dudley's eyes and with a tiny grin asked, "What's next?"

Chapter Eight

   Hours later after Hermione had went home, Harry sat hunched over in an armchair next to his boarded up fireplace, running his hands through his already messy hair. What on earth had he been thinking? That was his problem, wasn't it? He didn't think. Harry no longer harbored any ill feelings toward his cousin, but at the same time he couldn't imagine spending more than two minutes alone with him in the same room. The few occasions that they had seen each other over the past several years had been awkward at best. However, Hermione was right... he did need to get back in shape and unless he wanted the entire Ministry (rumors spread like Fiendfyre within its walls) to find out just how far off from his former self that he had gotten, Dudley was his best option. Just as Harry was coming to the conclusion that perhaps he was doing the right thing after all, his phone began to ring. Feeling sure that it was Hermione calling to set up his first training session, Harry didn't hesitate to answer like he normally would. However instead of Hermione's soft voice, it was a male voice that spoke, one that Harry did not immediately recognize. "Harry, Harry Potter?"
   "Who wants to know?," Harry questioned the man.
   "This is Rockin' D... you know, from The Leaky Cauldron? You haven't been in this week and I was getting worried, 's all," explained the gruff voice on the other end of the phone. Harry smiled, bemused. He'd only missed a few days at his usual watering hole and already people were sending out search parties?
   "Er, well I appreciate your concern, but I'm quite alright, thanks. Trying to lay off the sauce a bit. Er, bad for my health and all," Harry replied.
   "Ah, right ya are, good sir. Hope ye don't mind me callin'. 'S only Hagrid gave me your number and asked me to check on ye. Said he'd do it himself but something abou' someone named 'Grarp' or somethin' or nother," the bartender explained hastily to Harry.
   "Well thanks again for checking in, but I'm fine. Have a good evening." And before the man could even reply, Harry returned the receiver to its base. Harry was amused but at the same time couldn't help but be slightly annoyed at Hagrid for giving his phone number away to a stranger. He made a mental note to either call or send an owl to him in the next day or so to both reprimand him for his blunder and to inquire about Hagrid's giant half-brother Grawp. Before Harry had even finished fully forming this thought, the telephone bleated loudly again. Now feeling a bit irritated, Harry snatched it back up with a little more force than he had intended. "What?," he practically growled into the phone.
   "Um, Harry?" This time it was Hermione.
   "Oh, sorry 'Mione, I thought you were... er, I thought you were someone else," Harry faltered, not wanting to admit to Hermione that he frequented the bar so often that his whereabouts were questioned after just one or two nights of not turning up.
   "Well never mind that, I've just finished setting up your first training session with Dudley. He says he has some time tomorrow. You'll be meeting him at six AM sharp over at the All-Stars Boxing Gym on Harrow Road in London."
   "Tomorrow? Six in the morning?," Harry practically yelped.
   "Well yes, Harry! When did you think you'd start? In a few months? A couple of years, perhaps?," Hermione retorted sharply.
   "Oh alright then. Best to get it over with, I suppose. I'll be there, though I don't see why it has to be so bloody early!," Harry whined.
   "Well I told him you wanted to start as soon as possible and that was the earliest time he had available. Take a nap afterwards, whatever you have to do. Just be there!"
   "Alright, alright. I'll be there, I promise," Harry reluctantly agreed.
   "Great! Call me after and let me know how it goes, won't you?"
   "Oh, believe me, you'll be the first person to know," Harry snorted. He and Hermione said their goodbyes then Harry hung up the phone and sat back in the arm chair he was still occupying. Glancing at the watch on his wrist (an old birthday present from Mrs. Weasley), Harry blanched at the time and resigned that he ought to go to bed if he was to get up for his first torture session with Dudley at the crack of dawn. He stumped off in the direction of his bedroom, already positively dreading what the next morning was to bring.

Chapter Seven: Dudley Do Right

   Harry felt a fraction of something close to relief at the thought that once again he would have his two best friends by his side as he journeyed into the unknown. What was to come, Harry could not be certain. He knew that fighting Death Eaters, new or old, would be no easy feat, but anything had to be easier than defeating Voldemort and he had already done that, hadn't he? Blowing out a breath that lifted his ruffled bangs off his forehead momentarily, Harry silently wondered if this would ever truly be over. Or would there always be someone else ready to step up to the plate? How many years, decades, centuries more would wizards have to fight for equality amongst themselves? A frown on his face now, Harry stood and prepared to take his leave from Ron and Hermione's home. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way then. I've kept you up long enough, " Harry addressed Hermione as he tucked his vacated bar stool back up under the kitchen island. "Thank you for the tea and for allowing me to barge in in the middle of the night," he grinned now in Ron's direction.
   "No worries, mate. Only next time make sure it's an emergency, eh?," Ron kidded, returning Harry's grin.
   "Well then, I'll be in touch with you two soon. Goodnight," Harry responded as he turned and made his way back into the entrance hall, Ron and Hermione calling "goodbye" to his back. Harry reentered his flat a few seconds later with his wand raised in front of him. "Homenum Revelio," he muttered, a human presence revealing spell he'd learned from Hermione and used every time he came back home, which was nearly every night as he went (thoroughly disguised) to The Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks. Satisfied no one was there but him, Harry came on in the door and did up the several locks, bolts, and chains he had installed. Exhausted both mentally and physically, Harry went immediately towards his bedroom and flopped down onto his bed. Not even bothering to undress, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the gentle hum of the small fan he usually kept blowing on his bedside table. Just as the thought came to him that he ought to at least remove his glasses, Harry found himself dozing off into a fretful, dream filled sleep. 
   Immediately upon waking, Harry held his hands out in front of his face. They were blurred, his glasses haven fallen off sometime in his sleep, but the hands were his. He'd been dreaming that he was Voldemort and that he had risen people from the dead to force them to do his bidding. It might not have been quite as terrible if the people had remained faceless, unknown entities, but instead, as they so often did, had bore the visages of people from Harry's past. Sitting up rather quickly, Harry's head spun for a moment and his stomach lurched uncomfortably. A sour taste filled his mouth and the not uncommon desire to remain holed up in his room the remainder of the day seemed to fill Harry's entire being. However, this dream was short lived as a knock at his door broke through his daze. 
   Harry, still in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, shoved his glasses back onto his face and staggered towards his front door wondering who could possibly be here unannounced. Realizing he didn't even have it on him, Harry redoubled his footsteps to his bedroom to retrieve the wand that had rolled up under his stately bed.  Another round of delicate knocking issued from behind the front door as Harry crept slowly, carefully towards it. Now that he knew he had an enemy after him again, he wasn't taking any chances. Peering through the peephole, Harry saw not a foe, but a friend. Hermione stood there, hand poised to knock again looking rather timid. Harry began unlocking the series of bolts and chains that kept his door sealed tight and opened it to bright sunlight and Hermione's squinted face. "Hello, Harry!," Hermione called out when she caught sight of him peering around the door frame. "May I come in, please?"
   Instead of stepping aside and letting her in, Harry raised his wand towards her slightly and began to question her. "What dinner were we supposed to have that night on the day we infiltrated the Ministry?" 
   "Wha-what?," spluttered Hermione, seemingly thrown off by Harry's behavior.
   "Answer me!"
   "Kreacher was making a steak and kidney pie!," Hermione finally answered, this time sounding offended to have been accosted in such a manner. 
   "Alright, come in then. I had to check, I'm sorry," Harry retorted as he finally stood aside to let Hermione squeeze in the doorway. Harry was sorry that he had upset her but he felt that given the current circumstances he couldn't be too careful. Hermione looked at him now, hands at her sides, a slight frown distorting her otherwise pretty features. She slipped past Harry and made her way down the hall into the sitting room. Harry followed behind her and came to rest a few feet away from his friend who had taken up residence on the well worn green sofa. "Harry, there's something I need to talk to you about.," she said the moment that Harry had joined her on the couch. 
   "What is it?," he asked, beginning to feel slightly anxious. Surely nothing good could come out of a conversation with Hermione that started this way. They usually ended in him doing something he'd really rather not do. 
   "Well, you know how you said you needed to get back in shape before you could return to the Aurors?"
   "Yes...."
   "Well, I was thinking about that and I believe I've found a solution. It isn't one you're going to like, but please at least hear me out!," Hermione's voice rose steadily as if Harry had already begun to refuse her suggestion. This did nothing to ease Harry's trepidation. In fact it only reiterated his fear that whatever it was Hermione was struggling to say, he didn't want any part of it. 
   "Fine, I'll listen to you, but spit it out already!"
   "I think that Dudley should train you." An extremely puzzled and troubled look stole across Hermione's face as Harry burst into laughter. This was obviously not the reaction she'd been expecting. "Well really, I didn't think it was that bad of a suggestion," Hermione said hotly, crossing her arms and glaring at a still laughing Harry. 
   "It's-not-that-funny," Harry wheezed, struggling to contain himself. "I just honestly can't imagine Dudley wanting to help me do anything!"
   "Oh, you know that's not true! He still feels horrible all these years later about the way he treated you as a child, so I'm sure he's more than willing to help. Besides, he's in top shape and a boxing champ to boot! He's the perfect person really, if you think about it."
   "Okay, yeah. If you can convince Dudley Dursley to help me get back in shape, I'll do it," Harry replied, no trace of laughter on his face now, just a stony seriousness. 
   "Well that's excellent then because see, I've already asked him! And he's agreed," Hermione was grinning from ear to ear as she said these words.
   "You... you.. WHAT?! But... HOW?! How did you even contact him?," Harry was aghast.
   "Oh, it was easy enough. I just sent him a letter. I got the address from an old Christmas card envelope you had lying about on the kitchen counter. Gave him my number, told him to call me and let me know. I heard back from him this morning and he said he'd be delighted. Like I said, I think he's eager to make up for some of his rotten behavior in the past," Hermione explained to Harry with a bit of an arrogant, know-it-all air about her. "So, since you've already agreed I'll give him a ring back this evening and let him know that it's all a go!" Hermione smiled widely, obviously very pleased with herself. Harry made a mental note to kick himself later for being so damn smug. When would he ever learn to never underestimate Hermione? 
   "This is absolutely ridiculous, but I'll give it a shot anyway. I'm sure it will be disastrous and won't last more than one session. If it does, can we put an end to this idiotic charade?," Harry asked feeling certain that he had found his way out at last. 
  "Fine. If the first session goes badly then you can quit. But the Harry Potter I know doesn't just give up because something might be hard or a little unpleasant," Hermione retorted sharply.
   "Unpleasant? Getting bit by a gnome is unpleasant. Vanishing a boggart is unpleasant. Spending an hour or so boxing with Dudley? That will be downright torture."

Chapter Six: Spied

   Bang bang bang bang. Harry stood outside Number 3 Silver Street in Ottery St. Mary in Devon, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Bilius Weasley, banging relentlessly upon their wooden front door, which was painted a cheery red. Harry raised his fist to start banging again when he heard a shuffling noise and an irritated sounding voice coming from the other side of the door. "For Merlin's sake, keep your knickers on! I'm coming, I'm coming!," rang out Ron's voice. Then: "Who is it? Who's there?"
   "Open up Ron, it's me," Harry replied impatiently. Finally, a series of clicks and clanks told Harry that Ron was unlocking the door at last. It swung open to reveal a disheveled looking Ron who had clearly been sleeping prior to Harry's rather rude interruption. The deep set frown on his face vanished however and changed into a look akin to fear when he saw who was standing on his porch. "Harry! What's up? What's wrong, mate?"
   "Let me inside, will you? It's not something I'd like to advertise to the whole neighborhood," Harry shot back, still anxious for Ron to let him in so he could explain.
   "Oh, yeah... come on in," Ron stood back and held the door aloft, waiting for Harry to step over the threshold. Once inside, Ron closed the door back behind them and relocked it a soft click. "Have a seat in the kitchen mate and I'll go wake Hermione. She'll brew us up a spot of tea." With these words Ron disappeared up a creaky staircase to an upper floor as Harry turned to his right and made his way into an open, brightly colored kitchen with a large island having pride of place. Several bar stools surrounded the island and Harry chose one to slide out and have a seat on. He sat looking around the dimly lit room with mild interest as he awaited the reemergence of Ron and a sleepy Hermione. Muffled thumping noises from somewhere in the hall told him that they were finally coming downstairs. Hermione entered the room first. Her hair stuck out in odd places and a blue robe was tied tightly at her waist. Dark circles under her eyes showed signs of lack of sleep. Harry began to feel silly now that he was here. What had he been thinking? It was late. He was sitting in the kitchen of his best friends' house while they stood, ruffled and disgruntled, looking at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.
   "Er... sorry to have woken you guys," Harry broke the silence at last, ducking his head slightly as though afraid sparks were apt to fly out of the end of Hermione's wand which was clutched loosely in her right hand, or more likely, her eyes.
   "Yes, well you'd better have a really good explanation Harry James Potter because I have to be up in three hours for work!," Hermione admonished him in a rather shrill voice. Better jump straight into it, thought Harry.
   "I saw someone in the mirror," he blurted out a bit stupidly.
   "Um... was it you you saw in the mirror?," Ron asked timidly as though fearful for the state of Harry's sanity.
   "What? No, of course not. I meant Sirius' mirror," Harry clarified. "I dunno why but something told me to pull it out tonight, so I did. I dug it up out of my old school trunk and looked in it. Nothing happened right away, but as I was getting ready to put it back in the trunk, I saw something there! When I looked again, I saw an eye. Just like before when I was seeing Aberforth's and thought it was Dumbledore. This eye was brown though," Harry finished explaining in a rush of breath.
   "Well whose eye was it?," this time Hermione spoke up.
   "Well if I knew that I wouldn't very well be sitting in your kitchen at three in the morning, would I?"
   "No need to get smart. I'll remind you that you are in my kitchen at three in the morning and that you woke me up!," Hermione snarled.
   "You're right, I'm really sorry! It's just that I don't know who it could possibly be, but it worries me. I think maybe Ron's dad was right. The Death Eaters really are back in action."
   "But why? Voldemort is gone-oh, Ron! you had no trouble saying it years before-there hasn't been any activity in years! Not since you and the other Aurors rounded up the last of his known followers a year or so after the war!"
   "I know. It doesn't make sense. But all the signs point to it! The Dark Mark, new crops of Death Eaters... and someone's obviously watching me."
   "Why would they be watching you, mate?," wondered Ron aloud.
   "Well isn't it obvious? Harry is-was Head Auror. If they had a way to keep tabs on him without being obvious, of course they would jump at the chance! But it is a bit of a comfort actually..."
   "A comfort? How do you mean? I don't find Death Eaters keeping up with my whereabouts very comforting, if you ask me.," Harry replied incredulously.
   "Well I mean to say that if they still consider Harry a threat then that means that they can't have very much information, can they? I mean-no offense Harry-they obviously don't realize that Harry isn't as good as he used to be. They might not know that he isn't even at the Ministry anymore.," Hermione rationalized. She stood now and walked over to a small stove. Pulling a copper kettle from a cabinet overhead, she filled it with water from the tap and set it on the stove top. Prodding the burner with the tip of her wand, bright blue flames began to dance there, setting the water to boil. The three of them remained silent in the dim kitchen as Hermione bustled about making them tea.
   Minutes later when Hermione rejoined the two men at the island, balancing the tea set in midair with her wand and placing it gently in front of them, Harry broke the silence at last. "I reckon you might be right. They can't know anything. I mean that mirror's been inside my trunk for ages. I think maybe they've just been checking it on a regular basis on the off chance I'd look into it. But even so, they didn't see much other than my face."
   "Well..."
   "What is it Hermione?"
   "I was just thinking that that might give them a small clue. I mean, face it Harry, you don't look your best! You know it's true, don't give me that look!"
   "You're right. I'm not in top form. But that still doesn't mean that I'm just going to sit back and wait for the Death Eaters to come find me!"
   "I didn't suggest you should! I'm just saying that if they think you've gone to seed, Harry, they might be more apt to attack! Think you an easy target.," Hermione defended her statements.
   "Well, then, let them underestimate me! I'm going to be ready for them. Somehow, some way, I'm going to get myself back into top form. I've got to protect myself. My family.," he looked meaningfully at Ron and Hermione both with his last words. "Are you two with me or not?," he demanded at last.
   "Of-of course we are!," squeaked Hermione.
   "You bet your saggy bottom we are!," Ron responded with a rather mischievous grin that would've made Professor McGonagall blanch. The sounds of them slurping their tea filled the room as the trio sat and pondered what was to come.

Chapter Five: Third Eye

   Later that evening back in the safety of his own kitchen, Harry sat considering the new information he'd received from Mr. Weasley. For the first time in months (he'd made feeble attempts to quit in the past) Harry didn't reach for the bottle of Firewhisky sitting inches to his left atop his small, circular dining table. Harry wanted a clear mind for the internal conversation he was about to have. Surely they would welcome him back into the folds of the ministry now? But it had been so long... would he still be able to do the job? How would he react if or when he came face to face with a group of Death Eaters? He knew he'd have to keep his cool this time. Any foolishness or knee-jerk reactions on his part could blow the whole investigation. But... the lure of being useful once more, of being able to bring justice to people responsible for torturing, maiming, or even killing people he knew or even any witch or wizard (or Muggle or magical creature, for that matter) was greater than his fear of proving to be inept.
   Harry stood suddenly and made his way into his bedroom. Stooping down in front of his bed, Harry lifted the lid on an old wooden trunk that he had once used to transport his robes, books, and other school supplies with him to Hogwarts. Now it simply held mementos from his past and other miscellaneous items that he'd never seemed to have found a place for within his flat. Digging clear to the bottom past scraps of parchment, old robes, an ancient Sneakoscope and various items from Fred and George's joke shop, Harry's hand landed upon what he'd been searching for at last. Harry pulled to the surface a broken sliver of mirror. It had once belonged to an intact pocket mirror that his godfather Sirius had given him. A two way mirror that allowed Harry to communicate and see whoever possessed this mirror's twin. Ironically, it had only been in death that Harry tried to use it to reach Sirius. Thus the broken state it was in; Harry had smashed it in a fit of grief-fueled anger after he was unable to contact his deceased father figure. He had seen someone in it before however. The bright blue eye he had spotted in it years before belonged not to Albus Dumbledore as Harry had suspected, but Albus' brother Aberforth. Funny how people always seemed to be dead before Harry thought to try to communicate with them through this bit of metal and glass.
   Kneeling on his bedroom floor at the foot of the bed, Harry brought the mirror up to eye level once again for the first time in a near decade. He wasn't sure why he'd had the urge to gaze into its depths tonight, or what he expected to see there. He just knew that Sirius would've been the first person whose advice he would've sought. Perhaps just holding something that had once belonged to him made Harry feel closer than he did at any other time. Sirius' eye was not to be found looking back at Harry however. Nor even was the bright blue eye of either Dumbledore. Instead, all Harry saw was his own emerald green orb staring right back at himself. Harry gently brushed a finger over the surface of the mirror and in spite of himself muttered a single name, "Sirius." Nothing happened nor had Harry really expected it to. Frustrated, he made to replace the mirror back into his ancient trunk. A glimpse of something reflected there made him stop cold. Harry found himself shaking his head yet again in an attempt to clear his mind. Surely not....
   Bringing the mirror back up to his eyes again, this time barely an inch from the tip of his nose, Harry saw that indeed there was something reflected there. Something decidedly not green. No, there was a brown eye gazing back at him, unblinking. But definitely, solidly there. Harry dropped the piece of mirror in shock, it landed on the rug with a soft thud. Mastering himself, Harry scooped it back up in his hand at once and looked into its depths again, trying to find that brown eye and make some sense as to who on earth it could possibly belong to. The trouble was, the eye was no longer there. But it had been, he knew it! Would anyone believe him? Hermione would. Ron would. They had always believed in him. But that had been before. Would they still unwaveringly trust his word now that he had proven to be at least a fraction of the nutter that nearly everyone had once accused him of being? He didn't know for sure, but he knew that he had to find out. Harry stood and stuffed the piece of mirror into a questionable looking old sock at the foot of his unmade bed. Wrapping the mirror up inside the sock, he stuffed the whole lumpy package into a pocket in his jeans. Grabbing a jacket off a post of the bed, Harry slipped it on as he walked out of the bedroom and towards his front door. Harry was going to visit his friends and they were going to listen to him and tell him he wasn't crazy and find a perfectly logical explanation for him seeing a brown eyeball in that damn mirror. In the back of his mind though Harry thought he already had an explanation. He still didn't know who the eye had belonged to, but he did think he understood what it meant. Arthur Weasley was right. The Death Eaters were back. And Harry was going to do whatever it took to stop them.

Chapter Four: Darkness Rising

    Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind after such a confusing conversation with Ginny. He walked on out the back door and into the yard where all the other guests were already seated around the large, rectangular table that had been magicked there. The smile he had been wearing turned into a scowl, as Harry marched forward and slumped awkwardly into a straight-backed chair in between Bill and Mr. Weasley.         
   Thankfully Ginny and Dean were at the opposite end of the same row so Harry didn't have to look at them or avoid their gazes for the entire meal. Everyone was chatting amiably and passing around tureens and platters of delicious looking food. "'Arry, you must try ze Paupiette de Veau! I made zit myself," Fleur called across the table, bringing Harry out of his troubled thoughts. He forced a pained smile that bordered on a grimace onto his face as he reached out to accept the platter of veal that Fleur was offering him.  "Looks wonderful," he said, truthfully. 
   "So, Harry... tell us what you've been up to lately," George said, looking expectantly at Harry.
   "Oh, well you know... not, er-not very much. How are things going at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?," Harry asked, anxious to steer the conversation away from himself.
   "Quite excellent, thank you! Lee, Ron, and I have just finished developing a new line of products for our WonderWitch brand. Shampoos that do different things to your hair. Like our Color-Changing one. Just shampoo your hair and it'll turn whatever color compliments your skin tone best. Unless you buy the Mystery Box. That one will change your hair to any sort of color..."
   "We got Mum good the other day! Thought she was dying her hair a perfectly lovely caramel color. Turned green like dragon meat instead!," laughed Ron. Mrs. Weasley looked none too amused however as she shot daggers with her eyes at her sons.
   "The Anti-Curl one does work wonders however! I mean, look how straight and sleek my hair is! So much easier than other methods I've tried," complimented Hermione, turning to beam at Ron. 
   "Yeah, well we sorta stole the idea," blushed Ron as he poked aimlessly at the peas on his plate with his fork. 
   "Stole it from whom?," questioned Bill.
   "Tonks.," George stated simply. Harry's head snapped up from the biscuit he'd been concentrating on at the sound of Nymphadora Tonks' name. 
   "Speaking of Tonks.... how is Teddy doing, Harry?," asked Mrs. Weasley from somewhere to Harry's right.
   "Oh, he's doing well, I guess. I haven't talked to him lately. Andromeda writes occasionally. She says he's excited about starting at Hogwarts soon. She's a little nervous about him leaving home, but I 'spect he'll be alright. Luna, Neville, and Hagrid will make sure he stays safe."
   "You won't have to worry much about him getting out of line either, I suppose. Not with McGonagall headmistress," observed Ginny. It was the first time she'd spoken to the table at large ever since they'd started eating. 
   "No, I guess not.," muttered Harry with a small smile as his thoughts turned to his godson. A pleasant and not uncomfortable silence fell over the crowd then. Nothing but the sound of chewing, knives and forks clinking, and the birds chirping in the trees could be heard. The silence was soon broken however by a question to Harry from Mr. Weasley. "Have you given any thought about going back to work? We certainly miss you at the ministry." Harry had once held the position of Head Auror. One that he had held with pride. A job that he'd expressed interest in as early as his fourth year at school. One that Minerva McGonagall had once sworn to do everything in her power to make sure he obtained. But Harry had been quietly shuffled out the door in the name of his "health" with promises of a job being held open for him at any time that the ministry "saw fit" for his to return to work. Not that Harry had not been good at his job. He hadn't been made Head of his department for no reason. It was simply that Harry had become too good at his job. After one too many innocent people had fallen victim to one of his hexes gone awry, it became a standard joke at the Ministry of Magic that Harry had "pulled a Moody," in reference to Harry's fallen hero and friend Mad-Eye Moody who was a brilliant Auror but would jinx his own mother out of pure paranoid fear. Luckily for Harry the sizable amount of gold that his parents had left him in the wake of their deaths was still plenty enough to provide for him. Harry didn't require much, therefore his vault remained nearly as full as it had on the day he'd first opened it seventeen years ago. The day Hagrid had first introduced him to the Wizarding world he now belonged to.
   "No, I haven't really thought about it," Harry finally answered. It was true. He hadn't thought about it. Not even once. After he'd been asked to leave, he was resigned to spend the rest of his days alone and on the couch. Nothing would change for him mentally, so why should he return to the ministry? 
   "Hmm, well I thought you might be interested in going back now that there's actually been some serious Dark activity detected.," Mr. Weasley confided to Harry. This was news to Harry as he had nearly completely severed his ties with the world outside his flat. Although he still took the Daily Prophet, he no more than glanced at the headlines before tossing them into an untidy stack by the fireplace. They were good for burning.
   "'Dark activity'? What do you mean?," Harry questioned, his interest now piqued.
   "Well, it's just a rumor I heard mind you, but supposedly an underground nest of Death Eaters was found hiding out in Australia. They were discovered when one of them conjured the Dark Mark in the sky!"
   "The Dark Mark? Are you serious? What are they playing at?," Harry questioned nervously. The Dark Mark, Voldemort's sign, hadn't been seen in years. Not since Harry had killed Voldemort himself. 
   "I don't know Harry, but it's got a lot of people right nervous, I tell you! Not that You-Know-Who has any chance of coming back this time, but still! A lot of his followers were just as terrible as he was, were they not? It's scary to think that there are those out there still willing to take up his campaign! I know we've fought valiantly to bring equality to Squibs, Half-Bloods, and Muggle-Borns alike, but there are still plenty who subscribe to the Pure-Blood school of thought.," Arthur Weasley exclaimed, impassioned as he always was when it came to the rights of Muggles and Half-Blood wizards and witches. He had always had a fondness for Muggles, but now even more so since his daughter-in-law was a Muggle born witch herself. 
   "I mean to think that anyone would look down on Hermione for who her parents are! She's one of the brightest, most clever witches I know! And her parents are wonderful folks too!," he cried, throwing a prideful smile in Hermione's direction. "Anyway, they used Veritaserum to question those blokes they caught in Australia. Apparently there are more of them, across the world. That is to say, pockets of Death Eaters. The thing is, they seemed to be under the impression that they had a new leader. The ones lthe Aurors caught didn't seem to know a whole awful lot. New recruits apparently. But that's frightening in itself that they are recruiting new people. So what do you think, Harry? Any chance you'll come back now with all this renewed activity going on?" 
   Harry considered the question for a moment, fear creeping its way down his spine like a trickle of ice cold water. What sort of things were these new Death Eaters planning? And who was this new leader? The bigger question at hand right in that moment was whether or not Harry could handle being under pressure should he choose to retake his previous position. 
   "You know... I just might," came his final reply after a few more seconds of internal struggle. For the second time in just a week, Harry wondered what in the world he'd gotten himself into.

Chapter Three: Love Lost

   Harry was glad to set eyes on his old second home, but now that he was actually here standing in front of it, his stomach was sitting somewhere in the region of his throat. He had half a mind to turn on the spot and Apparate back to his flat. However, before he could change his mind and flee the scene, a plump, kindly looking witch with greying red hair had descended the porch steps and was rapidly making her way towards him. Other than several new lines and wrinkles upon her plain face and copious amounts of greying hair, Molly Weasley looked much the same as Harry remembered her. Without saying a word, Mrs. Weasley flung her arms around Harry and pulled him into a tight embrace. Much to his horror and embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley was sobbing loudly upon his shoulder. Harry patted her back perfunctorily in what he hoped was a comforting manner and mumbled, "'S'okay Mrs. Weasley," into the woman's shoulder. To his relief, Molly pulled back at last and held Harry at arm's length and begun looking him up and down with an appraising eye. "You need feeding up, dear! Come on now, let's get you inside, every one's anxious to see you."
   With a feeling of apprehension and slight dread, Harry followed Mrs. Weasley up the porch steps and through the back door of the house. Entering into the kitchen, Harry quickly saw that the scrubbed wood table that filled the majority of the small, cluttered room had several people surrounding it, many of them with vivid red hair. For the second time that day, Harry caught himself smiling. Okay, so it was good to be back in the company of the Weasleys. Also for the second time that day, Harry found himself launched upon and within the tight embrace of a sobbing witch. This time it was Hermione. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you came! We've all missed you so, so much!"
   "Thanks 'Mione, you can let me go now," Harry mumbled, his words muffled against her shoulder as he attempted to unwrap himself from her arms.
   "Hey mate, that's my wife you're squeezing," said a voice from somewhere behind Harry. He turned to see the bright red haired, extremely freckled, and wide smiling face of his best friend, Ron Weasley. Finally freed from Hermione, he advanced toward Ron and held out a hand for him to shake. Ron gave the hand a sort of puzzled glance and then knocked it aside as he too pulled Harry into an uncomfortably tight bear hug. "What are you playing at mate, staying away so long?"
   Satisfied that he wasn't in any immediate danger of being wrangled into another rib-crushing hug, Harry turned his attention toward the people still sitting at the kitchen table. "Hullo everyone....," Harry muttered with an almost questioning smile on his face. Would they still accept him as part of the family after so many years of ignoring their friendship? His answer came quickly as the Weasleys and their respective wives broke into a chorus of "Hi, Harry!"s and "How are you mate?"s Only one person at the table had remained silent and seemed unhappy to see him. Ginny. Harry swallowed several times, trying without much success to dissolve the large lump that seemed to have developed in his throat. His heart was fluttering and he felt certain that he would pass out upon the hearth rug at any moment now. Finally: "Hello Mr. Potter." Mr. Potter? Why the formality? Could she really pretend that they hadn't known each other nearly their entire lives? That he hadn't once saved her life? That they hadn't once lived together? Hadn't once been in love? Harry's mouth gaped open stupidly as he struggled to respond. Before any words would come to him however, a man with a vaguely familiar face had appeared behind Ginny with a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand. "Here you are, Love," said the man Harry instantly hated, as he placed the glass bottle down on the table in front of Ginny.
   "Thank you, Dean, dear." Dean Thomas. The boy Ginny had dated briefly before their romance had began. Dean glanced up at that moment and noticed Harry standing there. A smile twisted his lips upwards as he strode around the table and proffered a hand to Harry for him to shake. Harry didn't say a word, he simply looked down at the hand that Dean was holding out to him. For a moment he did nothing but stare at it, but eventually he snapped back to reality and remembering his promise to Hermione, Harry took the hand in his and gave it one limp, unenthusiastic pump with his own. "Good to see you again, Harry! It's been, what? Ten years? Blimey!"
    "Er-yeah, it's been a while....," Harry trailed off, still unsure how he was supposed to react. He'd always rather liked Dean, but a very strong dislike coursed through his veins now that he knew he was back together with Ginny. Very strong. Perhaps sensing the growing discord, Mrs. Weasley chose that precise moment to clap her hands together and proclaim it time to eat. "Everyone out into the back yard, please. It's too cramped in here," she trilled as the Weasleys, Hermione, Dean, Fleur, and Angelina, George's wife, all began to file outside. Harry started to follow their lead, but noticed with a small shock that Ginny had remained seated at the table. Unsure of himself, Harry fell back from the others and looked toward Ginny, waiting for her to say or do something. "So, how have you been, Harry?," she asked at long last.
   "Er-fine, I suppose..."
   "You're not fine. You never were able to lie to me."
   "No, I suppose not. I'm pretty much the same as I was when you left me."
   "I had to leave, you know? I just couldn't sit by and watch you destroy yourself anymore. It hurt too much. I just wanted to tell you that. That I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I love you. Loved you."
   "Well, that sounds pretty mad to me! Whoever heard of someone leaving their boyfriend because they loved them?"
   "I didn't expect you to understand. You always were a bit stunted in the emotions department. You and Ronald both. All I wanted to say is that I have missed you and thought about you nearly every day. I was hoping that you'd be better off by now, but I see that isn't so."
   "I'm getting along just fine without you, thank you very much!" Ginny rolled her eyes at this exclamation.
   "Obviously," she retorted before turning on her heel and storming out into the yard to join the others. Harry stood there rooted to the spot with his jaw wide open, disbelieving the conversation he'd just had with the love of his life. The love he seemed to have lost for good.

Chapter Two: Back to the Burrow

   A few days had passed since Harry's telephone conversation with Ron, and the thing which he had been dreading all week was finally upon him. Harry awoke in bed that morning feeling worse for wear than when he'd collapsed, exhausted into the bed the night before. Just as he'd predicted, his head throbbed with a spectacular headache due to his polishing off nearly half a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey before he'd passed out. Although the scar Voldemort had gifted him with so many years ago had not prickled or pained him in the past ten years, the insistent headache Harry was experiencing now conjured up memories of the sort of pain that he had once felt there. Harry continued to lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling and dreading what the day was to bring. It was already around eleven o'clock on a cool, bright, late August morning. In just an hour he would be joining Ron, Hermione, and all the other Weasleys, minus Percy, Charlie, and their wives, for lunch at the Burrow.
   Though he had not seen the inside of it for nearly ten years, Harry had once considered the Burrow as much his home as he now did the small, cozy flat he resided in. Although he felt a pang of guilt every time he declined an invitation from Molly or Arthur Weasley to visit, he had long since been unable to bring himself to set foot inside. He knew that his ghosts would whisper to him from every corner of that old home. Everywhere he looked would be Fred, the lost Order members, even Ginny.... Just thinking of that house brought back memories of him learning of Mad-Eye Moody's death, George losing his ear, and other painful events. No, it was simply too much to bear. However, bear it he would as he had already agreed to grace his quasi-family with his presence. Just as Harry's mind began churning up excuses he could use to worm his way out of the lunch, a rapid tap tap tap upon the bedroom window drew Harry's attention. Bobbing up and down, wings flapping madly, a roll of parchment clutched in its beak, appeared to be a feathery tennis ball. Harry threw back his bed covers, swung his legs over the side, and after stuffing his feet into a battered old pair of carpet slippers, he stood and crossed to the window. Sliding the glass upwards, the feathery blur shot inside the bedroom. It immediately began circling around and around Harry's head. "Come here, Pig!," Harry shouted crossly as he snatched wildly at the ball of grey feathers that was Ron's owl.
   Finally convincing the owl to hold still long enough to take the letter from him, Harry began to unroll the parchment as he sat back down on the edge of his bed. Hermione's neat handwriting filled the page. Already having a strong idea of the letter's contents, Harry sighed and began to read anyway.

Dear Harry,
   I know you don't want to come today but don't even think of skiving off this lunch! Ron's parents, especially Molly, are so very excited to be seeing you at last after all this time. Truth be told, so am I! It's been weeks since I've even heard a single world from you! I am your best mate and I do not appreciate being ignored after all we have been through together. Honestly, Harry! What are you thinking holing yourself up in your flat all alone? Everyone here loves and cares about you even if you do behave like a giant, whiny prat. At any rate, I expect to see you at noon. If you aren't here, I will arrive on your doorstep and make you come, even if I have to Imperius you to do so! 

Love always,
 Hermione 

p.s. Do try to be at least cordial to Ginny and her boyfriend, won't you? 

   Harry rolled his eyes as he finished reading the post script of Hermione's note. Cordial to Ginny's new boyfriend? Okay, so even he wouldn't dream of causing a scene in front of the entire family, but Hermione couldn't honestly expect him to be nice to the guy, could she? Rummaging through a drawer on his bedside table, Harry produced parchment, ink, and quill and set out to write a response.


Hermione,
   I'll be there, keep your knickers on! I can't promise niceties, but I will promise to keep my wand, and maybe my fists, to myself at least. See you in a few hours.

Harry

   Harry rolled up the bit of parchment, sealed it magically, then began attempts to chase down Pigwidgeon  once more to send off his reply. Finally seizing him in his fist out of midair, Harry tied his note to the miniscule owl's leg and then unceremoniously stuffed him out the window, slamming it back shut as he mumbled "Stupid feathery git" under his breath. Turning toward the wardrobe, Harry decided that he might as well dress for the day. After pulling on the rumpled jeans laying at the bottom, he flicked through the hangers full of t-shirts trying to choose one that wasn't too wrinkled. Finally selecting a brown the color of bowtruckles that Ginny had once told him brought out his eyes, he quickly pulled it over his head. Flopping down upon his bed once more, Harry slipped on and laced up his worn out trainers, finally deeming himself dressed. Harry stood and looked into the mirror above his writing desk on the wall opposite the bed. He brought a hand up to his messy hair and began to fuss with the untidy dark locks. "Hopeless," he declared and then giving up he snatched up his wand and left the room.
   Harry stood in the kitchen staring at the watch on his wrist. Surely it had only been a few minutes since he'd awoken. He'd watch the news, perhaps make a cup of tea to help ease his headache. He was shocked to find that it was already 11:45. With another sigh he decided that he'd be better off to just leave now rather than delay the inevitable and prolong his suffering. Walking to the end of the drive leading up to his flat, Harry looked around momentarily for any curious Muggles, then turned on the spot and Disapparated. With a faint pop Harry had left the drive of his flat and reappeared almost immediately in front of a welcoming looking house with several stories and nearly as many chimneys. Chickens pecked about the front yard, boots littered the porch, and a flower pot that had presumably once held a plant of some sort stood busted and leaking dragon dung fertilizer all over the top step. Harry smiled widely to himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. He had returned to the Burrow at last.

Chapter One: Anti-Hero

[...marks the 10-year anniversary of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...]

   "Accio Remote," drawled Harry with a lazy flick of his wand. Pressing the Power button and silencing the OWL (Overall Wizarding Lowdown) News broadcast coming through his telly, Harry Potter threw his head back against his worn, threadbare sofa and heaved a deep sigh. He could hardly believe that it had already been a decade since his infamous victory over Voldemort. Anyone looking at him would hardly believe that he was once considered a hero. The past ten years had certainly changed Harry. Not his looks, oh no... he still looked very much like the same boy who emerged from the Second Battle of Hogwarts with shoulder-length, disheveled hair and a permanent five o'clock shadow. Despite frequent unsuccessful attempts to cover it with his unruly, jet black bangs, his lightening bolt shaped scar still stood out prominently on his now slightly aged forehead. But the guilt that had plagued him over the years chipped away at his once easy-going demeanor until it seemed that there was nothing but a mere shell of a man left in its wake.
   Reaching for his glass of Firewhisky, Harry began to remember those loved ones he had lost during the final battle, and the subsequent lesser battles between Lord Voldemort and those he sought to repress. He, Harry,  reminisced nearly every day, but the pain was particularly clear on days like today when the world would rather remind him of his losses than let him live in peace. In the years after the war Harry had become increasingly more hermit like, ignoring letters, phone calls, and attempted visits from everyone except Ron and Hermione. Only grudgingly did he accept their company. As if on cue, the telephone on Harry's side table broke through the silence of his sitting room with a loud, warbling cry. Grumbling to himself, Harry's hand hovered uncertainly above the jangling, black receiver. Harry knew it was either Ron or Hermione as they were the only ones who bothered to reach out to him anymore. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Harry lifted the receiver from its base. Harry raised it to his ear and said, "Hullo?" Instant regret shot through him as Ron bellowed, "HARRY?! HELLO? CAN YOU HEA-....?"
   "STOP SHOUTING RON!," Harry yelled back, matching Ron's volume in order to be heard. "How many times do I have to tell you to speak in a normal voice when you're using the phone?," Harry asked exasperatedly.
   "Oi, sorry mate!," replied Ron, now in a much more acceptable tone. "You know I'm still not used to this farking fellytone..."
   "Telephone," corrected Harry. A smile played about his lips in spite of his irritated mood.
   "Yeah, well if you'd answer the ruddy owls I sent, I wouldn't have to resort to this damn thing!"
   "Why do you bother with it anyway?"
   "Well, Hermione thought it was a good idea with her parents being Muggles and all.... and honestly, I guess Dad's Muggle loving rubbed off on me a bit," Ron admitted a bit sheepishly. Harry had only bought a phone and subscribed to services at Hermione's insistence after too many of her owls went unreturned, knocks at the door gone ignored. His fireplace connected to the Floo Network had long sat dormant, Harry having boarded it up himself a few years back after tiring of unannounced pop-ins from surprise visitors.
   "Anyway, Hermione wanted me to call and invite you over to the Burrow for lunch tomorrow." This was a request that was made of Harry each Sunday, one that he always declined. "I reckon Bill and Fleur will be there. Percy will be working...," Harry could plainly read the sarcasm in Ron's voice. " Charlie won't be able to make it either. He left for Sweden the beginning of last week. He reckons old Xeno Lovegood isn't quite such a loony git after all. There actually is proof of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks there! He's gone over to investigate further. Luna wanted to tag along, but as the term's getting ready to start, she had to stay behind. Really disappointed, she is." Their friend Luna had long since held the post of Hogwart's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  A job that for a long time people had thought jinxed. Luna Lovegood had held it without incident for the past seven years however. Along with Luna, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's fellow Gryffindor and Dumbledore's Army member, Neville Longbottom also taught at the school. He took over Herbology from a retired Professor Sprout, the subject having always been his best by far during his own school years.
   Harry's lips parted, ready to give Ron his usual refusal to the lunch offer, but this time something made him hesitate. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but nevertheless he found himself muttering, "Yeah mate, I reckon I'll be along then. I'll have to Apparate since my Floo's all boarded up..."
   "R-really? Excellent, mate! Mum will be so pleased to see you! She worries me to death over you, you know! Sometimes I don't wonder if she doesn't care more about you than she does me," Ron finished a bit grumpily. His tone quickly changed back to jubilation though as he told Harry that he'd send an owl right over to the Burrow to let Mrs. Weasley know to expect Harry after all this Sunday. Ron began saying his goodbyes, but a horrible sinking feeling in Harry's gut made him stop his best friend from ringing off just yet. Trying (and failing rather miserably) to sound casual, Harry tentatively questioned his mate, "Um, say, Ron... will Ginny be there?"
   "What? Oh yeah, of course she will. I think she's bringing her new boyfriend with her. At least that's what she told Dad last time she wro-.... I mean, um, yeah, she'll be here," Ron finished lamely. After the war, after You-Know-Who's death, Ginny and Harry had reunited as a couple. They were blissfully happy together for the first year or so afterwards, when the glory of Harry's heroic actions still shined upon him like a golden beam of warm sunlight. However, the light was extinguished when the nightmares started. As Harry grew increasingly sullen and withdrawn, so did Ginny's disdain for Harry's actions; or lack thereof, as he spent most of his days sulking on the sofa, drinking copious amounts of butterbeer and Firewhisky while thumbing mindlessly through television channels.
   "I lost them too! I lost my brother! And very nearly my father, and George too! You aren't the only one who's grieving!," Ginny had cried in anguish just before storming out and slamming the door in Harry's face on the night that she had finally had enough and left him for good. Harry hadn't seen her since and he didn't much fancy seeing her now. Although it had been years since their break up, the wounds were just as fresh for Harry as if it had happened yesterday. Along with his frequent recurring nightmares where he replayed the deaths of everyone he had ever loved and lost, Ginny's face haunted his dreams as well. Many a morning he woke to catch himself reaching for her on her empty side of the now cold, lonely bed they had once shared. He wasn't sure what had made him assent to this bit of torture. "I must be mad," Harry mumbled to himself as he finally disentangled himself from the sofa that now bore a permanent imprint of Harry's back side, having so rarely parted each other's company. Perhaps it was the prospect of spending another  of these anniversaries alone that had prompted him to give in at last. Albeit it was his own doing that had kept him in solitary confinement each successive year, it still never failed to make him feel remarkably crummy. Maybe, just maybe spending time with the few people who hadn't fully rebuked Harry yet would lessen his pain by at least an infinitesimal amount.
   Placing his now empty low ball glass into the sink, Harry shuffled off toward the bedroom, praying that he would get at least a few hours of dreamless sleep. Pulling back the bedclothes, Harry slid into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Closing his eyes, Harry began his nightly attempt to ward off the images that flooded behind his eyes the moment they were closed. Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Moody, Snape, Dobby, Dumbledore, Sirius, James, Lily, Cedric.... these were just some of the faces that floated behind Harry's closed lids. With only these ghosts, his ghosts as he'd come to think of them, for company, Harry slowly fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, and thrashing against his sheets. Undoubtedly, as nearly every day before for the past ten years, Harry would awake feeling even more exhausted than before he'd slept and aching as though he'd tangled with the Whomping Willow in his uneasy sleep.