Harry’s heart thudded wildly against his ribs, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the anticipation of returning to reality or seeing his friends again. What he knew for certain was that he had survived the trial; he had reached the end and was finally going back to live, his soul intact. The indistinct figures awaiting him in the distance had to be his friends—he felt sure of it.
Glancing back to where Snape had vanished, Harry couldn’t help but smile. Snape had helped him overcome his guilt, without which Harry would have wasted away, trapped in endless darkness with only self-blame for company. But he didn’t have to agonize over it anymore; he was relieved it was finally over.
Harry turned his attention back to the path ahead, only to find himself enveloped in a dense fog that left his hands damp when he rubbed them together. Stopping in his tracks, he peered into the mist but could not make out his surroundings. Certain his eyes were playing tricks, he blinked hard, yet the haze remained.
“Hermione! Ron!” Harry called out, hoping his friends would appear from the fog. He waited, shoulders drooping. Worried he’d lost them, Harry stared ahead until he saw two silhouettes standing nearby. Relieved, he stepped forward, and the fog dissipated, clearing his path.
As he approached, a ray of sunlight suddenly illuminated him and the path ahead, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment to adjust to the brightness.
“Harry, we’ve been looking for you,” came a woman’s soft yet anxious voice from a few feet away.
Harry blinked in surprise. The voice he heard was not Hermione’s, though it sounded vaguely familiar. Wracking his brain, he couldn’t place where he had heard it before. Jerking his head up, he squinted against the bright light, catching his breath when he spotted distinctive bright green eyes framed by dark red hair—definitely not Hermione.
Harry froze, staring open-mouthed at Lily Potter. “Mum.” His heart raced as he struggled to comprehend the impossible sight before him.
Footsteps approached, breaking the spell. “Oh, there you are!” a male voice cried out.
Before Harry could turn, a hand grasped his shoulder, and a tidal wave of emotions crashed over him as he looked up—joy, sadness, fear, excitement, love—leaving him breathless and stunned into silence, for he was standing right beside his father, James Potter.
“Dad,” Harry said in a trembling, faltering voice. His hand shook as he spoke.
“Well, Harry,” James replied, eyeing his son wearily. “I’ve been searching all over Diagon Alley for you. I started thinking you had gotten lost or something...” He shook his head and went on. “But you’re safe now, and that’s what matters.” He stopped when he saw Harry’s dumbfounded stare. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my handsome face?”
Harry blinked again, stunned.
Lily frowned at her husband and said, “Of course there’s nothing wrong with your face, dear.” She then turned to Harry, her tone growing stern, and said, “Your father and I were very worried when you suddenly disappeared from behind me while we were looking at owls. Where did you go, young man?”
“I…” Confused, Harry struggled to find the right words. Nothing made sense. He thought he had completed his task and would soon see Ron and Hermione again. Yet somehow he now stood before his parents, as if they had never died at Voldemort’s hand on that fateful Halloween night. Instead, it seemed as if they had raised him from birth. What’s going on? he wondered.
James seemed to notice Harry’s unease; he cleared his throat and turned to his wife. “Lily, I think our son wore himself out exploring Diagon Alley alone for the first time. It’s understandable to get overexcited on your inaugural visit, isn’t it?” He grinned at Harry and winked conspiratorially.
How can this be? Harry wondered. How did he end up in Diagon Alley with his parents when he distinctly remembered first visiting with Hagrid?
Harry stared in horror at his reflection in the glass cabinet, hardly recognizing himself. The boy gazing back appeared far younger than his years, small and skinny like an eleven-year-old rather than his true age. Heart pounding, Harry stepped back to take in his shocking transformation.
“I know, I know, you’re exhausted,” said James, misreading the alarm on his son’s face. “Not to worry, we’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch in no time.”
Lily gazed at Harry with concern, gently cupping his cheek in her hand. “You must be famished, my dear,” she said.
“I-I’m alright,” Harry stammered, startled to hear his voice emerge several octaves higher, as if bewitched by a Caterwauling Charm.
“Nonsense,” Lily dismissed with a wave of her hand, “You wouldn’t pass up pumpkin juice and treacle tart, would you?”
Lost in thought, Harry barely registered his hunger. With everything so unclear, how could he think of food? He wanted answers—would his parents know what haunted him? Should he ask about Voldemort? Before Harry could decide, his dad’s voice interrupted his spiraling reflections.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Harry whirled around and saw his father gazing at a cage housing a snowy owl. “Hedwig!” he cried out instinctively.
“Hedwig?” James asked, bewildered. “You know her?”
“I—I just,” Harry stammered, scrambling for an explanation. “I just thought the name fits.”
“Oh.” James fell silent.
Harry cringed, guilt washing over him. He knew he was unprepared for this unfamiliar world, and deception seemed the only path forward without raising their suspicions.
Lily insisted Harry should have the snowy owl at Eeylops Owl Emporium instead of the rat his father wanted him to get. Just then, Harry wondered if his parents knew Peter Pettigrew was an Animagus. But he was quickly distracted as his enthusiastic parents steered him left and right, eagerly pointing out items in the shops and lecturing him about them.
Harry could discern his parents’ personalities just by observing them, and see how he had naturally followed in their footsteps. While he certainly inherited James’ wit, Harry was far more mild-mannered than his father, likely a trait from his mother.
James’ eyes lit up as he gazed excitedly at the broomstick display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed.
Lily whirled around to face James. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said sharply.
James raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What?”
“You’ve already got plenty at home. You don’t need any more,” Lily insisted.
“I didn’t say I’d buy it,” James argued, looking offended. But under his breath, so only Harry could hear, he added, “For you, I will.”
Harry smiled at his dad, but quickly stopped when he remembered he already had a Nimbus 2000 that had crashed into the Whomping Willow and broken into pieces. With a sinking feeling, he thought of his lost Firebolt broomstick. “It’s okay, Dad. You don’t need to buy it,” he whispered.
“You’re right,” James said sadly, looking away from the display of broomsticks. “No point arguing with your mum. She’ll be furious if I did.” He shrugged. “But who cares? She can’t catch us if we’re up in the air and she’s not. We’ll be too fast.”
“She’s got a wand, Dad,” Harry reminded him, pointing at the end of a stick poking out from Lily’s cloak.
“Oh, right,” James dropped the subject.
Looking at his father, Harry was struck by their resemblance—the same untidy hair, glasses framing a thin face. He felt he could disguise himself as his father’s twin, if not for the difference in their ages.
Harry and his parents struggled through the bustling crowd, eager to finish their shopping yet entranced by the fascinating array of magical items. Though Harry had seen most of these curiosities before, his parents’ enthusiasm made them seem new again. James whisked Harry from item to item, breathlessly recounting the history and uses of each one. Lily chimed in with additional details and gentle corrections when James got carried away.
Harry experienced the happiest moment of his life as he spent time with his parents. Ever since first visiting Diagon Alley at age eleven, he had longed for his parents to be with him rather than Hagrid or his friends. Now, he was finally living out that dream he thought impossible. The strangeness of it all was hard to grasp—was this still part of some ritual or task? Yet his parents’ touch—their hands clasping his, arms wrapping around his shoulders, lips kissing his cheeks—felt undeniably real. He would happily trade his old life for this. What person wouldn’t? Harry reasoned. Having his parents back was all he had wanted; was that too much to ask?
After leaving Ollivander’s wand shop, Harry and his parents walked toward the Leaky Cauldron. Seeing the new wand with a unicorn hair core, so unlike his old phoenix feather wand, had been driving Harry crazy. He decided it was finally time to ask his parents about Voldemort.
Harry asked hesitantly, “Mum?”
“Hmm?” Lily replied absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the Daily Prophet headline held by a nearby wizard.
“Do you know Vol—”
“Oh my!” Lily interrupted excitedly. “He’s actually done it!” She stared at the newspaper in wonder.
Harry’s face filled with bewilderment. He turned to the paper and re-read the headline in disbelief: “AT LAST! THE MUGGLE PRIME MINISTER ALLIES WITH MINISTER TOM RIDDLE TO PROMOTE PEACE AND SAFETY FOR ALL.” His jaw dropped open in shock. Tom Riddle, the Minister of Magic and promoting peace? And safety for Muggles too? Harry shook his head, thinking there must be some mistake. Surely the dark wizard Voldemort would never perform such noble acts - it went against everything Harry knew about him. A frown creased Harry’s forehead as he wondered what sinister agenda could possibly underlie this unlikely alliance between Voldemort and the Muggle Prime Minister.
“What were you asking, Harry?” Lily had turned her attention back to him, a questioning look on her face.
Still frowning, Harry shook his head and said, “It’s nothing.”
“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Lily beamed, her eyes brimming with admiration as she gazed at the picture of Tom Riddle shaking hands with the Prime Minister.
Harry raised his eyebrows, disbelief still etched on his face. “Has he always been like this?” he asked.
“‘Like this’ you mean an awesome old chap?” James interrupted, darting his eyes between the picture and Harry.
Harry nodded somewhat reluctantly, not entirely convinced that Tom Riddle was amazing in any way.
“Oh, yes...” his father answered thoughtfully. “He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when he was still young. Ruthless, he was! I never saw that side of him until I captured dark wizards and brought them to the Ministry.”
Stumbling backward, Harry stared at James in shock. “You’re an Auror?”
James glanced at him appraisingly. “Why the surprise? You’ve known all along that I’m an Auror, Son. You even said you wanted to be one too, to show your support for Riddle, remember?”
Harry wanted to deny it, but he held his tongue. Instead, he tilted his head back, gazing once more at Tom Riddle’s picture.
“Anyway,” James continued, ignoring Harry’s outburst. “Riddle hated the Dark Arts, you see. He said he’d give his life to rid our world of such evil...and then he became Minister. We’re all so proud he took that position, I tell you.”
Harry thought his father’s praise seemed misplaced. He still couldn’t grasp that Voldemort opposed the Dark Arts. Tearing his eyes from the photo, confusion overwhelmed him.
Lily cleared her throat. “Yes. He and his wife, Bellatrix—”
“What?” Harry interjected, shocked at this revelation. “Lestrange?”
“Er... yes,” she replied hesitantly, frowning at his reaction. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten already, Harry. We invited the Minister and his wife over to celebrate your dad’s promotion at the Ministry. Don’t you remember? Riddle and your father used to be Auror partners.”
How many more shocking revelations would Harry have to endure? He didn’t know if he could handle much more. This world had turned his understanding upside down, and he felt ready to explode. However staggering these revelations seemed, he couldn’t deny his relief at knowing his family was safe and sound.
“I think I do remember now,” Harry lied, hiding his complete lack of memory about this world. Instead, he felt numb at the idea that his parents were close with the Riddles.
“Well, don’t worry about that,” James said with a smile, opening the door and entering the dark, shabby-looking Leaky Cauldron. “You’re too young to remember stuff well anyway.”
It was impossible to find seats; the pub was packed with people having their lunches. But James, Lily, and Harry managed to find a table for themselves in a corner, as if it had magically appeared just for them.
Harry sat silently, watching his surroundings with interest. He couldn’t help feeling like an outcast, yet he strangely welcomed it, knowing he could finally go anywhere without being gawked at and talked about during meals as the Chosen One who killed Voldemort.
Without warning, the unmistakable silvery white-blonde haired Malfoy family entered the pub. Lucius Malfoy scanned the place briefly before his eyes landed on the Potters, his lip curling into a sudden sneer.
Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling a hot surge of anger as the Malfoys drew closer to where they sat.
Mr. Malfoy slowly approached their table and greeted James in a mocking tone, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Head Auror.”
James abruptly stood up, and for a moment Harry thought his father might curse Mr. Malfoy on the spot. Harry looked around alarmed, but no one else seemed to notice the tense interaction.
“Lucius,” James replied coldly, his eyes fixed on Mr. Malfoy as he came closer.
To Harry’s immense surprise, the two men suddenly burst into laughter and embraced warmly like old friends. He stared at them, mouth agape.
“Come join us!” Lily cheerfully invited the Malfoy family, before turning to Harry, “Can you bring over some more chairs, dear?”
But Mrs. Malfoy quickly declined with a firm shake of her head, stopping Harry from rising. “Oh no, that’s quite alright. We only came to say hello.”
“Leaving already?” James asked, glancing incredulously at Narcissa. “We rarely see each other nowadays.”
“I know,” Narcissa responded sadly. “Lucius received a job offer in France, and we’re heading there this afternoon. We only stopped by Diagon Alley to buy supplies for the trip when Draco spotted you and came inside.” She gestured to her son, who waved shyly from behind her.
“Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Lily asked hopefully, looking at Lucius.
“Sorry, Lily,” Lucius replied apologetically. “It’s rather urgent that we leave soon. Perhaps next time?”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Harry bit his tongue to keep from cursing loudly that there should never be a next time. He kept his head down and stayed silent.
“Of course,” James said approvingly. “I would hate to miss that celebration. It’s sure to be a memorable night.”
Mr. Malfoy snorted in derision. “Indeed. I’m certain you’ll boast of your many achievements, as that would be intolerable for your oversized ego if left unsaid.”
James laughed heartily. “You’re still the same, Lucius. Ever the pessimist! Well,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I won’t delay your departure. But don’t forget our souvenirs!” He winked playfully.
With an exaggerated eye roll, Lucius turned and left, his wife and son in tow. After quick hugs and farewell, Harry forced an uneasy smile at Draco before the Malfoys departed.
James sat back down in his chair, grinning. “Lucky man. I’ve always wanted to visit France.” He glanced at Harry curiously. “Why were you so quiet, son? I expected you and Draco to catch up.”
Stunned, Harry gaped at his father. Since when had he become friends with Malfoy?
As if reading his mind, James said, “We used to visit the Malfoy manor often when they were in town. You always looked forward to seeing Draco.”
“Inseparable, you two!” Lily chimed in.
“I—I was just,” Harry stammered.
“I understand,” James said with an understanding nod. “Seeing him again after so long can make you apprehensive.”
Harry remained silent as James abruptly switched topics. Menu in hand, James perused the options. “Maybe they’ve added new lunch specials... A Toad in the Hole with Tongue Tying Lemon Squash sounds tasty.”
When lunch ended, Harry was shocked by how much he had consumed. His bulging stomach pressed against the table’s edge. Overeating left him drowsy; he repeatedly closed and opened his eyes. After several blinks, someone gently shook him awake.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” his mother’s voice said gently. “You can take a nap when we get home.”
Harry groaned and opened his eyes, expecting to see the crowded pub. Instead, he was startled by sudden sunlight assaulting his eyes. Blinking, he realized he was no longer at the Leaky Cauldron but standing outside Flourish and Blotts. Confused, since he couldn’t have slept that soundly, he turned to Lily, who was rummaging in her bag beside him. “Mum, how did we get here?” he asked, surprised to hear his voice had deepened. “What happened at the Leaky Cauldron?”
Lily looked bewildered and asked, “What are you talking about, sweetie? We haven’t been to the pub yet. We just got here to buy your books.”
Harry frowned in confusion. “Books? Didn’t we already buy them?”
Staring at him, Lily replied, “Don’t be silly. We haven’t bought anything yet. Your Lockhart books are expensive this year.” She frowned impatiently at the closed sign on the door. “I think we arrived too early.”
“Lockhart?” Harry scratched his head, puzzled. He knew Lockhart was at St. Mungo’s. Has he been released?
“Yes, isn’t Lockhart your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”
“But what about Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked, bewildered.
Lily raised an eyebrow. “You never had a Professor Quirrell. Lockhart’s always been your teacher.” She put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, concern in her eyes. “Are you alright, dear?”
Harry stared at the booklist in his hand, shocked to see it was for his second year at Hogwarts. How could an entire year have passed so quickly? One minute he was shopping for school supplies before first year, and the next he was starting second year. It was as if time had flown by faster than a Cornish pixie. He couldn’t recall anything that had happened over the past year at school.
With a puzzled expression, Harry returned the slip of paper to his pocket as his mother watched him anxiously. He wrestled with indecision, wondering if he should confide his predicament or simply go along to see what unfolded. Ever since arriving in this alien realm, so unlike his own, uncertainty had tormented him. Did he need to fulfill some role here, or was this world the true reality while his memories were only imaginary? Harry longed for answers, or at least reassurance about the nature of his dilemma.
“Your school robes are way too short for you now,” Lily remarked, eyeing Harry as if measuring his height. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” Spotting Madam Malkin’s open across the street, she offered, “How about I hold your books while you buy new robes? That way we can head home early.”
Nodding, Harry strode toward Madam Malkin’s, lost in thought. Inside, only a few customers were being fitted. Harry stood at the counter, awaiting the irritable Madam Malkin.
Madam Malkin called out to Harry, “You there! Come stand on this footstool and wait for me.”
Harry did as instructed, aware of the others standing on either side of him looking bored.
“Don’t fidget too much, dears!” cautioned a woman to Harry’s left who appeared to be the mother of the red-haired twin boys.
Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise. If he hadn’t looked closely, he wouldn’t have recognized Mrs. Weasley, who was sternly eyeing the twins he assumed were Fred and George. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and she wore the lime green robes of a St. Mungo’s Healer.
“Mrs. Weasley?” he asked in disbelief.
Mrs. Weasley turned, but gave no sign of recognition. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Uh—” Harry started. “Don’t you remember me?” When she only stared blankly, he quickly added, “I’m a friend of Ron’s.”
She furrowed her brow. “Ron?”
Bewildered, Harry nodded, wondering why Mrs. Weasley looked so confused. “Yes, Ron Weasley. Your son.”
“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said apologetically, eyeing him with concern. “I don’t have a son named Ron.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry stammered, taken aback. “I must have been mistaken.”
“That’s quite alright, dear,” Mrs. Weasley replied gently before turning her attention back to her children. They gave Harry puzzled looks but said nothing.
“Alright there, Harry,” said a familiar voice from behind. Harry craned his neck to see James Potter striding towards him, wearing elegant dress robes. “Turn around so I can get a proper look at you.”
“Dad, why are you dressed like that?” Harry asked, baffled.
“Don’t you like it?” James replied with a smile. “Your mother thought matching outfits would ruin your big night, but I disagreed.”
None of this made any sense to Harry. “But Dad, I’m just getting new school robes, not dress robes.”
James frowned, looking confused. “What are you talking about?”
Turning his head back, he replied, “I’m waiting for Madam Malkin to measure me up.” But when he saw his reflection in the mirror, he was surprised to find himself wearing handsome, dark green dress robes that made him look older, like a fourteen year old. Shocked, he realized he was no longer in Madam Malkin’s shop but instead in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory at Hogwarts. “How—?” he gasped open-mouthed.
Resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder, James let out a chuckle. “It’s only natural to feel nervous before your first Yule Ball. I remember feeling the same way myself. These parties were always such fun—I’m glad parents got to join in the festivities.”
Harry was deeply unsettled by the abrupt shift in his surroundings. He struggled to make sense of the situation as it unfolded. One moment, he had been speaking with Mrs. Weasley, and the next, he was with his father, who appeared unaware of Harry’s confusion and distress.
Harry swallowed hard. “Dad—”
But James was already ushering him out of the room, saying, “Come along, son. You don’t want to keep your date waiting.”
They descended the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room, but when they arrived, Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise. Instead of the packed common room he expected, he found himself standing in snow-covered Hogsmeade, right in front of the Three Broomsticks. He shivered slightly against the cold.
“Get in, Harry,” Lily said brightly as she stood behind him. “We’re meeting your dad and Sirius there. I can’t wait to sip some Butterbeer. Aren’t you freezing too?”
“Si-Sirius?” Harry stammered in disbelief.
“Yes, your godfather’s probably waiting for us already,” she replied.
Harry felt certain his head would explode again. Unprepared, his emotions spiraled out of control. How many more surprises could he withstand? Though not complaining, he yearned to stay with everyone, especially his parents, yet couldn’t grasp what was happening. With no memories between scenes, he had no time to react before everything changed once more.
When they entered the inn, Harry immediately spotted a boy enthusiastically waving at him.
“Oh good,” said Lily, also noticing the boy. “Teddy’s here.”
“Teddy?” Harry asked, confused. “You don’t mean—”
“Lupin and Tonks must be around here somewhere,” she said absently, scanning the room.
Harry was shocked. His mother couldn’t be serious. The excited boy still energetically waving his arms couldn’t possibly be Teddy Lupin. Wasn’t he already seven years old by now? Living with his grandmother Andromeda? Harry wondered to himself.
“So nice to see you, Sweetie!” said Lily, embracing Teddy.
Harry stood awkwardly off to the side, unable to process what he was witnessing.
“Harry!” Teddy exclaimed joyfully, pulling him into a tight hug.
Lily chuckled. “You’ve missed your big brother, haven’t you Ted?”
Teddy nodded earnestly.
They sat comfortably around the table. Harry glanced occasionally at Teddy, still amazed at how quickly the baby he once knew had grown up. But he reminded himself that this was a different world.
“Where are your parents, Ted?” Lily asked curiously.
“Daddy’s coming from work,” he replied, “and Mommy’s—there she is!” Teddy gestured past Harry, beaming.
When Harry turned to look, he gasped. He found himself facing an obelisk, his mind adjusting as he took in the change of scenery. Light shone from streetlamps, and judging by the semi-darkness, he guessed it was nighttime. Silvery moonlight sparkled on the ground, and stars twinkled like pearls in the dark blue sky above. Once again, Harry was perplexed to be back in Godric’s Hollow. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
“Why do you look all worried?” said a voice Harry recognized instantly. He looked up to see James peering down at him, worry etched on his father’s face as the silence stretched between them.
“What’s wrong, Son?” James asked gently.
Harry inhaled deeply, gathering his thoughts. “Dad...” He paused, considering how best to broach the subject weighing on his mind.
“You must be wondering what’s going on,” said James, seeming to read his hesitation. “I knew your mother and I shouldn’t have kept it quiet. I told her many times you’d notice.”
Heart pounding, Harry nodded. He had known something was amiss in this world, and now his father had no choice but to reveal it to him.
“But don’t tell your mother anything, all right? Because you’re not supposed to know.”
Harry nodded again, barely able to contain his anticipation.
James took a deep breath. “The thing is, Harry, we’ve decided to throw a birthday party for you this evening at home,” he blurted out.
Harry’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, Son. We know you don’t like parties, but you just turned seventeen!” James said excitedly. “But before you get upset, we want you to know everyone will be there, even my dear old friend, Severus.”
Harry sighed. He was disappointed by his father’s unexpected announcement.
Misinterpreting Harry’s silence, James said, “I knew it’d leave you speechless. Not everyone gets a big celebration when they turn seventeen.”
Harry didn’t know what to feel. He wanted to match his father’s happy mood but couldn’t. Instead, his body trembled with the fearful feeling that everything would disappear again.
“Harry?” his father whispered. “I sense that you’re not excited about the party. We can cancel it if you want—”
Harry cut him off abruptly, regretting the involuntary look of sadness that his father must have noticed. “I am happy about it. I’m sorry… I’m just—” He trailed off, troubled by the situation more than he let show. With a sigh, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine, Dad. What you and Mum are doing is great.”
“Are you sure?”
Harry gave a quick nod and forced a smile.
His father’s face flashed with satisfaction before he glanced at his watch. “I think we should head home or your mum will be upset if she finds out you missed your own birthday party.”
Together they walked steadily down the street, passing the church and graveyard that stood nearby. Visiting his parents’ graves had once felt suffocating, their names etched onto the cold headstones. Now it seemed like a distant nightmare. Glancing sideways, he saw his father walking beside him, vibrant and alive—incredible.
Turning the corner, Harry spotted the familiar cottage at the end of the lane. It looked transformed from his memory—the weedy lawn now boasted neat flowerbeds, the once-dark windows now glazed with warm light. Most remarkably, the upper floor and Harry’s old bedroom, previously blown apart, stood fully intact. The moon peeked through the dark clouds, bathing the cottage in an ethereal glow and illuminating its beauty.
“Well, here we are.” James said.
Harry’s emotions seesawed as he gazed upon the house. Blinking back tears, he focused on the front window and was overcome by a wave of feeling. For the first time in seventeen years, this place felt like home.
Inside were around a dozen people Harry hadn’t seen in quite some time. Most were sitting around the table, chatting cheerfully as if no time had passed. Sirius Black was talking animatedly with Remus Lupin. Meanwhile, Nymphadora Tonks showed Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey her morphing abilities, changing her hair from neon to garish hues amid their nonstop laughter. Cedric Diggory and Fred Weasley appeared to be discussing Quidditch when Fred mimicked catching a snitch. At the far end of the table, Severus Snape, Mad-Eye Moody, and Albus Dumbledore conversed silently, smiling. Suddenly, Dobby appeared at the door behind Sirius, carrying trays of food while levitating more. For the first time, Harry was surprised to see Dobby wearing decent, well-fitting clothes and shoes. He even wore a party hat, completing the look.
The front door opened abruptly, and Lily Potter rushed out, looking relieved to see her son and husband.
“Thank goodness you’re both here!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the front gate to open it. “I’ve been having panic attacks, wondering where you both disappeared to.” She gestured for them to come inside. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”
Harry followed behind his father, but before stepping over the threshold, he hesitated, wondering if he should speak to his parents before losing the chance.
“Honey?” Lily asked, looking bewildered as Harry stood motionless.
James turned. “What’s wrong, Son? Did you forget something?”
Harry shook his head, eyeing his parents apprehensively. Sensing his unease, they retreated outside, leaving the front door open.
“Harry?” Lily asked again, a hint of worry creeping into her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous about the party?”
Her question jolted Harry back to the present. He took a small step back. “I’m not nervous,” he said. “I just—” He looked into his parents’ eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Oh, sweetie,” said Lily, gently touching his arm with a reassuring smile. Harry felt the sudden warmth of her hand. “I know it’s different. Everyone feels this way when they come of age, but nothing will end. You’ll always be our little boy.”
James moved closer and nodded in agreement.
Harry bowed his head, shoulders slumping. How could he ever tell his parents what was going through his mind? How could he reveal the truth of his past?
Harry’s face must have betrayed his true feelings, because Lily asked gently, “I can see that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”
Harry hesitated a moment before finally whispering, “No.”
His parents exchanged anxious glances before focusing again on their son. Harry realized it was time to confess the truth.
“I’ve missed you both so much,” he began, his hands trembling slightly.
James’ eyebrows furrowed. “But we’ve always been with you, son.”
Harry shook his head emphatically. “That’s not what I mean.” He took a sharp breath before continuing. “You and Mum—you haven’t actually been with me for seventeen years. You both died when I was only one year old,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Harry fell silent, a lump rising in his throat. Talking about his parents’ deaths had always been difficult for him. He realized now that he’d been fooling himself into thinking he’d moved on—he hadn’t. It was one thing to acknowledge that his yearning for parents would never fade; it was quite another to face a future knowing that dream could never come true.
“I’ve… I’ve never known you until now,” he said quietly. “That moment in Diagon Alley when I first saw you both alive and well, buying my owl—you can’t imagine how much that meant to me.” He swallowed hard against the tears forming in his eyes.
A night breeze stirred the leaves in the trees like rolling ocean waves. Perhaps it was Harry’s startling admission that left his parents speechless, but he knew they were absorbing his every word.
“It was so cruel that I was only deceiving myself,” he continued slowly. “I let myself continue with this life because I desperately wanted you both to be real. It was a daily struggle to live knowing I don’t have parents to ask for comfort or reassurance, a chance I never had. And now you stand before me as if you’d never left.”
Harry placed his hand on top of his mother’s, feeling the solid warmth of their touching skin. A familiar, deep ache of sadness he knew would always linger rose up and engulfed him.
“Being with you and Dad has shown me how much I’ve missed,” he said, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and continued slowly, “I never thought there would be a time when I could hear your voices or feel your embraces. It has made me so happy that I don’t want this moment to end. I know it’s only a matter of time before I lose you both again and am alone.”
Harry stared at his parents, his eyes catching glimmers of moonlight. He had imagined this moment many times, the kind of life he had always longed for. He tried to draw strength from their presence—from the vision of the happy family they could have been—but fear crept in, threatening to paralyze him.
“You’ll never face your troubles alone again, son,” James said gently.
Lily reached out and softly touched his cheek. “You’ve suffered so much, my sweet boy. I can see it in your weary eyes. But you don’t have to deal with your worries alone anymore. We’ll always be with you now. Forever.”
Harry bowed his head and blinked back tears as his mother’s words resonated. He was weary of the heartache that had defined his past and longed to find peace with his parents at last. Though initially disconcerted by the divide between them, Harry now recognized its inevitability. There were no other options left.
“Forever.” Harry felt the strength of that eternal promise now, bridging the years he had been separated from his parents. It seemed to call to him, urging him to listen. He knew somehow that they too had been waiting for him, just as he had waited for them. Harry could not fathom never seeing them again or letting them fade into mere memory. Fate, through the ritual, had intervened, and when he first met his parents in Diagon Alley, he knew it was meaningful. This reunion had to have purpose.
The laughter from inside the cottage faded. When Harry raised his eyes, he saw Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Snape and the others welcoming him at the front door. It was such a tempting invitation to join them inside. After so many years together, Harry knew he now sought their solace, comfort only they could provide.
Harry was suddenly gripped by a hazy, distant memory, which gradually came into focus: Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys, and the life he had shared with them. Though not completely happy or fully engaged, he had been content with his friends. But then a painful knot formed in Harry’s stomach as he thought of Ginny—how could he have forgotten her? She cared for him deeply despite the challenges of his unique life.
Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Lily’s pleading words, “Come home, Love.”
He saw all of them waiting patiently for him to join them, so he could be happy here, leaving behind his difficult old life and making new memories. But despite his deep desire to stay, he knew he couldn’t let go of the life he had known.
Harry smiled sadly as he took a step back, taking in the faces looking his way. He felt lucky to have known them all; time would never diminish his memories of their support and protection, which had renewed his life beyond imagination. As Harry’s eyes fell on his parents, he agreed completely with Dumbledore—their love had given him the resolve to make it through.
After arriving in this new world, Harry had wondered what life would be like with his parents still alive. Now, having lived alongside them, he realized the experience was bittersweet. Though cruel in its temporariness, Harry was grateful for the chance to see his parents again and imagine an alternate life together. This gift of time had answered his deepest question.
With his heart beating steadily, Harry smiled a genuine smile, though his throat had tightened slightly. He rushed back to Lily and James and embraced them for the last time. “Thank you,” he managed, the only words he could muster.
As Harry released them, a wordless comprehension passed between Lily and James. They surely grasped that Harry could not linger, that he must return.
“We love you so much,” Lily said softly, squeezing his arm.
“I know,” Harry replied. “And I love you both as well.”
As the moonlight faded, Harry saw his parents’ smiling faces one last time before everything around him slowly dissolved into darkness. With tears welling beneath his closed eyelids, he grieved that he would never again hear their voices, feel their embraces, or see their loving expressions.
Once again, Harry plunged into endless dark space. With eyes closed, he took deep breaths to steady his nerves. He focused inward, taking stock of his body and finding everything intact.
Just as Harry thought the darkness and silence would continue indefinitely, he began to regain awareness when he heard muffled voices bickering in the distance. Then the sound of waves reached his ears, and a soft, salty breeze caressed his hair. He struggled to remember why tears were streaming down his face, but his mind was a blank.
Whispers erupted frantically around him as a familiar, warm hand grasped his, and Harry understood in that moment that he was home from the instant he opened his eyes.
THE END