James wondered where things went wrong, that even the head of Auror office was forced to come to the fields of Ottery St. Catchpole due to an emergency. Dozens of reporters were already here, with just as many hit wizards and witches cordoning them off, and grim-faced Aurors guarding the area.

"What in Merlin's sack is going on, Shacklebolt?" James looked to the steep hill of Stoatshead Hill, where dozens of wards were being put up from anyone entering. Or escaping. "The amount of dark magic the alarms detected nearly gave the minister a heart attack."

The impressive and very large black man was nothing but a wall of muscles and meat, simply nodded. "Death Eaters. A ritual was enacted an hour ago. A dozen Death Eaters dead."

James gaped in disbelief. "What the hell were they doing that got them all dead?"

Shacklebolt grimly said, "The Unspeakables are combing the outer ring of the runic circles. They think it might have been a resurrection."

A black pit of dread settled in his stomach, as James slowly turned to face his colleague. "You don't mean..."

"Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Otherwise, we'd be in loads more trouble, besides," His friend led him through the throngs of Aurors, and Hit-wizards, and said, "The Unspeakables think something went wrong in the ritual. An error in the runic work, a summoning of death, rather than a restoration symbol was traced onto the circle."

"A summoning?" Thoughts whirled around his head like a storm, of possibilities and guesswork. "Is that even possible? Summoning rituals... hasn't the practice been dead for centuries?"

"Yes, and very few families actually practice it, and those that do, they only summon minor spirits, faes and such, that they could actually deal with," He glared ahead, clearly disturbed. "However, should someone stupid enough to summon a major power, things almost always take a turn for the worse. Any powerful fey are far more intelligent than simple mortals like us, and tends to get the better end of any deals and screw you over. Summon a God, and they'll smite you, a binding circle be-damned. And that's only if you're lucky. The last thing any proper witch or wizard wants is a buggered God laying a curse that could last generations. And you can only imagine the nastier things in myth."

"A good reason for ICW to ban the practice worldwide, then." James felt a chill crawl down his spine. "So, a summoning. They were trying to summon You-Know-Who, to resurrect?"

"Yes, and they failed."

"But something did come through." James finally realized.

Shacklebolt grimaced.

"Mate, what exactly happened?"

The other man shuddered a sigh, as he finally led James up to the top of Stoatshead Hill, where the Unspeakables worked, and Aurors stood ready, wands out, and pointed at the middle of the circle.

The grass has been cleared, and a foundation of black marble covered the entirety of the hill. A circle was carved into the marble, and thousands, possibly tens of thousands of runes were intricately carved painstakingly onto the marble floor. The sheer amount of work that went into this circle must have taken hundreds of hours, and all in blood.

And there, standing in the middle of the circle, without a care in the world, stood a slim young man. He was tall, easily standing over six feet, and looked athletic. James figured he was in his early twenties, eerily too human to be summoned if the stories were true. But, weren't the otherworldly beings took on young, and beautiful forms? They certainly would not be wearing muggle clothing, and ugly ones, at that.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The... thing within the circle wore muggle beige shorts and an ugly merlin-awful Hawaiian buttoned-up shirt. And flip-flops, to complete the image.

But what really disturbed him, was the countenance of the boy. The stranger very much shared a resemblance to Harry, with that messy hair and olive tanned complexion. His features, like the lips, or the cheekbones, were very much Lily's. And those eye colours were a similar shade to the rest of his family, especially Harry. Especially Harry. But that was all where the similarities ended. 

James could easily imagine Harry looking like him, all grown up.

"Shacklebolt, what exactly happened?"

"After the Death Eaters were cleared, I initiated contact with the being, while the Unspeakables tried to find a way to send it back to wherever it came from," The Auror cleared his throat, looking unsure. "It... it wants a lawyer to represent him."

James stared blankly at the man beside him. "Is this a prank? Are you having me on?"

Shacklebolt snorted. "I wish that were the case."

"So... here we are, now."

"Here we are." James took a stepped forward, signaling the Aurors. The Aurors snapped up, their wands pointed at the eerily quiet young man, who was now smoking. He sniffed the air, smelling the narcotic burning smell of... was that halfling weed? James, baffled, stepped by the outer runic circle.

He cleared his throat, grabbing its attention.

"Clearly, you ain't my lawyer," James watched it inhaling the substance, its eyes cloudy. Great, a posh pothead, high off of magic weed. Just what he needed.

Having dealt with politicians, nobles, dignitaries, and world leaders, James hadn't any particular idea in how he should be dealing with this issue. Still, diplomacy is the best, for now.

"You have. And upon further reflection, we have yet to identify you. In order to fully cooperate, we need confirmation that you shall not be a danger to our presence. Until then, you shall stay put, until we find a way to send you back to wherever it is that you came from," James' eyes were granite. "Is that understood?"

The being exhaled, the smoke drifting toward James, shifting into shapes of dragons and ships. The twist of James' wand, sent a brief stiff wind, blowing away the smoke.

The head of Auror headquarters didn't even blink.

"I'm going to say this one time," The being softly said. The words seemed to flow out, like a fog (literally), even though the wards set up specifically for almost any specification. "Please, don't threaten me."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" James asked, dryly.

The Aurors stiffened, wands poised.

"A threat?" The young man seemed amused by James' response. "Take it however you want, I suppose."

James stood there, quite wishing he had cast the warming charm before he went up a steep hill.

"What is your name, then?"

"Harry Potter."

James froze. "Wait, what?"