Harry Potter and the Heart of Regenesis

Author's Note

When I began re-reading the Harry Potter books in November 2004 I could have had no idea just where it would lead...

I read at bedtime and in my lunch-breaks at work but was frustrated when I kept leaving my faithful hardbacks in the wrong place. So I downloaded an Acrobat file I found on the Internet and loaded it onto my laptop in order to be able to leave the books at home. It worked well until I reached Book Five.

Having only read 'The Order of the Phoenix' once I started again (from the laptop) but...something seemed different - I was sure my memory wasn't so bad that I wouldn't have remembered some of the things that were unfolding even in the first couple of chapters of this version! A quick A/B comparison confirmed my suspicions that what I was reading was most certainly not what I thought it was. I had discovered fanfic!

Barb Purdom's first book in what was to become the Psychic Serpent series made me laugh out loud, cower in fear and - most surprising - cry like a hyper-depressed Cho Chang! By the time I was half way through the first book I was not only reading at lunch and bedtimes but sitting up half the night in front of the computer screen as well! I contacted Barb and told her the books were the best I'd ever read - period, as the American's say.

I began recording her series as audio books, a project which is continuing but will take a long time to complete (for links to the chapters visit www.marcharry.com ) and I also wanted to write my own novel - a sequel, if you like, to Barb's works. Having obtained her permission to do this I am happy to submit my humble efforts to the avid community of Harry Potter fanfic readers I have discovered exist all over the world.

With thanks to Wendy and Awais, my willing and helpful beta-readers.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

True Love Lasts Forever?

It was one of those 'life defining' moments, Harry thought as he re-read the parchment for the umpteenth time that morning. He had woken, as usual, to the sound of Hedwig's wings fluttering noisily through his open window. Hedwig was his snowy owl, bought for him as an eleventh birthday present by Hagrid, the half-giant who had been groundskeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Usually, the sound of her flapping wings signalled her post-dawn return from a night's hunting but this morning, a rarity in recent months, she had had a small scroll tucked into the special pocket on her leg from which he had removed the small scroll and slipped her a piece of crispy bacon rind from the saucer on which he kept her favourite treat. The sun shone brightly through the open window and, outside, the green of the fields and the bright white and rose-pink blossom on the cherry trees would, normally, have brought a contented sigh from Harry Potter - the boy who lived - but not today. For he was now a man, and a discontented, frustrated and, above all, lonely man to boot.

He couldn't help reflecting, as he seemed to do every day these past few months, how life here in Cresheim Hall (a girl's magic school on the outskirts of Philadelphia) used to be somewhat better. He had settled there with his wife, Ginny (nee Weasley) who had been the flying instructor at the school since she left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry six years ago. Harry had, of course, left behind him most of the magical world - he was now a squib, having sacrificed his magical abilities in order to bring his dead fellow-student Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, despite having spent the better part of their seven years at the old school as Harry's arch-enemy had redeemed himself to a large extent by forming part of the now-famous 'triangle' which had led to the ultimate defeat of the darkest wizard, Lord Voldemort. Malfoy had died in the final battle and Harry used some extremely difficult - not to say somewhat dark - magic, the 'Enuma Elish' charm, in order to bring him back from the dead. The last he heard Draco was writing very successful books - 'the new Gilderoy Lockhart' he had sarcastically christened him more than once - and playing minor league Quidditch for a team he bought with the proceeds. Harry was not surprised, though, that Malfoy had not yet managed to win 'most charming smile' award (voted for by readers of the Daily Prophet wizarding newspaper). The thought of a Malfoy smile that was not merely a sneer in disguise was too hard for Harry to imagine!

A large striped cat padded across the floor, stretched and yawned then snuggled up to Harry's leg and purred as he continued his reflections on what had been a very exciting past for a man, still only in his mid-twenties...

"Bainbridge..." he said out loud to himself as if remembering happier times. Bainbridge had been one of a pair - as had he, of course. The other cat was called MacKenzie - and that particular feline friend lived with Ginny. "Ginny," he opined with an even sadder air it seemed. Their life in Cresheim had seemed to be enough to satisfy them both, he thought. Quite obviously he had been wrong, he thought and shook his head with considerable dismay.

He rose with the sun each morning and either drove to the Muggle School where he taught PE three days a week or performed his other part-time duties tending and mowing the Cresheim Hall Quidditch pitch. Once more, he scowled and reminded himself that Quidditch, his favourite pastime in years gone by, was pretty much now the root of all his problems.

Ginny had been asked by the headmistress of the school if 'her husband' might be prepared to cut the grass and roll the pitch twice a week - a day's work each time. (Harry's true identity was unknown by anyone else at the school - 'can you imagine the fuss if the girls ever found out who Ms Weasley's husband really was?' All their friends agreed this arrangement was the best: not only was Harry extremely famous - he was also extremely good-looking! All those teenage girls and their raging hormones! Harry could do without that, he thought...or rather he HAD thought before he had been forced to spend these last few months on his own...) He had agreed - he enjoyed being in the sun and had considered a career in landscape gardening once upon a time - and now, every Monday and Thursday he rode around the pitch on a large motor-mower gazing up at the hoops daydreaming and wishing more than anything else that he could be up there on his old Firebolt, robes flowing behind him as he swerved and dipped in search of the golden snitch. Harry had, like his old friend and brother-in-law Ron, played just one international Quidditch match - against each other: Harry for Wales and Ron as chaser for England. (Harry, of course, had been forced to stop playing when he became unable to fly a broomstick while Ron was immediately disqualified from playing competitively once it was discovered that he was a werewolf.)

It actually hurt him now to think of Ron. His first friend at Hogwarts was, of course, Ginny's elder brother and he could not help thinking of one when he thought of the other. However, he forced himself to remember their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express - Ron with his squashed bag of sandwiches and Harry, his newly discovered wealth burning a hole in his pocket, had treated his new pal to more sweets than he had ever seen, let alone eaten. He remembered his first chocolate frog escaping through the open window of the train, Dumbledore being his first wizard card and how they had forgotten the description of his major achievements on the reverse of the card. It would have saved them a lot of trouble just a few months later if they could have committed those simple details to memory then! It was committed to memory now - that was for sure!

And that was part of Harry's problem...he could remember virtually everything he'd ever done in those heady, hectic seven years (well, eight if you included the one he'd virtually lived twice!*) and now he wished he could be eleven again and have Hagrid just about to knock down the door of the shack on the remote island where the Dursley family had tried to hide from Hogwarts. Or, maybe, he'd have been better off if Hagrid had not found him at all. No losing his magic then, no missing Quidditch...and no missing Ginny.

He turned, having reached the end of the pitch and began the next row towards the three distant posts where, atop each, sat the Quidditch rings, or goals. Until he started mowing the pitch he hadn't missed Quidditch at all. He had, he now admitted to himself, forced himself not to think about it and it was not until he found himself riding backwards and forwards in front of the empty stands that all his memories came back to him and he felt his heart racing as it used to before each match. Now he knew how much he missed Quidditch, missed flying and, most of all, missed transforming into his beautiful golden griffin animagus form and flying over land and sea.

That was one of the problems he had with Quidditch...the other, of course, was Ginny. It had been completely 'out of the blue', her invitation from the USA international squad to help train their squad (using her speciality, flying technique, which she had taught at the school) for the recent World Quidditch Cup. At first it was only a temporary job, Cresheim Hall having given her 'extended leave for the benefit of the nation'. Ginny, herself, was an excellent Quidditch player - Harry had often thought she was a better seeker than even he had been - but it was her understanding of how best to control movement on a broom that they were interested in (she wouldn't have qualified to play for the USA anyway, of course, being born and bred in England from pure-blood English wizarding stock.) Her immense contribution over the six-month period leading up to the tournament had led to the USA winning the tournament for the first time since 1864, on which occasion the trophy was presented by President (and powerful wizard) Abraham Lincoln (who had captained the previous winning American team himself, as it happened).

Harry had been there for the final against France. France had been an immensely strong team for the last few years - ever since they had managed to persuade Jean-Claude Jones to be their seeker, in fact. He had been the best 'opponent' Harry had had in the trials for Welsh seeker in his seventh year but, having a dual-qualification, he had opted to play for France just days before Harry's untimely retirement from the sport. Many observers believed that Jones regretted this decision and rumours abounded that he still wore the Welsh dragon underneath his French robes while playing. Still, despite Jones's excellence, the USA team's all-round broomstick technique had led them to a famous victory and the celebrations afterwards were every bit as lavish as a Hogwarts feast. Yet, try as he might to get Ginny to himself for a few minutes during the evening she seemed to be always in great demand elsewhere. The American Minister of Magic sidelined her for a good hour - Harry noticed that the minister's eyes seemed glued to his wife's body for much of that time, then the management team of the squad took her into a side room and, after another hour, she emerged to tell Harry that they had negotiated her permanent release from Cresheim Hall and offered her a permanent job with the American Quidditch Foundation. She was excited; Harry was somewhat perplexed - not to mention gutted.

***********

He had lived without her for all but a few days of the last six months. Now, at the end of this time of purgatory he had been longing to have her back at home - and little Dai as well, of course. (David James Potter was Harry and Ginny's three and a half-year-old son - Dai being his nickname - a Welsh derivative of the name of the country's patron saint.) He had missed them SO much his heart had ached night after night. He would wake and go to Dai's room, only to find it ever-empty and then trudge back to his lonely four-poster and stare at the moving, wizarding photos which he had placed near enough to his pillow that he didn't need his glasses to see them. Now, it had become clear, she was not going to be coming back - life was never going to be normal again. Was he expected to give up his jobs and move with Ginny to New Orleans, where the Federation had their headquarters? As he looked enviously at Ginny mingling so happily with her new circle of friends and acquaintances - the men with whom she had spent just about every moment of the last half-year with - his heart gave a sudden leap as he asked himself the question: would she even want me to move down South with her?

And, as he had so soon discovered, that was, indeed, the question. The next weekend back in Philadelphia had proved so trying. Discussions became arguments, accusations filled the air; personal issues of pride took the place of the love they once shared and, by Tuesday Ginny and Dai were gone again. All these months later, they still had not been back to the cottage. Even for Christmas Ginny had gone back to England to spend the holiday at The Burrow with Arthur and Molly (as well as her sister Maggie/Peggy and her husband, Harry's old Potions professor Severus Snape. Ron had also visited The Burrow during the holiday and she had told him of the separation. He had not been in contact with Harry since).

Harry stopped the mower, switched off the engine and lay back on the warm, slightly damp grass to soak up some sun. As he did, he took out the letter Hedwig had brought once more:

Dear Harry,

I thought it was time we spoke again. How are you? I hope you are well...

It sounded so formal - it reinforced the distance between them so much he found it hard to go on...

I am so busy here...the team have been invited to undergo a world tour! We set off in three week's time and will be visiting different countries to play their national teams in a series of friendlies. All in all the tour will be over two months long. We start in Europe with games against Germany, Italy and Denmark then we become the first USA team to ever play in Nigeria and South Africa. After that we visit India and Sri Lanka, Indonesia and Australia before finishing in China - where we have the opportunity to bring our families and enjoy a two-week holiday!

At this point Harry's heart had leapt when he first read the letter. He had always wanted to visit China. He had heard about it from Cho Chang, an early girlfriend (if you could call her that) of his whose family roots were in Shanghai, and he had always had more than a soft spot for Chinese food - particularly sweet and sour chicken balls. He assumed that Ginny was just about to invite him to meet her in China for the holiday part of the tour. He read on, excitedly...

So, I wondered...could you please look after David for the first 6 weeks of the tour then...

...the sentence which finally broke his heart...

Put him on the plane so he can join me for the holiday in China. I'm sure he'll be so excited to see the Great Wall, the pagodas and palaces. See, I'm getting excited just writing about it. It'll be maybe a once in a lifetime opportunity for him and I'm sure you wouldn't want him to miss that!

"No," thought Harry. "But I don't want ME to miss it either." But Ginny was not there to see his crestfallen face as he finally realised she'd moved on - without him.

You'll notice I call him David now - or Davy sometimes. People don't understand the Welsh thing over here. They think all of the UK is just England! The maps of Wales and Scotland aren't in any of Davy's books or encyclopaedias! Isn't that strange? It's as if they don't realise we're all different countries! Also, people always used to joke I was calling him 'Die' and saying things like 'I thought you English were known for 'lurving' your children...' Hope you don't mind.

"Yes, I bloody DO mind," he shouted out loud at the letter. " I bloody mind what you call him, I bloody mind that I miss him and don't get to see him, I bloody mind that you're gallivanting all over the planet without me and I BLOODY WELL MIND that right now I can't put a thousand hexes on you Ginny BLOODY Weasley!" As his face reddened and his voice got louder he failed to notice tears filling his eyes and streaming down his face once more.

Anyway, like I said, you look after yourself and say 'hi' to Bainbridge and Sandy for me.

Must go - we have a training session in half an hour,

Ginny

There it was - the first letter she'd ever sent him that did not end with 'love, Ginny' at the end. He remembered the first one - with the basilisk amulet he'd received on his 15^th birthday.

"Love Ginny, huh!" Dudley had mocked him, raising his eyebrows.

His hand automatically went to his chest where for years he had worn the little silver amulet in the shape of a basilisk she had given him that day. He had stopped wearing it when Ginny first lived with him - when she was there, in person, breathing every breath with him from day to day, why did he need to wear an amulet to see her. It was one of the very few 'magic' things he could still partake in. That, talking to Sandy and being able to 'see' past anti-Muggle charms was about it. The way he felt about Ginny right now he wondered, ironically, if he would even be able to see Ginny now - if he were to clasp the piece of magic jewellery. The bitter thoughts about her that had crossed his mind throughout the day made him doubt this somehow.

After a while longer in the sun, moments all filled with memories and thoughts of the past - all of which seemed to hurt for one reason or another, he got up, put the mower away and jogged back up the grass-covered hill through the cherries to his cottage. Across the fields he could see the Cresheim girls in their fawn-coloured robes making their way to their various after-school activities. One girl, with bushy brown hair and a short, slender (albeit shapely) form caught his eye as he glanced in her direction. From a distance it could have been a teenage Hermione. This brought a smile to his face for the first time in hours - somehow he had always found that thinking of clever, bossy, know-it-all Hermione had a way of making him smile. They had done so much together - especially in the fifth year when they had, literally, done SO much with, and to, each other! He thought about her now, working in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable and married to Ron...

"Shi...! Ron!" Harry's smile disappeared again. The thought of Ron brought him back to today...and, inevitably, back to Ginny. He unlocked the front door - with a key. He grimaced. He found himself thinking - again - how much he wished 'Alohomora' still worked for him. For years he'd kept trying, hoping beyond hope that one morning it would all be back. He would cry, "Accio, teacup!" or "Wingardium Leviosa!" to a trunk but with no more success than if he'd have once asked Draco Malfoy to wear an "I Luv Gryffindor" badge on his Hogwart's robes! Harry closed the door, showered and, before the sun had even set, he went to his lonely bed and fell asleep.

***************

* see Harry Potter and the Time of Good Intentions (BL Purdom)

***************

Chapter Two

Undiscovered Seeker

The next evening, after working all day in the Quaker owned school in which he taught - Penn College, Harry tried to compose a reply to Ginny's last letter. He sat quietly with quill and parchment, Hedwig waiting patiently beside the table at which he sat to deliver the final tome. He wondered which 'tone' he should use. Should he try to show her he was still the besotted, lovestruck Harry he had been for so long? Should he try to let her see how much this present set of circumstances was hurting him? Should he try to hurt her back? He sat for over an hour pondering his options and downing several mugs of Darjeeling as he did before deciding to just write...and wait to see what happened:

Dearest Ginny,

As I sit here in our cottage I can't help but wonder what on earth has happened. It is like some sort of dream - or nightmare might be a better word. Just a few months ago it seemed we had all we wanted - a lovely cottage, jobs we enjoyed, each other's company and a beautiful little boy. Then a whirlwind came and turned our lives upside down.

I miss you so much. And I miss Dai, too - every minute of every day. (Do you mind if I still call him Dai?) Since you left I've started feeling so much pain...pain because you're not here (and I'm beginning to think we may never be together again) and also pain because I have finally admitted to myself that I miss my magic. Every time I see the Quidditch pitch I ache to be able to play, to fly. I wish I could be back at Hogwarts, meeting you on top of the astronomy tower - me as a golden griffin and you stroking my mane - or even riding me over the Forbidden Forest. But those days are gone...sadly or otherwise.

When I received your letter I was so happy - I still look forward so much to hearing from you. Yes, I am well and looking after myself - I don't have much option on the latter, do I? Work keeps me busy during the day but the nights are so long - all I can do to stop the pain is sleep. I tried starting to write my memoirs - if Malfoy can find enough readers to feed his Gringott's account then I ought to be able to! Unlike that phoney Gilderoy Lockhart I actually DID my own achievements! Unfortunately, all the best moments of my life inevitably lead me back to thoughts of you - and when I think of you again I can't write.

Then Harry succumbed to near desperation:

I have to ask - have you completely stopped loving me? I'm sure you still loved me up to the time when you started your new job with the USQF (before the World Cup). After all, we were together then and I, for one, never suspected a thing. But something has happened since...and isn't absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder? I wish I knew what that 'something' was. Is it something I've done? Or something I haven't done? All I know is the awful feeling I have that there is 'something' I could have done to prevent us being in the situation we are? Is that right? Is it my fault?

Please, Ginny, talk to me? Can you come over - I'm only an Apparition away :o)

If not, what about me coming over to China with you and Dai/David as well? Could we have a family holiday and try to sort things out? At this stage, I'm so miserable I'd happily move to be with you in New Orleans - or is it too late for that?

Please reply with some answers. Please give Dai lots of hugs and kisses for me.

Missing you both so much With all my love,

Your Harry

He read and re-read the letter several times. It would never be good enough, he thought, and eventually he persuaded himself to fasten it to the pocket on Hedwig's leg and send her off with an extra few bits of bacon.

He decided to go for a run before bed. After changing into his running vest and trainers Harry left the cottage and ran down to the Quidditch pitch. One of the Cresheim house teams was practicing. He watched as the girls swooped and glided through the air, their hair flying behind them; he watched as bludgers, often hit with surprisingly UN-feminine power, soared towards chasers, as keepers dived between hoops trying to prevent goals and, most of all at the seekers whose watchful gaze he had once been so good at. In fact - right now - he caught a glimpse of the small, winged, golden ball and couldn't help calling out to the seeker - a very dark girl with short curls whose eyes shone bright white,

"Over there - see! Quick!" as the girl gracefully circled and began a descent towards where Harry was pointing. The seeker was half way there before she saw the golden glint for herself, however, and she waved gratefully at her 'helper' when she had her target in sight. Harry had failed to notice the young lady sitting a few yards away from him, probably watching some of her friends practicing. Her eyes were red - as if she'd been crying. She had a small handkerchief on the grass beside her, which confirmed his suspicions. He looked up at her again and noticed it was his 'Hermione look-alike'. She turned towards him and asked

"How did you see that? That was amazing!" She smiled, which he was pleased about and he replied modestly,

"I'm a good Quidditch watcher! Couldn't you see it?"

"Me? I'm hopeless at anything to do with flying or Quidditch! You should be a seeker, though! And why do you need glasses if you can see that well?"

"Cos I'm blind as a bat without them!" he laughed. "And I can't be a seeker if I can't fly a broomstick, can I?"

"Oh, man!" she exclaimed, somewhat disappointedly. "Are you a Muggle?"

"No," he smiled at her. "More like a squib, I'm afraid."

She shook her head, as if feeling sorry for him. He smiled thinly at her and asked,

"Are you OK? You look a bit upset." The girl stood and came over nearer to him, sat again on the warm grass and replied,

"It's not been a good day today. My Potions master is such a..." she paused as if trying to think of some way to describe him which would be polite enough to say in front of a complete stranger. Harry, of course, knew all about awkward Potions teachers!

"It was just a bad lesson - and my cauldron spilled, my Potion turned blue instead of green and...and..." She seemed about to break down again. "And my cat just died," she finally got out. "Bludger, he was called. He was a big, cuddly tabby with long whiskers and big, green eyes. I'd had him all my life."

"What happened?" Harry asked her. "Was it an accident of some sort?"

"Oh no. He was really old - nearly twenty - ancient for a cat - and was getting ill and tired. The last few months all he did was sleep and purr. It's still sad, though isn't it? When you lose a pet?" She tried to get him to agree. Finally, he nodded, although he'd never actually suffered that particular type of bereavement.

"I can't imagine what it must be like to lose a relation or a friend. Can you?"

Harry thought immediately that there were hardly any witches or wizards in Europe who could ever have asked a question like that. Pictures of Fred, Padma and Parvati, Colin Creevey, Hannah Abbott, Hagrid...his mother and father...Dudley...so many of them came into his mind and he sat, not answering her, staring into the blue sky for what might have been several minutes...

"Oh, I'm sorry," the girl apologised. "You must have lost someone." Harry didn't want to make her think she'd upset him - after all his intention had been to comfort her. So he shrugged and said,

"Yes. My parents died...but it was when I was a baby. I can hardly remember, to be honest with you." She seemed reassured but, as though she was trying to show him his presence and comforting demeanour were actually having some effect, she changed the subject.

"You're English, aren't you?" She had recognised and placed his accent, obviously. He nodded, even though he regarded himself as totally Welsh, not English - but wasn't worth trying to explain that to an American, he thought. Ginny had been right about that, at least. "Did you ever get to meet Harry Potter?" she continued, expectantly.

"If I had a galleon for every time one of you lot have asked me that I'd be a rich man," he lied - after all he was both Harry Potter AND a rich man!

She laughed too, in return and smiled. Close up, she was not that much like Hermione, he realised - it was obviously a 'distance' thing but, nevertheless, he said to her,

"Do you know, you look like someone else I know - or knew once?"

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Unlucky them!" They both laughed again and Harry tried to reassure her that she looked "just fine" and shouldn't "put herself down."

She coloured ever so slightly and whispered (not that anyone else could hear them),

"We think you look like someone else too!" Harry began to worry a little. "That's why I just asked you that question - you look just like HIM!" she said, assuming he would know whom she meant.

"Him who?" he replied, knowing full well who she meant.

"Harry Potter, of course!" she continued. "He's soooo good looking! We've all got posters of him in our dormitories. No-one knows where he is now though...I guess he doesn't want any attention after all he went through with - er - Voldemort."

Harry was quite surprised. Apart from himself and Ginny he hadn't heard anyone else speak that name for a long, long time.

"You don't mind mentioning his name, then? The 'Dark Lord'?" He tried to say the last two words with as much sarcasm as he could.

"Oh, not any more. I haven't heard him referred to as 'he who must not be named' for years now - since I was little kid," she said. "Why, don't you name him?"

"I tend to try not to think about him," Harry told her, truthfully. "But it's nice to know people aren't scared any more," he admitted. "You should be glad he didn't do that much damage over here. It was awful knowing that so many people died at his hands over in England," he told her, thinking again about those he had lost - but especially of his own parents, of Cedric, Dudley and then - again, as he had a few minutes earlier - of all those other Hogwarts friends who had perished at the hands of Voldemort. He even thought of Jamie and Stuart (and Simon too, really and the 'other' Ginny) in the 'alternate world' he had created in his sixth year. He realised he'd now lost Ginny twice and this thought made him wince.

She must have seen a tear in his eyes and she said,

"My dad's cousin was an auror working in England when it was all happening. He survived, fortunately, but he told us many stories about what was going on - the killings, the chaos - he said the same as you - be grateful!" Then she shocked him again,

"What's your name?" She came straight out with it! Harry came to full attention now - he could blow his cover here if he wasn't careful. THEN how could he escape from the ensuing flood of hormones?

"Uh...Neville," he lied - again! Then he remembered he'd seen his usual alias of convenience's name in the Daily Prophet recently - the real Neville's fame as one of the world's leading magical botanists was obviously spreading and he was coming to America (to the other girl's magic school, which in a ridiculous coincidence was situated at Dursley Manor, on the outskirts of Sacramento) to lecture the NEWT students on Advanced Herbology. Thinking quickly he continued, "Neville...er Finnegan." My granddad was Irish. He added, "Call me Nev! OK?"

"OK, Nev," she smiled to him. "But," she hesitated and smiled a rather flirty sort of smile at him. "I can keep on dreaming that it's Harry Potter living up there on the hill, can't I? You'll always be Harry to me! Sure you haven't got a scar hidden under there?" she teased him.

"No, not here," he laughed - pointing at his forehead and wondering if he was convincing her at all. "Just the one on my bum," he grinned, pointing at his posterior. "Don't ask...it's to do with a Muggle barbed wire fence!"

She clearly didn't have a clue what a barbed wire fence was and her face looked somewhat bemused for a moment. He got up as he said this and waved his goodbye; then he remembered his manners.

"Oh! And what's your name?" he called out as he started his ascent back to the cottage.

"I'm Jem," she called out to him. "Jem Stone - with a J." She made a face and called, "Yes, awful, isn't it? My parents say its because I am 'precious' to them but...you can guess - I get the lot in school: emerald, opal, diamond, ruby...heard 'em all!"

Harry had lived in both the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. Names were often very different in both, he had found - and it was one of the things he had been pondering while he drove around the field mowing the pitch. In his Muggle school he had frequently wondered why parents gave their children such boring names - he had had three Toms and four Gemmas in his class. How imaginative. Then there were parents who named their children after pop stars or film actors. Either that or they would do something utterly stupid like call their child Robin Sparrow (why choose a bird name for a forename when you already had one for a surname?) - or, worse still, the poor boy he had known in Little Whingeing whose name was Aaron Mycock! In the Wizarding World names were much more exciting. He had never met a Muggle boy called Rubeus, Percy, or even Ronald - or a girl called Hermione for that matter; even though her parents were Muggles it seemed that they had given her a name more suited to her destiny.

Harry waved again, shouted,

"See ya, Jem" and he was gone.

******************

Harry reflected on how nice it had been just to talk to another living soul in a non-professional way. He talked to pupils and colleagues at Penn College all the time, of course, but had never socialized with his fellow teachers much - the odd end of term meal to which he'd managed to persuade (an almost always pretty reluctant) Ginny to attend was about it. He tended not to spend much time in the staff room each day - just popped in a couple of times a day for a coffee and to check his pigeon-hole for letters or other teaching paraphernalia, most of which he dropped in his favourite filing cabinet - the nearest waste paper bin - within seconds. He preferred to shut himself in the PE office at breaks and lunchtime with his strong coffee and his (hidden up to that point) copy of the Daily Prophet (US edition).

It was in the Daily Prophet the week before he'd read about Neville's visit to Dursley Manor.

"Of ALL the names to call a magical school!" he whispered to himself in bewilderment and he began daydreaming about some long-lost ancestors of Vernon Dursley, his hated uncle, brandishing a wand and uttering incantations. The mere thought was just too bizarre, he thought - even after the things he'd seen in his lifetime! He smiled and drank another mouthful of Costa Rica's finest.

He thought it might be nice to invite Neville, his East-European wife Karyn and their daughters Fern and Gemma (named after Neville's mother, the tortured ex-auror who was still, to Harry's knowledge, in St Mungo's Hospital) to visit, or even stay for a while, during their trip. It would be nice to catch up on some of the news from Britain - the American Edition of the Daily Prophet rarely carried much international news - save the odd feature on Quidditch, Wizard Chess tournaments and some very old, sensational articles by one Marita Kareeta. That name had immediately struck a chord somewhere in his mind when he had read it - then he realised he'd seen (but not read) the articles several years before during his first and second years at Hogwarts - they were rehashed gossip articles by Rita Skeeter.

'Good Grief!' he thought - 'are they that desperate for things to publish?'

Today's issue seemed 'particularly desperate', he sighed as he reached the end of the mug. Politics - there was an election for a new wizarding governor in Missouri, apparently, and one of the candidates was suspected of having used the Cruciatus Curse while a student. He was countering the accusation by declaring that his opponent was having an affair with a Muggle air hostess. Just that sort of thing, filling page after page. Then a small article underneath the wizarding crossword caught his eye.

Wizarding crosswords were telepathic - once your brain had worked out the clue the answer automatically filled it in - even if it was wrong he had discovered to his cost on several occasions in the past - he couldn't do them without a pen these days, of course. On this particular day he was amused to discover that there was a 'theme' to the crossword.

8 across was: best students may become one of these at school (7)

12 down read: Sun god and babe confused English king (6)

14 across: Henry ____ - an inventor of Muggle transport means (4)

18 down: blemish in the metalwork of your 14 across? (4)

21 across: one who can travel great distances at no cost (5-6)

The clincher was the last clue down: number of clues in today's puzzle (5-3)

Of course, Harry had thought, today (March 11^th) was the birthday of the famous wizard who had worked as a Muggle author as a cover for his 'Unspeakables' work for many years. All wizards had, of course, known for centuries the true importance, in Arithmancy, of the particular number of clues on 'this particular day'!

The article in question was a report from the English Ministry of Magic about a potions expert who was working on a revolutionary treatment for werewolfism (the English still used the older word lycanthropy but, it seemed 'werewolfism' was the Americanism) which, she hoped, would enable them to live a completely normal life at all times. The article stopped short of using the word 'cure' but went on to say that it took elements of the long-available wolfsbane potion but also used a combination of ingredients which included mandrake roots and the juice from moon-orchids. Spokespersons from St Mungo's and other leading hospitals were 'unavailable for comment' while the creator of the potion, Sherilyn Salt, declined to 'give further details at this time'. He could vaguely remember Salt from Hogwarts. She had not been a typical Slytherin in many ways - quite pretty with small, blue-framed spectacles and longish, fair hair. But she had been yet another Snape sycophant who had spent hours and hours on her own down in the Potions Dungeons. Harry even remembered her assisting Snape in some of their lessons when he was a 3rd Year.

That would make her 4 years older than he was - getting on for thirty now but she was, clearly, already a famous apothecary. Harry raised an eyebrow and rolled his head. He'd rarely spoken a word to Sherilyn but, he thought, at least she's putting all that study to good use. He wondered if Lupin and Ron were excited by this news. He realised it would take extensive tests and quite some time before the werewolves 'on the street', as it were, would be able to purchase this potion in Diagon Alley but he thought they were probably keeping a close eye on developments - rather like his middle-aged, Muggle Headmaster at Penn Manor was... He was finding it somewhat difficult to be patient waiting for the soon-but-oft-promised cure for diabetes. Rather like another headmaster Harry had once known, Dr Alec Binge had a penchant for sherbet lemons that, since his diagnosis, he had been unable to enjoy quite as often as he desired!

Harry knew lots of people (particularly Muggles) who worried about these apparent 'coincidences'. They made him smile - he'd not learned much from Sybil Trelawney in Divination but it was enough for him to know there was no such thing as coincidence! This caused him to chuckle but then he sat up with a start as he remembered what he'd been reading earlier about Dursley Manor.

"No!" he shook his head. "That's going too far!" It was enough to make him shudder involuntarily!

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