Friday, July 4th, 2014. 1:35 PM.

  Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Though he couldn’t believe it, there were times Harry actually missed being an orphan.

  Yes, his life had been hard. Brutal. Neglected, ignored, even abused. But he had been responsible for only himself. He took the bad times, fought the good fight, and had kept his pride and sense of self. He had faced the worst both his worlds had to offer, and had come through, not unscathed, but whole.

  But now, now was different. Forcing calm into his voice, Harry said, “Last warning.”

  The perpetrator also heard the change in Harry’s voice. He looked over his shoulder to see Harry’s wand pointed at his back, his victim twisting in the air above him. He still had the nerve to smirk.

  “Unless you put him down right now...,” Harry started. There was a loud THUMP!

  “...gently.” Harry finished, just too late. The face was looking at him, smug, still smirking, mouth opening to deliver words of defiance. Harry knew that he had lost even if he won.

  “Petrificus totallus!” Harry barked. Another thump.

  Harry walked over and looked down at the unnaturally still figure. Only the eyes were moving, and there was a studied insolence in the way they rolled at him. Harry sighed.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” came a small, meek voice. Harry turned to look. The owner of the voice was picking himself up off the carpet, wincing only slightly.

  “We were just playing,” said Al.

  “Yeah, just playing!” Lily piped up. Harry fought the urge to smile at his son and daughter. No matter what the offense was, he could count on his kids to present a united front.

  “He only got a little excited...”

  “Albus.” Harry’s use of his full first name shut Al down in mid-sentence. “And Lily. I didn’t do this because of what he did to you. I did it because of what he did to me.”

  He looked back down at James, then knelt beside his head. “James, look at me.”

  The blue eyes darted around uneasily, then came back to meet the startling green of Harry’s gaze.

  “James Sirius Potter, you are the oldest child. As such, your mother and I have certain expectations of you. Those expectations do not include you dangling your brother upside down in mid-air, without even a pillow under him.”

  The eyes sparkled in the frozen face. Harry sighed again, and continued in a gradually rising voice.

  “James, I am busy. Your mother is very busy. Neither of us has the time we used to, or wish that we did. YOU are eleven years old. You are supposed to start at Hogwarts this fall. And, yet, it seems to be YOU who are the instigator of every piece of chaos that has pulled me off my work, and interrupted your mother’s commentating preparation, EVERY SINGLE DAY this summer!”

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  The eyes shifted uneasily. Harry went on.

  “How do you expect us to trust you out of our sight? Trust you with a wand? We can’t even trust you to mind Kreacher when we’re at work, so how do you expect us to let you go off to school?”

  The eyes were looking alarmed now.

  Harry schooled his expression to severity. “You stay this way for an hour. No dessert tonight, and no magic at all this weekend. And you and I and your mother are going to have a long talk before you are allowed anywhere near Hogwarts.”

  The eyes were starting to well with tears. Disciplinarian or not, Harry still took time to wedge a sofa pillow under one of James’ shoulders, so the moisture could run away freely. And he did it so that James was facing towards the wall, away from his brother and sister.

  Harry turned toward them, and, for the third time, sighed. Not one, not two, but three pre-teen magic users in one house. Every one of them strongly talented, and every one lovingly encouraged to make the most of their talents. At least once every day, Harry wondered how his in-laws had raised six wizards and a witch, and still remained functional.

  Al stood there quietly. Harry could tell that he wanted to help his brother, but he understood his dad’s reaction. Lily, on the other hand, was becoming upset. Easy to see, since the little eddies of air that followed her everywhere were becoming visible dust devils, seven of them, circling her widdershins.

  “Come on, kids.” As they walked out onto the stoop, Harry said, matter-of-factly, “Lily, outside manners.”

  Lily’s whirlwinds dropped away to settling dust as she controlled her magic. This also lightened her mood, and, Harry thought optimistically, kept the house a little cleaner. Dusting was one of her few chores for this very reason.

  “Look, I’m not mad.” Seeing the sceptical looks, he continued, “Really, I am not. Not at James, not at you. But you heard me. We are in a rough patch now, and this can NOT go on. Al, you need to stand up to your brother a little more. And Lily..,”

  She looked up at him with big, soulful pity-me eyes, so like her mother’s, (and he could believe just as much of that as he wanted).

  “...Lily.., if you could just TRY not to find him so terribly hilarious, well, that would be a big help, too. Okay?”

  Lily’s big grin and Al’s slight smile were acknowledgement enough. Harry stooped and gave them both a hug.

  “Go play in the park, for a while at least. And don’t try to sneak back and turn your brother loose early! I will know. Scarper!”

  They scarpered. The little park across the way had improved amazingly since the Potters had taken up full-time residence at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The railings were rust-free and unbroken, the grass was green and lush, yet never seemed to need mowing. The playground equipment, which had seemed to sprout overnight, was rugged and safe. And though this breath of life wasn’t in the best of areas, it was not a magnet for vandals or criminals. Strangely, only the Potters and their neighbours seemed to frequent it. As the park improved, so did the neighbors and neighborhood. There seemed to be a sense of community, a pride in being a resident of The Place. And everyone knew and liked the Potter family, even if they were a bit fuzzy on exactly which house they lived in.

  Harry looked around the The Place. Right in London, convenient to work, if you could Apparate. Harry shuddered at the thought of having to drive in the City. Actually, he shuddered at the thought of having to drive at all. Harry’s exposure to Muggle personal transportation ranged from uncomfortable trips with the Dursleys, to illicit, ill-fated journeys in the Weasley’s enchanted Ford Anglia, to a hair-raising unpiloted escape from giant spiders through the Forbidden Forest, in that same Anglia gone feral. Harry frowned to himself. He didn’t know if the Knight Bus counted as Muggle Transport. Probably not. He did know he never wanted to set foot on it again.

  Others might disagree, but Grimmauld Place suited Harry just fine. Even when it had been at its lowest point, it was less of a House of Horrors than the antiseptic suburban dungeon that was 4 Privett Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. And nowadays there was no comparison at all.