I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, J.K. Rowling does

Harry James Potter was sitting at his desk in the Head Auror office reading a report which had been sent in. Actually, if you looked closely, you would see he wasn't really reading; his eyes weren't moving. In fact, all Harry Potter was really doing was staring at the parchment, waiting.

Harry Potter had had a very strange life, there was no denying it, but he felt as if the last year had been the strangest by far. During Harry's life he'd had to fight Basilisks, Voldemort, tried get past a dragon, flown one, been the run for several months and had almost been killed by the most famous dark wizard. Many wondered how this last year could have been any stranger for him.

Truth is, people were appearing, people who weren't supposed to be there, who hadn't been here for the last seventeen years, or more.

Yes, people were returning from the dead. None of the experts can explain why this has happen, or, who will return when, all they could say is that the world didn't have to fear Death Eaters or Voldemort coming back.

The people who were returning were only from the light side, only people who died at the hands of Voldemort or his Death Eaters, only those that had died in the first and second wizarding war. That was the only pattern.

Today was Harry day off, but he had been called to work because of a new rush of people coming back. Harry had already seen 15 people and it was only ten, he'd come in at nine. He'd known none of them, at this is what annoyed Harry the most- no-one he knew well or loved deeply had returned yet.

But Harry Potter didn't know that today was his lucky day, miles away in a sleepy village in the west country, two people were stirring next to their graves – one man with black hair and a women with long red hair.