A/N

I originally posted this story on Wattpad under the title 'Harry Potter and the Return of the Parents', and then later on here under the same name. I've recently realised how much I miss writing and challenged myself to do it more often, so I've decided to start by picking this story back up. Since I began it when I was around 14, however, it was pretty sloppy and I wasn't happy with what I'd already written, so I've decided first to re-write what I already had and republish it under this new title. The old story will make up chapters 1-4 of this new fic, and I will continue from there.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Return to Godric's Hollow

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

Two sets of eyes opened, and a long, piercing scream broke the deserted silence of King's Cross station. A pair of hazel eyes was found by a pair of green and the scream petered out, leaving only the faint gasping of the two figures that had appeared on the floor.

A woman's voice penetrated the still air once more.

"James. . . Oh, James." Lily Potter whispered, reaching out and drawing her husband to her, neither one noticing, nor caring, that they were naked. In the misty stillness around them, there was no-one to witness their desperate embrace, their bewildered ecstasy that they were somehow, amazingly, both still alive.

"James," Lily whispered once more, her voice, muffled though it was by her husband's embrace, still ringing clear as a bell in the hushed silence around them. "I heard. . . I thought you'd died!"

James rubbed comforting circles in the smooth skin of her back.

"Oh Lily," he replied, with equal reverence. "I'm so sorry; I couldn't hold him. I let you down. I let Harry –" There was a catch in his breath, and an ache in his voice too strong for Lily to bear. She shook her head, tears finally spilling over as she leaned in to kiss him, letting him know the only way she knew that he was not to blame. A tear and a kiss could not, however, dispel the ache that had settled in her own heart, and she let her head drop to his chest in despair.

"Harry," she croaked. "Harry, my precious boy" – she sniffed, and hid her face further, forehead pressing into his heart – "I couldn't save him James. I couldn't. . ." Her moans were interrupted by a sudden movement beneath her as James hastened upright, dislodging her head but keeping his arm firmly around her.

"He's not dead, you hear me?" he demanded authoritatively, conviction betrayed only slightly by the quiver in his voice. "We're okay, aren't we? And I, for one, was definitely hit by Avada." He ignored Lily's whimper, pressing on: "And I'm afraid you probably were too, Lils. If we survived, then there's no reason why Harry wouldn't have – it's not like there's anything worse that could have happened to him in that house." He didn't go on. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, both Potters knew there were a lot of worse things that could have happened to their son.

James stood up, scrunching his eyes against the brightness as he looked around, and Lily took the opportunity to wipe her eyes and regain her famous Evans composure. They needed to find out where they were, if they were to get home as soon as possible. The panic in her eyes was replaced by a steely determination, and she rose to join her husband.

"Alright," James began, seeing Lily beside him. "First things first, we need some clothes."

No sooner had he spoken than two sets of elegant wizarding robes appeared before them. Lily reached to pick a pair up, and as her fingers grazed the material she saw the clothes begin shrinking to her size. She looked over at James expectantly.

"Well," she urged, handing him a pair of his own, "put them on!"

A moment later the two were dressed, and had once again ground to a halt. They had no idea where they were.

The room in which they stood appeared to be a large, white atrium, that glowed with the pearly light filtering down through the large glass dome above their heads. The hall was filled with a thick white mist, which gathered at the threshold of their vision and obscured any edge to the room, making it appear infinite. Lily had a suspicion that, if they walked that way, they might find that it was. Around the room were scattered a few benches, and at regular intervals across the floor ran what appeared to be long tracks. Beside her, James gasped in surprise.

"It's a train station!" he exclaimed as platform signs sprung up all around, inventing themselves before their eyes. Lily felt her own eyes widen in recognition.

"Not just any old train station – James, I think we're at King's Cross!"

As usual, she was right. The room seemed to build itself around them, and in her mind's eye Lily saw once again the steaming, scarlet train on Platform Nine and Three quarters, and the jostling bodies fighting for space to board. She turned, smiling, to her husband, but was met by only a dismayed shaking of his head.

"When in Merlin's name did it look like this?" he asked, and Lily's smile faltered.

"I don't know", she muttered, "but that's definitely where we are." James nodded.

"So where do we go now?" Lily wondered aloud, and her husband's face grew thoughtful.

"How do we get out?" he asked the room at large, and in answer a large signpost materialised in front of them. Lily wondered briefly whether they were in the room of requirement – first the clothes, and now this – but didn't really believe it. After all, it wasn't as though they had called for a train station, and in any case they had been nowhere near Hogwarts.

James, meanwhile, had stepped towards the signpost and was gazing at it in consternation. Lily followed his gaze. There were two signs. The first pointed to the left, and read 'Godric's Hollow'. The second, pointing to the right, said simply: 'Onwards'.

"I think we need to board a train," suggested Lily, and no sooner had the words left her mouth than the mist around them began to swirl once more. On the tracks now stood the large, red, Hogwarts Express of her memories, though admittedly quieter and more deserted than either of them had ever known it. The door directly in front of them opened, and, clasping each other's hands, the two Potters stepped up and on board. James looked at his wife, and saw the familiar determination still singing from her eyes. She caught his gaze in return and squeezed his hand, taking comfort from the feeling of his on hers.

"I think we need to tell it where to go," he whispered, and she nodded. Hand still clenched firmly in his, and still staring resolutely in his eyes, Lily opened her mouth and spoke the only destination that really mattered.

"Take me to my son."

Albus Dumbledore looked up, as one of the many spindly silver instruments about his office lit up and began to whirr. Rising from his desk, he moved to the intrusive object and stared intently at the small puffs of smoke it was emitting.

"Yes, but where?" he prompted, once he had deciphered the instrument's message. The machine puffed again, and the aged wizard nodded before tapping it sternly with his wand. The instrument fell silent, and Dumbledore swept from the office.

For the second time that day, Lily awoke with a gasp. She wasn't lying on the same smooth surface as before; this time, she felt rotten wood beneath her, and wet soil soaking through her robes. Upon opening her eyes, she was met by the blackest, darkest dark she had ever seen, and a silence so intense it felt suffocating. The air was stale, and carried a cloying, earthy stench that made her want to gag. Swallowing down her disgust, she stretched out a cautious hand and barely managed to stifle a scream as her fingers were obstructed by something barely a foot above her head. She followed the something with her arm, feeling her breath quicken as she scrabbled around and was met on all sides by nothing but dead wood.

She was in a coffin.

This time she did scream, and her hands smashed against the sides of the box, nails breaking through the weak wood and soil tumbling in, falling on her face, into her mouth. Even as she choked and gasped for breath, a voice in the back of her mind shrieked that, sooner or later, the air would run out. She would lie dead in her coffin after all. She would never see her son again.

Just as she was giving up hope, there was a loud blast and the lid of the coffin flew off, soil above her parting and brilliant, blissful sunlight streaming in. Lily flinched, and hid her eyes as the harsh glare struck her face, but her skin soaked up the warmth as though it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries. She found herself wondering, with a jolt of panic, just how long they had actually been 'dead'; long enough for them to buried, at least. Before she could reach any sort of conclusion, however, someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her from the ground, and this time when she opened her eyes it was to find James' dirty face inches from her own, and feel of his arms around her.

It was a few minutes before James pulled away, rubbing some of the grime from her face with a fistful of his robes. Robes, Lily noticed, that were not the ones they had found in King's Cross station; instead, they both appeared to be wearing their best black dress-robes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a weak cough, and Lily looked up, feeling her husband stiffen beside her. They were not alone.

Dumbledore materialised in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow with a resounding crack, and peered about himself cautiously. Everything seemed still and quiet, the small churchyard peaceful and deserted on yet another undisrupted summer evening. Yet the instrument in his office had told of a huge disturbance of magic, information which, alone, would be enough to peak his curiosity, but which had prompted both exhilaration and dread when he learned the origin of the disturbance. The graves of Lily and James Potter, spoke the instrument, had just experienced an explosion of magic of such magnitude as had not been witnessed since the event that put the young couple there in the first place.

Quite frankly, the headmaster had expected to find the place swarming with Death Eaters. Voldemort had returned to the place of his defeat, he had speculated, in an attempt to uncover what had truly happened that night. Now that he was here, however, Dumbledore was forced to admit that the graveyard was in fact empty, and the graves undisturbed.

After his initial evaluation, the professor had kept his eyes firmly on the ground before him, examining with unnecessary focus the maroon boots that clad his feet. Ashamed though he was by the thought, he had no desire to see the village he had once called home, or the place he had laid those he once called family. His feet, however, seemed to have other ideas, and, as he watched, the boots he had been examining so closely began to move, carrying him forward as if of their own accord.

The small gravestone he stopped before was unremarkable – cold granite, dotted with lichen and moss – but seemed to tower within his vision with almost human importance. His eyes quickly found the inscription, and he reached out a long finger to trace the fading words.

Kendra Dumbledore

He let his hand skim the words, birth, and death dates, before freezing on the last section.

And her daughter Ariana

"Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also," he murmured, bowing his head solemnly.

His moment of eulogy was cut short by a muffled bang which rent the silence of the graveyard, and which was followed by two desperate cries. Dumbledore whipped his head around wildly, but the cemetery was as deserted as before. He followed the source of the sound, weaving his way through the graves, and came to rest between the twin Potter headstones, heart fluttering with anticipation. The noise was unmistakably coming from inside.

With barely a moment's hesitation, the headmaster shot a silent reducto curse at both gravestones, followed by a strong shield charm in case the makers of the noise should be dangerous, and then fell back to watch, uncertain of what to expect. The sight that did finally meet his eyes was something he never could have anticipated.

Turning, Lily saw Albus Dumbledore stumble back against a gravestone in shock, staring at the couple as though looking at a ghost.

"Lily. . ." he breathed. "James – Is this real? Can this be?"

Lily almost wanted to laugh at the expression on her former headmaster's face, but decided he was entitled to a moment of astonishment. He had, after all, just witnessed two of his ex-pupils – and friends – emerge from their graves. After a brief pause, during which the professor regarded them warily, she took a hesitant step forwards, not wanting to shock the old man any more than they already had.

"Yes, Professor. We're alive!" she said cautiously, drawing up short as Dumbledore raised his wand and levelled it at the two of them. James took an instinctive step forward, and Lily said nothing as he placed himself slightly in front of her. Instead, she took his hand, and the two waited patiently under the scrutiny of their old professor. There was a muttered incantation, and Lily felt a wash of warmth rush through her body, making her hair ripple. Dumbledore's eyes visibly widened.

"Can this be?" he repeated, stepping forwards and raising the wand again. A different incantation was muttered, and a new sensation came over her, this time a prickling, tingling feel, comparable to pins and needles throughout her whole body.

Again, Dumbledore looked startled at the result of his spell, but not satisfied. He began to circle slowly around the couple, moving his wand in vague gestures up and down their bodies in what Lily recognised as an examination of their magical auras. As the spell progressed, he seemed suddenly invigorated, a new youth to his step and fire in his gaze.

"By the grace of Gryffindor," he breathed finally. "Lily, James, my dear friends" – and without further warning he took two brisk steps forward and clasped the startled Potters to him in a bone-cracking, violet-cloaked embrace.

"Well, I must say, this is really quite amazing!" he proclaimed as he released them both, eyes watering and crooked nose twitching. "To see you two up and about after all this time, and in the midst of such dark days. It's a marvel. It's more than that – it's a miracle!" He nodded to himself, and when he looked back at them his eyes were possessed once again of their old twinkle. Lily also felt his burning curiosity in the way he looked at them, as though they were a puzzle he could not wait to un-riddle. She felt a stab of impatience. Right now, all she wanted were answers of her own.

"All this time? How long have we been. . . indisposed? Clearly long enough for a funeral, so I suppose it must at least have been a few days, probably weeks even –" She took a deep breath and pushed forward to the most important question. "And Albus, where is our son? Where's Harry?"

The headmaster looked at this young couple, who had seen so much yet knew so little, and felt a great swell of sorrow rise within him. These two, wonderful people did not know that they had been dead for the better part of fourteen years. That they had missed most of their son's childhood, and had leapt straight from one war to another. He did not think he could bear to break it to them just yet.

"Harry is safe," he reassured. "He's –" Albus hesitated at saying the word fine. He knew that his young charge was not fine, and could not bring himself to pretend otherwise, adding one more lie to the crucible. He settled for repeating himself. "He's safe."

He saw the glistening tears of relief veil Lily's eyes, and heard James mutter a faint 'thank Merlin' before the young man turned to face him.

"Thank you, sir" he said, looking Albus straight in the eye. "Thank you for looking after him."

And Albus didn't have the heart to correct him.

Preview:

James wasn't stupid; in fact, even as the school troublemaker he had been decidedly the opposite. He knew that the two of them had been absent a lot longer than the headmaster had originally made out, and if he were truly honest the thought scared him significantly. Just how had the world changed since that night? How much of their son's life had they missed? What had become of their friends?

"Albus," he said guardedly, fixing the professor with a gaze that warned he would not accept another evasion. "How long have we been gone?"

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