Harry stood at the hive entrance, resin walls glowing faintly behind him, his heart pounding. He had made his decision. As much as he admired the stingless bees, their hive, and the miracle he had been allowed to witness, he did not belong here. He belonged with his family.
Turning toward his loyal companion, he placed a hand gently on its glossy back. "I need to go home," he whispered. The bee tilted its head, antennae twitching as if it understood. A low, steady buzz rumbled through its wings—an agreement.
Before leaving, Harry bowed toward the queen. She loomed at the far side of the chamber, attendants circling her massive form. For a brief moment, their eyes met again. Harry raised a hand in farewell. She did not move, but the hive's hum deepened, like a soft blessing. Then, with his heart heavy and hopeful, Harry climbed onto his friend's back.
The bee launched into the air, carrying him out of the resin tunnel and into sunlight.
The garden spread wide below them as they soared higher. Harry clutched the bee tightly, the wind rushing past his face, lifting his hair. He saw the old log shrinking beneath them, the blades of grass bending in waves, the frog's glossy head peeking out of a puddle far away. The scale of it all struck him again—how immense the world had become, how fragile he was in it. And yet, he had survived.
Ahead, the house loomed larger with every wingbeat. The walls rose like cliffs, the roof like a mountain. His heart swelled at the sight. Home.
The bee carried him straight toward an open window on the second floor, then angled higher, wings buzzing furiously as it lifted them toward the third. The air smelled of wood, dust, and faint traces of his father's experiments. Harry's chest ached with longing.
They slipped through the open window into his father's lab.
The room looked impossibly vast from his perspective. Wires coiled like thick black snakes across the floor, metal parts piled into hills, and the shrinking machine itself loomed like some strange monument. The air still carried a faint ozone tang from when it had fired.
Then came the sound that made his throat tighten.
Voices.
He turned, and there they were. His parents.
They stood at the far end of the lab, hunched over the floor with magnifying glasses in hand, eyes red and swollen. His mother's dark hair was disheveled, her face pale with worry. His father's shoulders sagged, his usually bright eyes dulled by sleeplessness and grief.
They looked broken.
Harry's breath caught. They've been searching for me this whole time…
The bee buzzed softly and drifted toward them. Harry swallowed his nerves, gripping tighter. "Okay… here goes."
They approached, hovering closer until the bee landed gently on his father's shoulder. Harry stood up shakily, waving his arms.
"Dad! Dad, it's me!" he shouted with all his strength.
The sound came out as a squeak, barely louder than a cricket's chirp. His father stiffened, blinking, his face twitching as though he thought he'd imagined it.
Harry tried again, screaming, waving his arms desperately. His tiny voice squeaked, his face red with effort. His father rubbed his eyes. "No… I must be hallucinating," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Dad, it's me! Harry! Look!"
This time, his father froze. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head. His eyes widened, his jaw dropping. And there, perched on his shoulder, he saw it: a stingless bee with a speck of movement atop its back. Not a speck. A boy. His boy.
For a moment, disbelief clouded his face. He rubbed his eyes hard, but when he opened them again, the image remained. "Harry…?" he whispered.
His mother gasped, following his gaze. She staggered forward, hands trembling. "No—it can't be—"
But it was. Their son. Tiny as an insect, clinging to the back of a bee, shouting in his squeaky voice, tears streaming down his face.
"Mom! Dad! It's me! Please, you have to help me!"
Tears welled in James Pothead's eyes. His shaking hand reached out slowly, carefully, so as not to startle the bee or harm the boy. His heart pounded. "Oh my god… it worked. He's alive."
The next hour blurred. James adjusted the shrinking ray, recalibrating the settings with trembling fingers. Lily hovered at his side, holding back tears as she whispered encouragement. Harry waited on the desk, his bee friend standing beside him, wings humming softly.
Then came the moment. The ray whirred to life, glowing with a steady hum. Harry stepped into its path, his tiny chest heaving. "Please work…" he whispered.
The beam fired. A flash of white light enveloped him.
When it cleared, Harry stumbled forward—full-sized again.
He crashed into his parents' waiting arms. His mother sobbed, clutching him as though she would never let go. His father's embrace was just as fierce, his voice breaking. "You're safe. You're safe."
Harry cried too, burying his face in their shoulders. "I'm sorry… I didn't listen. But I made it back. I had help."
He turned his head just in time to see his stingless bee companion hovering in the air. For a moment, the insect lingered, antennae twitching toward him in a silent farewell.
Harry lifted a hand, smiling through his tears. "Thank you… for everything."
The bee buzzed one last time, then turned and flew out the open window, back toward its hive beneath the log.
Harry watched it disappear into the sunlight, his heart full.
He had been small. He had been scared. But he had learned courage, kindness, and respect for the smallest of creatures.
And now, back in the arms of his family, he knew he would never forget the friend who carried him home.