Chapter Text
Harry raced through the Atrium, dodging witches and wizards, trying to make it back to the office before he was even later. Ginny had asked him to look for her flying gloves, and during his lunch hour, he had torn his flat apart. Kreacher wasn’t pleased and shooed him through the Floo with grumbling insults. It was only once he landed in the Atrium that he stole a glance at his pocket-watch, and realised his lunch hour had taken almost two.
He made it into the elevator seconds before the doors closed and crowded in with the many occupants. Harry stumbled out when the doors opened at Level Two, and rushed toward the office, sliding into his desk unnoticed. He let out a deep sigh.
“Potter!”
Robards’s voice could carry, he’d give the man that. Harry pushed himself back onto his feet, his heart had only a moment to slow before he was back in motion again. At the Head Auror’s door, Robards waved him in.
“There’s a file on Level Nine we’ve been waiting for, for the Perkins case. That lot seems to not believe in memos, so I’ll need you to go get it from Harrison,” Robards grumbled while searching through the mountain of parchment on his desk.
“Er, yes, sir. Sir, I haven’t been to the Department of Mysteries since the, well, uh, since the war,” Harry said.
“Keep a clear mind of who you’re looking for, and the right doors will open,” Robards instructed, his voice easing.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.
He spun and left the office, clapping Ron on the shoulder on his way back to the lift.
⁂
The blue-white light from the torches flickering on the black-tiled walls was just as foreboding as when he was fifteen. Cool and damp, the Department of Mysteries always made him feel as though he were back to being his fifteen-year-old self. The black door at the end of the corridor swung open at his approach. When he was in the Entrance Chamber, it tempted him to ask for the veil’s room, but pushed that out of his mind.
“Harrison,” Harry stated, his voice echoing in the room.
The doors began their dizzy spin and stopped just as quick. The door ahead of him swung open with force. His footsteps seemed to echo more than they should, as he continued forward.
The Time Room differed from the last time he’d seen it. Still long and rectangular, the gem-coloured light still sparkled throughout the room. The room held, if possible, even more clocks. The display of time-turners was no longer there, replaced with daises that displayed an assortment of objects. Some were weapons, hourglasses. An ancient-looking sundial shared a dais with a long ancient tool. A sickle, or a scythe perhaps. He could never remember the difference.
He ran a finger along first the sundial, then the tool, amazed at the condition of such ancient artefacts. Harry hissed when his finger caught on the end, and he chuckled to himself as he stuck the finger in his mouth to stop the tiny nick from bleeding. Old didn’t mean dull. At the end of the room, to the right of the bell jar, a door stood ajar. Harry moved toward it, knocking, and pushed it open when he heard a grunt from within.
“Harrison?” Harry asked.
The wizard, hunched over an overfilled desk, looked up and granted Harry a smile.
“Harry Potter. You’re well?” Ellis Harrison, the department liaison to the DMLE, asked and extended his hand.
Harry shook it and nodded. “And you?”
“Excellent! What can I do for you?”
“Robards wants the Perkins file,” Harry said, his gaze roaming the tiny office.
Harrison laughed deep and low. It reminded Harry a bit of Kingsley.
“And Gawain couldn’t be arsed to come down himself?” Harrison asked as he pulled a file jacket from the centre of a teetering pile. He extended the file to Harry, who took it with a nod. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I’m not sure, actually.” Harry hesitated. “I know there’s a lot you can’t disclose, but I’ve wondered.”
Harrison sat back and gave Harry his full attention.
“My godfather. He, well, he died down here a few years back,” Harry said.
“Sirius Black, the Veil in the Death Chamber. Yes, I had heard you were there,” Harrison said. “I can’t tell you all that I know, but perhaps I might tell you enough. What do you think about lunch at The Leaky Cauldron? Say noon, Saturday?”
“That’d be perfect. Thank you so much, sir,” Harry said, his excitement growing.
“None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. Ellis will do,” Harrison said, standing up and reaching out to shake Harry’s hand again.
“Harry then.”
Harry shook his hand and left, a parting ‘thanks’ thrown over his shoulder. He wound his way back out to the Entrance Chamber, which provided the exit at his request. His journey to Level Two seemed lighter than the journey down had.
⁂
He jogged up the steps to his flat, in a large Muggle building on the edge of Whitechapel. It was small, but had a second bedroom for Teddy to visit. His neighbours thought him odd, but that was a feeling he had long been used to. His travelling cloak and shoes came off at the door, both piled together on the floor.
Dimitri was using his perch, head buried under his wing. Harry opened the window for him so he could go out and hunt, and entered the kitchen to hunt for himself. The refrigerator was fit to burst, a signal that Molly had dropped by while he was at work. A large pan toward the top had a note stuck to it telling him to ‘eat tonight’.
Lasagne wasn’t a favourite of his, but Molly’s made him a believer. Ron’s mum was an angel. She not only helped him find this place, but she popped by to be sure he was getting on alright. Full and tired, Harry dragged himself to bed, putting his shower off until the morning. The Ministry had worked him hard today, and he wasn’t above setting with the sun.