Chapter Text
Chapter One
"I'm fine, sir," Harry growled, stubbornly lifting his chin. He was not giving up without a fight, and his opponent bloody well knew it. "I can still do my job."
He heard Scrimgeour sigh deeply. "Potter, you're the best damn auror I've got, and likely the best we've had in decades. But even you can't just shrug this off like it's just some Egyptian flu."
"I can still do my job," Harry repeated, resisting the urge to stand and pace around Head Auror Scrimgeour's office. His usual method when arguing with the man, worse than useless, now. "I'm still in the middle of Madam Wassley's case. She needs protection."
"Which any of the thirty-one aurors here can give her," Scrimgeour waylaid him firmly. "Despite your rather annoying habit of rushing around without your partner, Potter, I would like you to remember that you aren't the only trained auror in Britain."
Harry snorted, tossing a flop of messy hair out of his face reflexively. "Hartley's out on the American case, Shacklebolt's too busy training the new blood, and if you stick Baulden on my case, Madam Wassley will be dead within the week. We're spread too thin as it is, and you know it. You need me here, not out taking a bloody vacation!"
Harry jumped only a tiny bit when Scrimgeour's fist slammed into his desk.
"Merlin take you!" the man roared. "This isn't a vacation, you idiot! You're fucking blind!"
Harry glowered at him, not needing the reminder. "Only physically. I'm still perfectly capable of sensing magic. Better, actually, since my magic is compensating for my eyes. Give me a day, two on the absolute outside, and I'll wager my entire Gringott's vault that I can pass every bloody practical there is, and more."
Scrimgeour was grinding his teeth. Harry knew he was. Not because he could see anything—no, why would his life get any easier?—but because Scrimgeour always ground his teeth when Harry scored a point he couldn't contest but really, really wanted to.
"As of this moment, Harry Potter, you are hereby suspended from duty," Scrimgeour gritted out past the anger choking him. "Pending the healing, or complete removal, of the blinding curse."
Magic filled the office, and settled first around Scrimgeour in an invisible whirlwind, and then around Harry. Passcodes, access permissions, and clearances Harry had carried invisibly on his body—in his blood—for years, vanished.
Harry flew to his feet in outrage, hearing his chair knock to the ground with a clatter.
"This is complete shite!" Harry snarled. "You can't do this to me in the middle of my case! Madam Wassley's attacker is still out there! And we both know he's not going to leave her alone when the press finds out about me! You're as good as killing her!"
"Mrs. Wassley is no longer your concern," Scrimgeour said in even, measured tones that let Harry know he'd crossed the line. "Auror Zabini is waiting outside to escort you to the floo."
Harry took a deep breath, and struggled against his temper. It was an old battle, and one he rather thought he'd never really win. His temper was as legendary among the aurors as his tendency to overwork himself on cases was.
Slowly, he unclenched his fists, though his shoulders were still too tight and he wanted to slug someone. Preferably Scrimgeour, but Harry wasn't too picky just then. He'd take anyone within arms reach.
"I apologize, Rufus," Harry sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He felt off balance without his glasses. Well, more off balance. "I've invested a lot into the Madam's case. I worry for her."
Scrimgeour huffed, then Harry heard the scuffling rustle as the man stood and stepped towards Harry. "You put too much of yourself into all of your cases," Scrimgeour muttered before his heavy hands closed around Harry's shoulders.
Harry grinned wryly up at his boss and friend, and shrugged. "Of course I do. I don't have anywhere else to put it."
Scrimgeour's hands squeezed once, then began propelling Harry towards the door. "Your dedication to your job is giving me ulcers. It'll be good for me to have you out of my hair for a while."
Harry's heart clenched at the thought of being gone longer than 'a while', and he knew they were both ignoring what many mediwitch had told them already.
"I haven't given you any ulcers," Harry snorted, aiming for light-hearted. He grinned over his should. "Now, the grey hairs... that I'll take credit for."
Scrimgeour's cough didn't quite cover his laugh as Harry pushed open the door. "Here, Zabini. Take this fool out of here, and make sure the brat has actual food in his flat before you leave!"
Harry could practically hear Zabini saluting Scrimgeour. Definitely could sense his partner's magic, as stiff and intense as the man himself.
"Yes, Head Auror," Zabini agreed crisply.