Chapter Text
Six years, eight months, and three days. That's how long he had been in this office. Well, not in consecutive days without leaving, but some days it felt like he’d never left.
Harry James Potter, Senior Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sighed, rubbed his tired eyes, and looked around the room. Almost seven years of looking at the same four walls. The white-and-tan striped wallpaper had yellowed with age and curled away from the plaster. It had long since begun to peel from the wall when he had first arrived in the office, but it looked much worse now. He could have used a spell to reaffix it, but he honestly did not care enough to expend the energy. The desk was an old, pot-marked one that surely dated back to the beginning of the last century. Either that, or it was a holdover from some local muggle school dumpster. The chair was just as old as the desk, but it didn’t match the desk. Not that it mattered to him really except that it had a most annoying squeak every time he sat on it. To wit, no amount of spells or charms he used seemed to fix it.
With the dim lighting illuminating it, which was easily as old as the desk, the office had a tired feeling. The far corner from his desk was in constant shadow from the lack of light. Of course, he had not taken any steps to try and renovate the office. He had been told several times that he could make any changes he wished, but he seemed to lack both the ambition and desire for such a project. Once, Hermione had threatened to do it for him, but he quickly squashed her threat with his counter threat of redecorating her office like its previous occupant, Dolores Umbridge. The threat of decorating her office all pink with meowing cat plates covering the walls effectively silenced the witch. Since then, he believed that she did not come down to see him for largely that reason, but every once in a while, he did expect to walk in and find his office changed without warning.
He looked at the parchment on his desk. Well… one of hundreds on his desk which was in various states of organizational clutter. This clutter was probably the other reason Hermione never came to visit. She hated untidiness and his office was the epitome of that. The only office worse than his had been Ron’s when he worked as an Auror. Harry shuddered still remembering how his friend’s office was just confusion of paper, quidditch gear, food, and other items of an unknown and potentially dangerous nature. It had been quite the feat of cleaning when Ron had left to go to work for his brother, George, and Harry was fairly certain that the cleaning staff had celebrated when Ron left.
He brought himself out of his reverie, looked at the parchment in front of him and reread the same statement for the fifth time before signing it and placing it in the only spot in the office that was clean, his outgoing box. Within seconds the paper sprang up, folded itself into a paper airplane and zipped out of the office on its way to its intended destination. He shook his head again at the rudimentary communication system within this building. Muggle email would be so much faster and easier, but then muggle electronics did not work within the building’s magical wards. Not to mention there would be only a small number of witches and wizards that would trust such devices.
He shook his head and looked at the clock. Quarter ‘til eight in the evening. He sighed, knowing it was time to go home. He stood up, chair squeaking as he rose, and he grabbed his cloak and walked out the door. His footsteps echoed loudly on the marble floor as he approached the lifts. During the daytime, many feet would be walking on the dark green marble floor, and no one would be able to hear the steps over the din of their voices. But Harry liked working late. He got a lot done in the peace and quiet. Besides, he had only an empty house to go home to so why not stay and be productive.
An echoing bang from his left and his head spun around as fast as lightning, his body tensing. The loud sound was magnified by the excellent acoustics of the hallway so Harry could almost feel the sound wave hit him in the chest. He quickly relaxed when he recognized the figure of the night cleaning lady coming out from one of the offices and she had dropped her cleaning gear on the floor. She turned when she saw him in the corner of her vision and gasped as she looked up and saw him, putting a hand to her chest.
“Oh! Merlin’s Beard Mr. Potter!” she exclaimed, “You nearly frightened the wits out o’me.”
Harry gave a little smile and laugh, “I’m sorry for frightening you, Mrs. Breckenridge. I should have been paying more attention.”
She gave him a smile and waved him off, “No worries young man,” she waved off his apology, “I should have known you’d still be here. Am I okay to clean your office?”
Harry gave a quick look back to his disaster of an office, “Ummm… that’s okay Mrs. Breckenridge. I think it’s okay for now, but thanks,” he said not wanting her to get hurt trying to clean it.
She nodded, “Very well, sir,” she replied with a smile, “I hope you have a good night.”
He smiled a little brighter at her and nodded, “You too.”
He stepped into the lift, along with a couple of paper airplanes on their way for delivery to the various offices within the Ministry, closed the door and pressed the button and the lift shot off towards the atrium.
Moments later, the lift deposited him on the atrium floor. He quickly noticed that his footsteps also echoed even more so in the wide-open expanse. It was virtually empty save a handful of people rushing to and from. He quickly headed to the visitor’s entrance and pulled on his cloak.
“Go’evenin’ Auror Potter,” came a thick London accent from his left.
Harry looked over and smiled and waved at the security guard. Evan was his name he remembered. The guard, like Ron, loved the Chutney Canons. Harry remembered that the team was yet again having a horrendous year and reminded himself not to bring it up around Ron.
“It’s pourin’ out sir,” the guard called out with a look of confusion as Harry went towards a bright red telephone booth, “Wouldn’t be better to take the Floo Network home?”
Harry shrugged his coat on and fastened it, “Need some fresh air,” he replied not pausing in his walk nor bothering to tell him that his home wasn’t connected to the Floo Network, “The rain will help wake me up!”
The guard smiled, but still confused, “All right sir. Have a good ‘un.”
Harry walked past the row of chimneys that connected the Ministry and the magical world through the Floo System to a well-worn square of marble flooring and stepped into the red telephone booth that served as the visitor’s entrance and rode it up to the street. As the booth broke the surface of the street Harry noted the guard was true to his word. It was pouring out. Harry flipped the hood up on his cloak and silently cast a water-repellent spell over him. He opened the door and felt the cold breeze wash over him as he walked out into the rain.
He took his time on his walk home. He usually spent his walks home thinking. Sometimes about heavy and important matters. Sometimes about nothing in particular. He just enjoyed walking, and it helped him clear his mind and put things in perspective. However, for some reason tonight his mind went back to when he first walked this street as a new auror on his first day. Straight after the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt had offered him and Ron positions as aurors, which they both accepted. Harry was happy that Ron had become an auror with him and quickly they became the best team in the department. However, Ron left a couple of years later to work with George at the joke shop. Harry knew that the end of the war had been tough on Ron, and even though they both wanted to be aurors, Ron’s heart was not really in it after Fred was killed.
Harry stayed on though as he had no other options at that time. He had spent several years bringing in the last of the Death Eaters that had escaped, plus other lawbreakers. At first Harry had been keen to do it, especially when Ron was his partner. Their fervent efforts helped bring in over a dozen Death Eaters and broken up many dark magical activities. However, as time wore on, especially after Ron left, he was starting to get tired of it. He had even started to think about moving on to something else, but it seemed to Harry every time a Death Eater or dark magical force was discovered, he was the first one chosen and would be drawn back in. It was almost as if the aurors or The Ministry couldn’t deal with any kind of dark magic without him.
This of course brought up a lot of deep-seated resentment in Harry. Before Voldemort had been defeated, both times, the witches and wizards of Britain seemed to be incapable of gathering as a group to defend themselves. No, that wasn’t quite right either. They had not wanted to try to defend themselves and blamed The Ministry, and even Harry himself, for their woes and fears. And now that Voldemort was gone, they seemed to have not changed that attitude one bit. It quite honestly pissed Harry off that the same people that saw him as a savior were the same people that had no problem villainizing him in the same breath. He and Hermione had many times talked about this for hours at length, and while she was just as upset as Harry, she could only offer the advice that at some point the rest of the British wizarding world finally realize that they were safe and needed to do things on their own.
Not soon enough for Harry though.
He shook his head trying to let go of his anger and frustrations. He was so consumed with his thoughts that he didn’t see the puddle he sloshed in, nor the person walking past him. His splash sprayed the bottom part of the person’s legs with a large amount of cold rain water and resulted in a startled cry of surprise and anger.
“Watch where you’re going you bloody tosser!” a female voice spat at him.
Harry stopped and looked at the woman and at her legs and feet, which were now soaked through and dripping. Harry blinked in surprise as he saw that she had a magical umbrella that had kept her dry. Well until he had splashed her that is. His auror training quickly kicked in and he noticed that she was about his height, maybe a little shorter. She had a slight build. She was around his age, with platinum blonde-hair and was wearing a very fashionable coat over some sort of dress. Her hair was done up in a stylish fashion and she wore just enough jewelry to compliment herself without being gaudy. She looked every inch a beautiful upper-class person to Harry.
He blinked his attention back to her, “I’m so sorry, Miss,” he stammered, his voice full of sincerity, “I wasn’t paying attention and…”
“You are damned right you weren’t paying attention,” she snapped through gritted teeth, “My shoes are utterly ruined,” she muttered and gave him an angry piercing look.
Harry blinked again in surprise at the deep blue eyes that threatened to disintegrate him. He had never seen eyes that color blue before. The clearly irate woman shook her head and muttered, “Defeats Voldemort with expelliarmus and still can’t watch where he’s going.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said now confused at her tone. She seemed to know who he was, which was not difficult in the wizarding world, but her reference to his battle with Voldemort showed she had first-person knowledge. He looked at her closely, she looked very familiar to him, but he couldn’t immediately place her, “Do we work together?”
The woman rolled her eyes in indignation, “Prat!” she hissed angrily and walked away from him.
“Wait! I’m sorry!” he shouted to her back, “I can pay to replace or fix your shoes!”
She ignored him as she quickly strode away from him. After a moment or so more of watching her retreating figure, he shook his head and started back towards his house. Her reaction reminded him of another thing that irked him about this world. How people treated him since he defeated Voldemort. The first was the angry and resentful person. This was seen mostly inward to the person, but Harry was smart enough to read people and know they were resentful of his celebrity and success, or even in the worst cases, anger over the loss of loved ones who took his side. Harry suspected a few might have leanings towards pure-blood sympathies and outlooks, but they kept quiet about that too. None of which could Harry quite prove.
The other way was their wholesale worship of him. People bowed and spoke to him as if he were almost a god. He never asked to be their “savior”, or the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, or whatever they call him. He did his best to try and stop this kind of reverence, but it never seemed to work. Why couldn’t they just see him as just plain Harry? He stopped and looked at his reflection in a store window. He saw the tired eyes looking back at him under the still dry cloak. He was hardly “Just Plain Harry” when, unlike most witches and wizards, he could conjure a spell to keep himself dry in a downpour or even survive the killing curse twice. Regardless, both reactions angered him, and his resentment increased even more so as a result.
By the time he turned the corner onto Grimmauld Place, he had forgotten his splashing encounter with the beautiful witch. His mind had moved onto other thoughts. He walked up the front steps of Number 12 and quietly opened the door. The house was quiet as he closed the door behind him, and Harry sighed at the silence. He was in his haven from the outside world where he could relax and be plain ol’Harry. He hung up his cloak on the coat rack and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. As he made his way down into the kitchen area, he passed the now empty space where Sirius mother’s portrait used to hang, which now had pictures of his family and friends hanging in its place.
It was a day of relief when Mrs. Black’s portrait finally left the house. It had gotten very tiring to him that her painting was there when he moved in. Her constant rants and curses at him for what he was and what he did to ruin the world she had thought would be better off with nothing but pure bloods had tired him. One night when Hermione was visiting, the portrait had gone off about Hermione’s “mudblood desecration of her home” and Harry had had enough. After talking it over with his house elf Kreacher, they determined as part of the house’s renovations that removing the wall was the only way to get rid of the painting. Why no one had ever thought to do that before was beyond Harry, but nevertheless they decided that it was the only recourse.
After he read up about house renovations, he decided that he wanted to do the work himself. So, one Saturday morning, he put down the toolbox and assorted demolition tools down in front of her portrait and told her that her days were numbered. Despite her loud protests at his declaration, Harry failed completely at hiding his satisfaction and glee as he tore down the wall. Finally, two days after beginning the work, he stood on his doorstep, and with a very satisfied smile, watched her portrait get carried out to be disposed of. Even as the trash van turned the corner and disappeared, the woman’s portrait was screaming her head off and cursing Harry until the end of time.
He stopped suddenly as he approached the kitchen. His ears perked and his body tensed. He thought he had heard something coming from the kitchen. He knew that it was Kreacher’s night off and the elf was at Hogwarts visiting other elves. With a flick of his wrist, his wand was in his hand. He slowly crept towards the door, not making a sound. He listened for a moment, and did not hear anything. He carefully put his hand on the door, and after mentally counting to three, he quickly burst through the door into the dark room, wand out front. However, no amount of auror training, dark wizard hunting or dealing with Voldemort prepared him for what happened next.
“SURPRISE!”
He was immediately blinded by the lights in the kitchen being turned on. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he was stunned when he saw almost twenty people smiling at him. The room had been decorated brightly with gold and red streamers, tablecloths, balloons, and magically flashing signs that said “Happy Birthday!”
He looked around and saw an older red-haired woman quickly approach, whose arms were outstretched, smiling at him. She wrapped him up in a fierce hug, “Happy birthday Harry!” she gave him a kiss on the forehead and stood back holding his face in her hands.
“Um… what?” he stammered, looking at her, still not quite registering the event.
“It’s your birthday Harry,” Hermione’s voice sounded next to him. He turned to his best friend, and she gave him a tight hug and stepped back. Seeing his still perplexed expression, she gave him a bemused look, “Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is?”
Honestly, he had forgotten. Ever since his birthday right before Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Harry never really felt comfortable celebrating it. The Weasley’s of course did their best to celebrate it for him, but truth be told, it was a sad affair for him. It was a reminder of the last time his birthday was celebrated, everyone was happy and more especially, when everyone was still alive before he, Hermione and Ron fled to find the horcruxes.
He quickly recovered and tried to smile, “Umm, of course not. Wow, it’s here already,” he replied trying to sound convincing and seeing he had not convinced Hermione with his act.
She rolled her eyes and subtly shook her head as she stepped back letting a smiling Mr. Weasley step forward, hand outstretched, “Happy birthday, Harry m’boy!”
Harry smiled warmly and shook Mr. Weasley’s hand. Harry still marveled at the fact that this man, with all the hurt and pain caused to him and his family during the last war, was still able to generate warmth and affection that could bring smiles and laughter to anyone. Harry was honestly indebted to this man as he had been one of Harry’s biggest supporters and saw the younger man as a seventh son. Harry knew that if there was anyone that could be considered a father figure for him, it was Arthur Weasley.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied. He turned to the rest of the room, “Thank you all of you. I’m sorry if I’m late.”
“Harry Potter, on time for his own birthday party,” came a baritone voice from his right, “What would become of this world if that happened.”
Harry laughed at Neville’s comment and shook the man’s hand. The next several minutes were taken up greeting everyone who had come. George and his wife Angelina, Kingsley, Luna and her husband Rolf, Percy, and many others had come. When he had finally greeted the last person, Harry looked around the room and noticed someone was missing. However, at that moment a loud bang with an equally loud curse, heralded the arrival of the missing person.
“Hermione love, he wasn’t ther…,” the figure of Ron Weasley entered the kitchen and stopped just in the doorway when he saw Harry, “Because he’s right here.”
“I sent Ron to the Ministry to get you,” Hermione said apologetically, then gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you for that.”
“No worries,” Ron said and then gave Harry a brief hug, “Happy Birthday mate.”
Harry smiled, “Thanks Ron. Sorry to make you go out in this weather to find me.”
Ron waved away Harry apology, “Don’t worry about mate. Happy to do it,” he gave Harry a sideways glance and whispered conspiratorially, “Not that Hermione gave me much of a choice.”
A momentary silence fell upon the room. Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together and with a loud happy voice broke the silence, “Well! It’s someone’s birthday and I think we should get started with that cake!”
With a loud cheer from the group, she flicked her wand and Harry’s well-lit cake floated to the head of the table in front of Harry. They all sang a very off-key version of ‘Happy Birthday’ and he blew out his candles with a laugh. The rest of the evening passed by amiably for Harry and he laughed and joked with everyone. Eventually, as the evening wore on, guests trickled out and soon there was only Harry, Hermione and Ron left. They had retreated to the large study and had been chatting for an hour in front of the roaring fire before Hermione jumped from her chair looking at her watch.
“Oh Merlin! It’s late and I have an early meeting!” she practically shouted and started rushing to gather her things.
Ron and Harry looked at each other with amusement, “Relax Hermione,” her husband said, “Don’t you run that department? And Kingsley was here, so he’ll know why you’re late.”
She stopped in mid-gathering of her stuff and look at him in annoyance at his implication, “Yes, but that’s still no reason to be late Ronald!”
Ron gave Harry an “Uh oh” look when she said his full first name, which was never a good sign with Hermione. Both men were well aware of her thoughts about work, duty, and timeliness. Harry had long since given up trying to argue with her, but Ron apparently had not yet gotten the message. Harry sympathized with Ron to a point when he tried to get her to relax, but Harry usually sided with Hermione on a lot of things because she was… well… she was right. Ron, realizing that Harry was going to side with Hermione on this issue, rolled his eyes and stood from his chair just as Hermione tossed him his coat. Ron was barely able to catch it and not get whacked in the face by it.
“Thanks for doing this ‘Mione,” Harry said as she finished buttoning her coat and throwing her bag over her shoulder, “I had a good time.”
She gave him a small smile and then a warm hug, “You’re welcome,” she stepped back, but still held his hands, “I just know how tough this is for you because of the past, but you should still celebrate with your family and friends. And we wanted to show you how much we care.”
He nodded. Ron stepped in and gave him a brief hug, “Hermione’s right mate. You’re family, and if anyone deserves a happy birthday, it’s you.”
They turned to leave, but Hermione stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, “Coffee tomorrow still?”
He smiled at her and gave her a brief nod, “Same time, same place.”
He watched the two greatest friends he’d ever have depart and then the house was bathed in silence. He looked around the room at all the paintings and pictures. At this moment he couldn’t help feeling alone. There was no one here for him. He had had this feeling before and he had been able to ignore it easily enough. But maybe it was time he started looking again for someone. It’s been a few years since he and Ginny had split up so she could go off and be a world famous quidditch player. He shook his head as if to shake the thought out of his mind. No, he didn’t have time. Besides, he was an auror assigned to dangerous cases. He did not want to bring more pain or worry to another person because of what he does.
He sat down heavily in his armchair, then stared out the window at the rain. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep in his armchair, with the only sound of his deep breathing echoing in the room.