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Summary
He quit the Aurors because they wanted him to fill out forms instead of fight. Now he works alone breaking curses, sealing wards, killing things that shouldn't exist. The pay is good. The clients are grateful. Some of them are very, very grateful.
A door in Devon that eats children. A mirror in Cornwall that shows you the thing wearing your dead wife's face. A sound beneath a church in Yorkshire that makes the stones bleed. An heirloom in a Pureblood vault that whispers the date of your death in a language that predates English by ten thousand years.
Harry Potter handles them all. He's good at it. The women who hire him tend to notice.
Rosmerta keeps a room above the bar and doesn't ask where he's been. Gabrielle files his paperwork and pretends she doesn't want more. Katie flies for the Harpies and watches him with the same look she had in sixth year. Eliza dresses in black lace and waits for a message she's been expecting for months.
Harry Potter has the golden touch. Everything he handles turns to profit, pleasure, or ruin.