August, present day
Early afternoon
Ministry of Magic
Harry Potter drummed his fingers on his desk and sighed. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, oblivious to a loud crash from somewhere in the room behind him, Harry continued to stare unblinkingly at the wall two feet in front of his face. Years after the battle of Hogwarts, after the defeat of Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time, after marriage and the birth of three children, Harry could hardly survive a day at the office. Auror work was challenging, true. His occupation usually demanded much from him and almost never failed to be dangerous, fascinating, or at the very least, a reliable source of entertainment. But recently, the wizarding community had entered a period of harmoniousness in which Aurors had very little to do. Most crimes, minor in severity, were handled by the lesser offices within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Lately, Harry and his colleagues in the Auror office spent most of their days slouched in their office chairs in their small, claustrophobic cubicles and filed paperwork. It was boring, investigative stuff - little more than common secretary work. Harry was not normally one to complain, but truth is, he was excruciatingly bored and suffering from a serious case of cabin fever.
What he needed, he thought mildly, was a worthwhile distraction, a small task that would allow him to leave the office temporarily to explore a bit. He gazed at the pictures on the wall ahead. A wedding picture of him and Ginny echoed the wedding photo of his parents next to it. Albus grinned sheepishly at the camera as he clutched his first wand. Lily beamed theatrically, displaying her first lost tooth. James with Harry's niece and nephew, Hugo and Rose Weasley, played a game of Exploding Snap. Beside it, a small, less animated photo hung with a hush almost as loud as the explosions from the frame next-door: a young Harry, gently rocking a newly-orphaned Teddy Lupin, fast asleep in his godfather's arms, removed his glasses to wipe silent tears from his cheeks. Below this hung a picture of the Order, taken not long before Sirius died, and beside it, a picture of the original Order. He smiled wistfully at his parents, waving to him from the thin gilded frame.
Scanning over the myriad faces, Harry sighed again - this time from sad reminiscence rather than boredom. So many good people had died fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Several of the witches and wizards of the Order fell to dark wizards at the battle of Hogwarts, if not before. Most died before Harry himself was born, some as soon as a few months after the first picture was taken. His eyes passed over the photo of the original Order for what must have been the umpteenth time. They were all there - all the tragic losses of his turbulent childhood - James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Snape, the Longbottoms, Wormtail...his eyes stopped.
Pulling the picture from his cubicle wall, Harry peered closer at the photo, adjusting his glasses further down his nose to facilitate a sharper gaze. A face he had never noticed before beamed up at him. It belonged to a small auburn-haired young woman. She was standing between Alice Longbottom and Hagrid, almost completely hidden behind Hagrid's enormous backside. Sirius stood diagonally behind her and - Harry squinted into the picture - the angle of their arms suggested their hands were clasped together behind Alice Longbottom's left thigh. He tilted the photo sideways, and as the figures pitched angrily to the side of the frame, he saw indeed the two linked arms pop into view, taut with the effort of holding on to each other.
That's strange, Harry thought, I wonder how I never saw her before. I know everyone in the photo. I'm sure no one ever mentioned her. Harry's heart sank as he suddenly realized there was no one alive who would know who she was.
Except perhaps...
He glanced at the wedding photo of his parents and remembered the moment he'd received it - in a large, leather-bound book from his friend, Hagrid. What had he said?
"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos..."
Harry abruptly pushed himself up from his seat, leaving a considerable stack of paperwork untouched on his desk, and hurried out of his cramped office. The nearest fireplace was down the hall next to the lift. Glancing to his left and right, Harry's moss-green eyes scanned the hallway for occupants - strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to be Flooing for personal business. Nevertheless grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a small bin next to the fireplace and gripping the photo of the Order in his other hand, Harry threw the ashy powder into the fire and clearly enunciated, "Hagrid's hut." The flames burned higher, signaling clearance to travel.
Squeezing out of the fireplace moments later, Harry heard a low chuckle from the far side of the room. "Haven' seen yeh in quite a while, Harry! Heard yeh comin'. Couldn' mistake yer coughin' if I tried." Harry grinned and allowed Hagrid to pull him into a bearlike hug which poked the edges of the photo's frame sharply into Harry's ribs. It had been several years since Harry had visited Hagrid at his home, though they met occasionally at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink or two, a particularly welcome treat after an uneventful day at the Ministry. Hagrid's beard, bushy as ever, sported several more gray hairs than it had the last time he and Harry had met.
Harry glanced around the room. Nothing had changed since the last time he'd been inside it. Hagrid invited him to sit down, but Harry declined. "I'm not officially supposed to be here, Hagrid, but I was wondering." He handed Hagrid the picture and pointed to the unidentified girl. "That woman standing next to you - I only just noticed her and realized I don't know who she is. I thought I might try to find her, if I could. Thank her or..." His voice trailed as he noticed the burgeoning scowl on Hagrid's face.
"Oh, her." Hagrid scrutinized the picture with disapproval. "Tha's Alice Emerson. She was yer mum's bes' friend, back in their Hogwarts days. Disappeared from the Order after Sirius was sent ter Azkaban...worked at the Ministry las' I heard o' her." He spat contemptuously and handed the frame back to Harry.
Harry's heart raced - if she'd worked at the Ministry, she would be easy to find; her name would be listed in an employee registry and Harry could contact her without leaving the Ministry offices. It was the perfect compromise: an adventure without the danger of being caught off duty. He hardly registered the apparent disdain in Hagrid's voice.
Harry stayed and chatted with Hagrid for a few moments before he turned and made his way back toward the fireplace.
"Thanks, Hagrid. I'm off - Leaky Cauldron next Thursday?" Harry stepped back toward the fireplace, and Hagrid's face fell. Harry could sense that Hagrid missed him terribly, and he felt a knot of guilt and contrition twist in his stomach. "I'll bring the family, too, if you'd like. The kids have missed you since school let out." Harry's children, James, Albus, and Lily, were favorites of Hagrid. He'd known them since they were born and treated them with obvious preference in his Care of Magical Creatures classes. Over the summer holiday, Harry was certain that Hagrid missed them, too.
"I'll see yeh then, I s'ppose. Can' say no ter seein' my favorite students, now, could I?" Hagrid agreed, satisfied with the prospect of visiting with the Potter kids. It had been a while since he'd spoken to Ginny, too. "Tell Ginny I said, 'hello'."
"I will." Harry gathered a fist full of Floo powder from an earthen jug on Hagrid's mantle and tossed it into the flames. "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Headquarters." The flames flickered from bright orange to green. Harry stepped into the fireplace, and quickly waved at Hagrid before the Floo network swept him away.
Picture tight in hand, Harry hurried back to his cubicle, ignoring the stack of papers on his desk which had grown taller in his absence. A tiny lavender paper airplane flitted irritably above his head. Reflexively swiping it aside, Harry returned the photo to its nail on the wall and bent down to open the bottom drawer of a small filing cabinet that tucked neatly under his desk. At the bottom of the drawer, buried under several files on notorious dark wizards that had long since been thrown into Azkaban, a thick Ministry registry collected a considerable layer of dust. Harry lifted the rubbish on top to dig the registry out. It contained detailed descriptions of each Ministry office and position, and catalogued every rule and procedure of the Ministry. It also contained, at the very back past the indexes, a list of Ministry employees that contained everyone from custodians to the Minister himself, past and present, and was charmed to update itself every five minutes. Flipping to the "E"s, Harry scanned the list for "Emerson," hoping she hadn't married since the last time Hagrid spoke to her.
"Emerson, Aberman. Emerson, Aidan..." Harry murmured. "Ah, Emerson, Alice." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. She was still working at the Ministry! "Occupation: Unspeakable. Years of service: 1981 to present. Currently: In." Slamming the book closed, Harry replaced it in his drawer on top of the discarded files. His mind was immediately consumed with a singular thought: Alice Emerson was in the Ministry, right now, at work. Harry tore the picture of the original Order again from his cubicle wall and hurried down the hall, careful to avoid eye contact with his coworkers, a group that had become desperately chatty in the last few months.
His best friend, Ron, peeked over from his cubicle. "Harry, where're you - "
"Nowhere, Ron. Just heading to the loo."
"With that picture?" But Harry was already around the corner. Ron shook his head. "Some days..."
In the lift, Harry pressed the button for the eighth floor. The lift jerked to a stop, and he exited into the Atrium. Scanning the room, Harry made his way to another lift for the curious ninth level, the Department of Mysteries. His blood raced; he hadn't been this excited in weeks.
When the elevator jolted to a halt on the ninth floor, Harry stepped out into a plain, dark hallway. The very air in this place seemed to make the back of his neck prickle. So many horrible old memories threatened to distract him as Harry picked his way through the corridors toward the ominous black door he still saw time and again in his nightmares. Taking a left, Harry approached the end of that particularly memorable corridor where the familiar black door loomed over him. The last time he'd seen Sirius was through that doorway.
He realized, with some embarrassment, that he didn't quite know what to do next. How would he find Alice from this point on? The Department of Mysteries was just that. Once he stepped through that door, he knew he'd find a circular room with twelve identical doors with no idea where to go from there. There seemed only one sensible course of action. Harry took a steadying breath and knocked.
The witch that answered several minutes later looked ruffled and a bit aggravated like an old hen shooed from her roost. "What do you want?" she asked shortly, fist resting on her hip. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, and in her other hand she clutched a ladle covered in reddish brown sludge. Harry tried not to imagine what concoction she'd just been experimenting with.
"Um, I'm looking for Alice Emerson, ma'am." Harry held the photo behind his back. For a reason he could not understand, Harry felt suddenly reluctant to share the photo with anyone until he had the answers he sought from Alice.
The witch eyed his suspiciously, but she nodded and pulled the door open wider, moving aside to let Harry in. They were standing in the same circular room he'd had the misfortune of entering his fifth year at Hogwarts. It seemed both like just yesterday and so long ago. That room had always had that strange effect on him, a disorienting nauseating feeling that made his gut rise into his throat. Perhaps it was the reflection of blue flames flickering over the shiny floor that made one feel as though they were walking on water. "Right this way," she grunted, heading assuredly toward one of the doors to the left. She pushed it open. Harry followed at her ankles, eager to leave the eerie blue room.
Inside, a small cramped office held about ten large, oaken desks. Only four were occupied. At the far end of the room, at a desk facing the wall, sat a slight, auburn-haired woman. She was hunched over some papers, and as Harry followed the shabby witch closer to her, he saw that she was labeling a detailed map of a land Harry didn't recognize. The desk was illuminated by a bright lamp, and every word the woman wrote on the map faded into the texture of the paper, a magical effect Harry recognized from his acquaintance with Voldemort's diary. He shuddered and suddenly remembered Hagrid's dislike of this woman. For the first time, Harry felt unsure of his plan to meet her.
"Emerson, you've got a visitor." Alice grunted and held up a finger. The witch with the ladle gestured to the chair next to Alice's desk and Harry sat down. He waited impatiently for a few infinite minutes while Alice worked. Finally, she looked up.
Her misty blue eyes blinked up at Harry, and it took a second for her to focus on him in the dim light of the room. When her face registered her recognition of him - a look Harry had come to know well - her breath caught and her eyes immediately welled with tears. Within moments, the figure who, mere seconds earlier Harry found somewhat foreboding, was sobbing. Harry sat with the picture on his lap feeling abashed - any misconceptions he'd had of Alice melted resolutely away. Without a word, Alice turned to open the top drawer of her desk.
Pulling a handful of tissues out of the drawer, Alice wiped the tears from her nose and chin. She seemed to have shrunken in the span of a few moments. Harry cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses on his nose, not quite sure what to say in the face of a crying stranger who may have been one of his parents' closest friends. But something, of course, had to be done so he began, stammering - "Um, I'm, er, Harry Potter. I think you knew my mum? Is this you?" He indicated the smiling young woman in the photo. The witch sitting before him looked remarkably similar, hardly changed but for the faint streaks of silver in her reddish-brown hair and thin, shallow lines in her forehead and corners of her eyes.
Alice gingerly took the photo with the tips of her fingers, as though it were some precious artifact. She nodded as she studied the photo, tears filling her eyes again. She stared at the faces in the picture before she finally spoke. Her voiced was hushed. "We were so young then. You..." She looked up at Harry and softly touched his cheek. The gesture reminded him of his mother-in-law, Molly Weasley. It was a protective, matronly touch, and he wondered what made Alice Emerson feel protective and matronly toward him. "You were just a baby. The son of my two best friends..." She choked on the last two words and lowered her eyes back to the photo.
Harry's blood pounded in his temples. This woman was his parents' best friend. She'd known them when they were alive, had gone to school with them, and knew him when he was born. "Could you...I mean, if it's not too hard. Could you maybe tell me about them?" Most importantly, she was here - now. She was his final chance to ask the questions he had never thought to ask Remus or Sirius when he was a boy.
She smiled tenderly and looked up into his eyes; Harry anticipated her next words, but she didn't say them. She didn't say, like everyone else from his childhood had, that he had his mother's eyes.
Instead, with a twinkle in her eye that momentarily brought the young woman from the photo back to life, she settled in her chair, neatly placed the picture on her desk, took a deep breath and began, "It was our fifth year when life really took hold of us..."