Rating: K
Warnings: Crack. Absolute crack.
Relationships: Vague mentions of canon pairings
The Job Interview
The letter came on a Sunday, because even if the post offices took the day off, private owls still spent the day flitting around, goods clutched in their sharp talons.
Harry took one look at it and tossed it out, thinking it an advertisement or a request to use his name or face on products - it was from a Mr. Jones of After Life Inc., which probably should've been a pretty big hint. Additionally, his mail was screened, Muggle and wizarding alike, and anything that wasn't from a close friend or approved acquaintance was tossed out immediately by the protective team of ex-Aurors and little old ladies that Hermione had hired to check his mail. That this one had made it through should have made it immediately a subject of suspicion.
As it was, it was eight in the morning on a Sunday, before he'd had his caffeine fix. He had no plans to do anything other than sit on the couch in his Muggle neighbor's living room and watch the telly, most likely reruns of Doctor Who, because that's all the neighbor ever wanted to watch.
So it was that the letter from After Life Inc. was thrown into Harry Potter's trash bin, taken away by the garbage truck, and recycled into a nifty little scented pencil.
After that, Harry's days went on exactly as he had planned (except on Thursday, when Rosie had eaten fifteen chocolate frogs in the space of as many minutes and thrown them back up all over the dress robes he'd meant to wear to the charity dinner that night). He didn't think twice about that letter again. In fact, he had all but forgotten about it until it came back to bite him in the arse two weeks later.
He had been preparing to go to bed when his vision faded out a bit, which was odd, since he'd been going on three hour jogs around the park and attending yoga classes with Ron and Hermione after the end of the war. He was in perfect health; that's what his mediwizard told him every year. Catching himself on his wardrobe, he forced himself to stand back up, then stumbled over to his bed in case it happened again. It did. He resisted it, and it faded off.
Now, of course, he was nervous. The Weasley twins' Fainting Fancies could well have inspired an enterprising intruder to create a fainting jinx. He wet his suddenly dry lips and reached for his wand. When it happened again, he got up to Floo Hermione to see what was wrong with him.
Unfortunately, before he could, his vision faded off for the last time and his eyes closed completely just as he reached the fireplace.
~*l*~
To his irritation, the first words he heard were, "You're late."
I'm never late to anything, he wanted to protest. If I were, Hermione would have my head, and besides, I'm twenty-three now, not eighteen - I can keep my own schedule!
But he couldn't, because his tongue felt like a slimy lump of oyster sashimi in his mouth and tasted just as fishy. He hadn't remembered hangovers ever feeling this bad, not even after that one time when he and an already inebriated Draco Malfoy had decided to have a drinking contest that had ended with the both of them stripping on the table of a seedy Muggle bar.
"Do you want to be even later?" the voice continued. "Your file says you're usually right on time, but if you don't get up right now, I'll be forced to conclude that it's incorrect and fire our scout."
Harry pried open his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to clear out the grime. Standing in front of him was the apparent owner of the voice, a pale young man with dark hair and a tailored suit.
"Nrgh?" he asked.
"I'm Mr. Jones. I sent you a letter a few weeks ago - I'm interviewing you for the position you applied for."
"Nrgh nrgh."
"Of course you did. From a Mr. Jones of After Life Inc.? I delivered it myself. Popped in right before my third morning coffee."
"I 'ave no idea wha' yer tal'in' 'bout," Harry argued intelligently. At least it sounded vaguely like English this time.
Mr. Jones fixed him with a hard stare. "Don't tell me you threw it out."
"Thin' I did."
He took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, muttering something. Harry thought it sounded like, "Why do they keep doing that?" but he couldn't be sure.
"Sorry," he tried, and was very pleased that it came out as a full word.
"Well, you're already - " he pulled out a little golden fob watch - "ten minutes late and counting."
"I didn't even need to know I had to be here!" Harry protested. "Wherever "here" even is."
"You're in the HR Department of the After Life Inc. You applied for the position of 'Master of Death' approximately two years ago, but thanks to some bureaucratic idiocy and a power change in upper management, we haven't gotten to your application until now."
"What?"
A manila folder containing various sheafs of paper appeared from seemingly nowhere.
"Yes - it says here you successfully collected all three of the scavenger hunt items in the Deathly Hallows challenge, and upon completion, an application was automatically sent. Now, we went over your credentials and are quite pleased with them: you've saved England a few times over, you've killed a Dark Lord, and you are proficient in yoga. Usually, we'd prefer pilates over yoga and that you save the world, not just England, at least ten times, but we've had a recent shortage of applicants, and out of what we've got, you're the best of them."
"What?" Harry repeated.
"This interview is just a formality, of course; we'd love to have you onboard."
"Wait, I've already got a job."
Mr. Jones flipped through a few pages. "Yes, it does say here that you're an Auror. Low pay, high risks, terrible dental plans - I can see why you wouldn't like it."
"I love being an Auror," he protested, more bewildered than defensive.
Mr. Jones scrutinized him over the top of his folder. Then, he pulled out a ballpoint pen, and, with his tongue between his teeth, wrote something in the margins. "Potential brain damage from previous job," he muttered. "Or Stockholm Syndrome." Then, louder he said, "Don't worry, it doesn't disqualify you, not at all. Now, follow me."
He turned and walked down the hallway in long, confident strides. Harry, who had been lying on the floor the entire time, sat up and looked around him properly for the first time.
It was a very average-looking office building, albeit a huge one. Uniform grey doors lined the wall to the left, and there were windows looking out into the night to the right. But when he got up and really looked out, all he saw were lights in the distance punctuating a vast darkness - lights from other windows, he realized.
"Fifteen minutes late!" Mr. Jones called from down the hallway.
Harry hastened after him after making sure that his wand was securely in his jeans pocket. He had no idea what was going on, but hell if he was going to mess up a job interview. As he was led through one of the grey doors, this one labelled "Interview Room," he reached up instinctively to straighten his collar, and was dismayed to find that he had arrived in the clothes he'd passed out in: a ratty "Don't Blink!" t-shirt and jeans.
"Don't worry about your dress," Mr. Jones told him. "The company will provide an uniform, free of charge. As the Master of Death, you wouldn't have to wear a suit like all the rest of us; they give you some frightening black robes and a scythe instead. A perfectly wonderful outfit, really. Wish I could wear that. Please, sit down."
Harry hoped his incredulity didn't show on his face. Black robes? He'd look like Snape. Although the scythe part, that he could get behind.
Sitting in the oddly comfortable office chair, Harry imagined for a moment Snape with a scythe, then shuddered. That would be truly horrifying. Snape would lob off the Gryffindors' heads each time they messed up a potion, and he thought Neville might have to start doing a hydra-type thing, growing two heads after one was chopped off.
Then, he entertained the thought of a many-headed Neville. It wasn't quite as bizarre as one might expect.
"Ah, creativity and imagination. Also good qualities." Mr. Jones made another note in his folder. Did he know how to read minds?
Apparently not, since he didn't reply with a yes, of course.
Mr. Jones closed the folder, pushed it to the side, and smiled at Harry. Harry felt a spike of trepidation flash through him. He wasn't prepared at all! In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure what this job entailed. He had applied for it by complete accident, but to say so might mean that he wouldn't get it, no matter how qualified he was.
"Now, Harry, tell me about yourself."
This one he knew how to do. He'd worked as a barista for a few years in the Muggle world before he'd been ready to become an Auror. Constant practice with Hermione before each interview meant that he still had his spiel memorized, even after five years. A few modifications would need to be improvised, but that was no great matter: he was good with improvisation.
"I like helping people," he started. "So I've saved the world a few times, as you mentioned earlier, and I did some volunteer work after I offed Voldemort. After that, I joined the Auror Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which I've been in for the past four years. Because of my role as the Savior during the war, I had a few unique points of view to offer them; most recently, my friend Hermione and I reformed the laws in the Office concerning the ethics of the job and such."
Mr. Jones nodded approvingly.
"I'd say that's one of my strengths: I can look at things in a way no one else can, or has bothered to, and bring about the changes I feel are necessary for continued success. I pride myself on never giving up, no matter how hard the task is. And I always follow my moral compass."
He tugged the file over and made another note in it.
"Now, I'm trying to find a way that I can positively impact the lives of witches and wizards everywhere," he concluded. "Somewhere I can work with people who are just as determined and as ethical as I am."
"Very good, Mr. Potter," he said, sounding like McGonagall for a moment. Harry involuntarily sat up straight in his chair and patted his hair down. "It seems you are a very headstrong person, and your moral compass is very well-developed."
"Thank you."
"Why'd you do volunteer work instead of going straight into the Auror Office?"
"I felt lost after the war," he admitted candidly. "As a boy, I didn't have very high aspirations. And when I got to Hogwarts, I was suddenly the Savior, and I had a very real goal for me - to defeat Voldemort. With that gone, I wasn't sure what to do with myself."
"And what did you discover while volunteering?"
"That being the Savior like I was back during the war wasn't what defined me. That just because there was no clear enemy for me to bring down once and for all doesn't mean I'm through with saving people. I can still fight criminals who are smuggling intelligent magical creatures, or bring down wizards selling illegal drugs on the streets and ruining people's lives. So I went into the Auror Office, and, well." He shrugged.
"That's a very admirable purpose you've found for yourself. Now, I have only one last question. If I were your supervisor and asked you to do something you disagreed with for whatever reason, what would you do?"
He stilled, and his brain began to work overtime. This one was difficult. He would probably quit on the spot, but he wasn't quite sure that that was the best thing to say.
His mouth disagreed.
"I'd quit on the spot."
Strangely enough, the corners of his interviewer's lips tilted upwards.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter." He stood and held out his hand, which Harry took. "We'll contact you within the week about your job. It was very nice meeting you."
"You too," Harry tried to answer, but it felt as if his mouth were dissolving into nothingness, as was his hand, which was going through Mr. Jones'. The interview room was fading away, as his bedroom had earlier, and this time, he couldn't resist it. Soon, he found himself lying on the floor in front of his fireplace, unsure of what had just happened.
Had he passed out? Had that all been a dream?
Yes, his brain decided. All a dream. And he got up and went to Hermione's to ask her to do a Diagnosis Charm on him, just in case.
~*l*~
Two days later, he came across a strange letter in his pile of mail. It was from an After Life Inc., which sounded very familiar. He puzzled over it for a moment, turning it this way and that as if it would revive some lost memory in him, then decided that After Life Inc. must be a very persistent advertising company or something.
He tossed the letter into the bin.
~*l*~
Why?, thought the letter as it was turned into a newspaper.
Notes:
1. No offense to people who like oyster sashimi - I'm okay with it, but that's how it felt the first time eating it.
2. I love Doctor Who. Imagine Mr. Jones as Ianto, and the office as the inside of the Nethersphere.
3. The job interview is not very accurate. I've only ever done two before, and I don't really remember either of them.