If Harry Potter had to describe his life at the moment, he would most likely give a small, pleased smile in return to the question. He was fresh out of his Auror training and was working at the Ministry, under the watchful eye of the new Minister and his mentor, Kinglsey. He had bought himself a small apartment in Hampstead, above a small market that smelled often of curry. He was well off, for most people his age. The honors he had received after the fall of Voldemort's regime were honors most people would only dream about receiving. His bank account was always healthy. He had a girlfriend, his school sweetheart, Ginny, who seemed to grow more beautiful everyday. What was best of all, for Harry, was that his friends, Ron and Hermione, lived in a small flat close by, so he could drop in whenever he pleased.
To one person, it would seem as if Harry Potter had the perfect life. Of course, they would have to be dense. Given his background, Harry would never have the perfect life, no matter how pleased he was with it. The ghosts of his past still haunted his dreams at night, and he could not escape them, no matter how hard he tried. Often, Harry would awake in the middle of the night, his shirt soaked in sweat, and his eyes moist from tears he had not realized he shed.
It was not only this that bothered Harry. For sometime now, three years to be exact, he had a hole in his chest. Not literally, mind you, but he figured that it was a hole in his heart he could not quite repair. He wondered, at times, what he could do to fix this hole, to repair it. After a while, he learned that not even the company of Ron or Hermione could fix this empty, lonely feeling. And even Ginny seemed to fail at completely filling the hole. Perhaps, Harry often wondered, it had to do with the loss of his parents. Maybe he was looking for something he would never have and was destined to fall prey to disappointment.
Sometimes, at work, Harry would find himself pondering upon this emptiness that lived within him. It would cause him to space out, he would find himself staring at papers where he had simply scribbled meaningless symbols with a broken quill. It bothered him quite a lot. And so, Harry Potter could not describe his life as perfect, because it simply was not. He was pleased, but not complete.
It so happened that much of this, much of Harry Potter's satisfactory life was about to change, unbeknownst to him.
One gloomy, cloudy day in London, two weeks before Christmas, Harry woke up early to go to work. He showered, dressed into the customary robes aurors often wore, ink-black and solemn. He attempted to flatten down his mess of hair, pushed his thick-rimmed glasses onto his nose, and then walked into the guest room, where Ginny lay, still asleep. She had come to stay for the weekend, taken time out of her busy Quidditch training schedule, which took place in the highlands of Scotland. He watched her sleep for a moment.
She was so peaceful as she slept. Her fiery red hair hung loose around her face, curling softly at the ends, which stirred as she breathed lightly in and out. Her lips were cracked the slightest bit, giving Harry a view of her pearly white teeth. Her eyelids twitched a little as she rolled over and let out a sigh as she burrowed back down in the quilt. Harry quietly leaned over her and kissed her softly on the cheek. Ginny's lips stretched into a smile and her eyes flickered open so she could catch a glimpse of Harry, who sat down on the edge of her bed.
"Hi," she said, sitting up, rather lazily. Her shirt was actually Harry's old Quidditch jersey, and for a moment, he desperately wanted it back.
"I have to go to work," he told her. Ginny reached for his hand and held it tightly in hers, quickly entwining their fingers together.
"I had a good weekend," she replied. She gathered her hair in the other hand and threw it over one shoulder, so it streamed down like a river of fire. Harry thought back on their weekend and wondered what she had seen in it that he hadn't. They hadn't done much, just sat around Harry's apartment and gone out to dinner at one point, and then visited with Ron and Hermione. They hadn't even had much time to themselves. As far as Harry was concerned, the fact that Ginny slept in the guest room and refused to sleep in his bed spoke volumes in itself.
"Me too," he said, purely to appease her. Ginny threw her arms around Harry's shoulders and kissed him deeply. His glasses cut into the bridge of his nose. Harry kissed her back, because this is when he appreciated Ginny the most, at certain times. She had changed so much in his eyes over the past few years. Now, she was a successful Quidditch player, and to Harry, it seemed as if her life purpose had become slightly off course. She didn't seem to have much time to spend with the people she loved, and she was worn down and tired, unlike the Ginny he knew. But when they kissed, it was the last memento of the Ginny he really loved, it was reminiscent of their first kiss. Harry smoothed back her hair as he pulled away. "Have a safe trip, alright? I'll see you in two weeks, for Christmas."
Ginny grinned. "I'll see you at the Burrow, Potter." Harry grinned back, stood up, and with one last look at her, left his apartment. He stopped down at the market, so he could pick up a sandwich for lunch. Jeff, the owner, accosted him with the usual questions about his odd attire ("Don't you get tired of wearing that damn dress?" "It's not a dress, Jeff."). After finally escaping with his ham sandwich in hand, Harry turned the corner, into a dingy, unused alley. When he was sure no one was watching, he apparated right into the front foyer of the Ministry.
"Hello, Harry," said his co-worker, Wanda, a woman in her late fifties with white hair she teased into a cone on the top of her head. In her hands, she held a box marked "Solved."
"Hello, Wanda," Harry greeted her, falling into step with her as they made their way to the lifts, caught amongst the masses of people moving off towards their offices. "What have you got there?"
"Solved cases," Wanda replied in her dry voice. "I'm supposed to take them down to the Department of Mysteries and file them down there."
"I'll take them," Harry volunteered. "An old friend of mine, Dean Thomas, works down there. I'd like to see him, if he has the chance."
Wanda paused in front of the lifts, obviously considering his offer. Her mouth twitched, and a small brown spot on the corner of her mouth twisted. Harry felt sick watching it.
"Fine," she said, handing him the box, which was much heavier than it appeared. "Make sure you go down to Rollin's office, alright? I need a large coffee anyway, better make my way over to the cart…" Wanda trailed off and turned around, heading back towards the entrance where Harry had apparated. Harry closed the lift door and pressed one of the subtle buttons on the wall. Immediately, the box shuddered and moved rapidly backwards, as if it was about to launch him into space. A few queasy moments later, the lift halted at the bottom of the Ministry. Harry stepped off onto the marble floors of the Department of Mysteries and looked around. As always, it looked the same. Dreary and grey. The lighting was sparse, and when it was found, it had an odd effect on the rock walls; the light made it look as if Harry was underwater.
Still clutching the box, Harry turned the corner, and opened the first, iron door on his right. The office was relatively cheery to the hall outside, and at the front desk sat a girl that was vaguely familiar, probably a Hogwarts student he had met before.
"This is Rollin's office, right?" He asked. The girl nodded with widened eyes. Harry sat the box down on the edge of her desk. "I have some case files I'm supposed to drop off here."
"Oh, thank you. We've been expecting these." The girl waved her wand, and the box soared up off her desk and into the next room.
"Is Dean Thomas here, by any chance?" Harry asked, peering around, as if he could catch a glimpse of his old friend.
"No, sorry." She grimaced. "Wrote in sick this morning."
"Ah." Harry nodded. "Alright, thanks," He backed out of the office and shut the door behind him. He had hardly made his way to the lift again when he heard a noise. It wasn't a noise easily heard, but rather, it appealed to Harry because it was that way. It was like a small gasp, a whisper, and then, a faint tinkling. Harry frowned and followed the noise, walking cautiously down the hallway. He didn't like the department of Mysteries much. After all he had witnessed down here, including his godfather's death, the place still managed to scare him, at least deep down. He followed the noise to the end of the hallway, where he could faintly make out the sounds coming from behind a light blue door, which seemed to sparkle, like diamonds. Harry held out a hand to open the door, but realized it was already ajar.
He stepped inside. It was an odd sight. There were shelves upon shelves made of mahogany, but all were empty and dusty. However, in the middle of the room, there was a large bowl, mounted on a marble stand. The curiosity in Harry unfurled, aroused. He stepped closer to the bowl and peered inside. There was some gold dust inside, and nothing else. Knowing full well that this beautiful golden dust could be something quite similar, Harry cautiously took his wand out from his jacket pocket. Ever so gently, he prodded the mound of dust with the tip of his wand. Nothing happened. Perplexed, Harry reached out and touched the dust. Nothing happened. Emboldened, Harry scooped some of the dust into his palm.
All of a sudden, there was a jerk in the room. It was as if the floor was torn away from him. There was a blur of colors, turning into a spectrum Harry couldn't fathom. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and so, he stood, stock still, his hands by his side. Suddenly, he couldn't see anymore. And that's when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.