AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have NEVER EVER EVER NEVER... EVER* written fanfiction before. So bear with me; it'll get bumpy. I apologize ahead of time for all the times I type "Scorpius Potter" or misspell Ginny's name as Scotch, although I blame the editor for not catching it in the first place (therefore, nulling any karma gains, woo).

* assuming that NEVER EVER EVER NEVER EVER is the equivalence of NEVER

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Even the pants I wear don't even belong to me. In a more serious sense, though, you get the idea – no canon content is mine (HENCE word cannon).

But I did pee on the non-cannon parts to mark them as the territory of whoever holds the deeds for my existence (Jenny Max woo).

It was supposed to be a fine day.

The kids were outside, the wife was in, and life was merry. Today was a deserving break, and the house was a fine place to spend it, sinking in comfy couches with wool blankets and hot tea. The day was warm, but not too warm. 'Twas day when everything's supposed to be perfect – when everything had to be perfect.

When the knock on the oak front door resounded, Harry had first assumed that maybe it was mail. Perhaps a package? Harry had no idea why he would have a package, but it was a nice thought, a gift on a warm summer day. Although, wouldn't an owl have delivered it? Perhaps Harry had guests, then. Harry didn't remember Ginny telling him they'd be entertaining any, but the more the merrier. Not that Harry didn't want his day peaceful, of course; kicking back, feet perched on the coffee table (much to a certain lover's dismay) was what he wanted to do the most at the moment. However, a short chat with Ron or Hermoine wouldn't hurt... unless they both came at once. Harry wasn't in the mood to settle any chronic cases of couple's quarrel.

So, when he peeled himself off the couch, dragging his feet off the coffee table and discarding the blankets and tea, he still had some hope left for a good day. A good lot, to say the least.

But, when he flexed his hands, massaging the tired muscles back to life, and reached to turn the door nob, his expectations for the day fell pretty far. His heart sunk when he saw the familiar uniform of a Ministry of Magic employee. Not a fellow Auror, which was a relief – unexpected Aurors showing up often meant something was severely amiss (which he knew well, since he had been that unexpected Auror on multiple occasions). He recognized the worker's face and tried to connect it to a name – a surname would do fine. Nothing came to memory, though, and Harry felt right about to curse himself when the worker introduced herself,

"Evening, Mr. Potter," she said, confidence resounding in her voice. Not uncommon for Ministry workers, "My name is Mrs. Evealing, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." The woman – Mrs. Evealing – held out her hand to shake Harry's. She looked like a social worker.

Distraught, Harry shook it – common courtesy and all. He didn't bother pointing out that it wasn't evening at all, unless noon constituted as night, "Greetings to you as well, Mrs. Evealing."

"Mr. Potter," Mrs. Evealing's suddenly voice grew into a more urgent tone – again, not uncommon for Ministry workers, "I am here on an emergency. There's been a bit of conflict that the Ministry is trying to get a handle on, and there's been a lot of people involved. We aren't yet sure what exactly the conflict is, or who is involved, but as of late, wizards have either been disappearing, or showing up dead."

It wasn't just bad news; it was devastating – Harry wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the day, feet propped in front of the fireplace. On a less selfish note, it sounded like a difficult case. Harry spoke, "I'll head to my offices immediately, Mrs. Evealing."

"No, no," Mrs. Evealing said with a smile that could soften a gargoyle, "No need to leave your house, to say."

Harry was confused. Not leave his house? A wave of reassurance didn't wash over Harry over the plausible chance that perhaps his day wouldn't be ruined, only suspicion and anxiety. "Then what is it you need, Mrs. Evealing?"

"I'll be as frank as possible, Mr. Potter. The ministry needs you, as well as your expertise, to look after a current possible target of dark wizardry."

"Who?" Harry saw no one next to Mrs. Evealing, nor, as he leaned over, did he see anyone behind her.

Mrs. Evealing never answered his question. "It will only be a few days, Mr. Potter, until the immediate situation can be sorted out." He never really needed a response from the ministry worker anyway, finally coming to his senses and glancing down, spotting a rather sour-faced child.

A sour-faced mini-Malfoy child, to be exact.

"Oh, right-o," Potter responded, mustering as much false enthusiasm as possible.

Foot Note:

COOL GUYS DON'T LOOK AT EXPLOSIONS
THE MORE YOU IGNORE IT, THE COOLER YOU LOOK

-Kisses and Chloroform, Roxx