Chapter 1: The Auror's Choice
Harry Potter recovered the Philosopher's stone, defeated Slytherin's monster, changed the past, won the Triwizard Tournament, broke into the department of mysteries, and destroyed all of the horcruxes belonging to the dark wizard, Voldemort. Right now, however, he felt as hopeless as any other recruit for the Alastor Moody Memorial Auror Academy. He had been awake for 96 straight hours, and currently found himself crawling on his belly through 6-inch-deep mud that had been cursed to stay at just above freezing temperature. Enchanted rope criss-crossed above his head, throwing off threatening sparks that promised a painful shock upon contact, encouraging recruits to stay as deep in the frigid filth as possible.
Keep going, Harry thought to himself, this is nothing compared to Voldemort. Harry had been saying that quite a lot recently. As a member-in-training of wizarding Britain's front line force against the dark arts, Harry had been put through hell in his time at the Auror Academy. This obstacle course was just another instance in a litany of torture-tests designed to harden aurors against any opponent. Recruits were expected to perform the series of fifteen obstacles flawlessly, and were not permitted to stop for sleep until they had done so.
Harry pulled himself out of the mud pit and ran for the final obstacle: a set of enchanted spheres that needed to be hit with stunning spells. The catch was that these spheres could evade attacks and return fire with stunning spells of their own that left the muscles sore and the extremities tingling. Harry had attempted the course at least fifty times already in the last four days with no stopping. He had made it to this final obstacle only three times before, and each time he reached the spheres they had all open fired on him immediately, sending his nerveless body flying. He was certain that after the maze at the Triwizard Tournament that the Academy's obstacle course would be nothing but a game. However, he had not realized the true purpose of the obstacle course until his fifth or sixth unsuccessful attempt - it was an unwinnable game. One obstacle required magically levitating oneself on a wooden platform between a series of rings, but the first several times Harry attempted it, the rings had simply shrunk too small for even his arm to fit through, much less his whole body on a platform. Harry could feel his frustration mounting – what was the point of an obstacle course with impossible tasks?
After the first dark, frozen night of failure, Harry was ready to give up. As he lay face down in the cursed mud puddle (the sticks holding the electrified rope had shrunk, pressing Harry's face into the cold water and sending pain throughout his body until he nearly passed out) he contemplated whether or not Headmistress McGonagall would hire him to teach defense against the dark arts at Hogwarts. It was at this moment that he heard the voice of his long-time mentor, Albus Dumbledore, in his head.
It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.
The purpose of this test was not the obstacles, but the repetition. The endurance. The mind-numbing acceptance that failure was inevitable but that giving up was not an option. Harry had been treating this like the Triwizard Tournament, where results mattered more than methodology. This test simply wanted to see how long he could continue to make the choice to fight. At this point, Harry was filthy. None of his skin could be seen beneath the mud mixed with blood that covered his entire body. He had wondered why this test had been called "The Auror's Choice" by past graduates, but now he understood. It was the role of an auror to get up, again and again, even in the face of impossible odds. Harry reflected that this test would have been much more difficult if he had not spent a year trying to find horcruxes with unknown identities and locations. Besting The Auror's Choice at the halfway point of auror training qualified recruits to be paired with a current working auror to finish their training. The last year and a half had been nothing but classes on sleep-inducing magical regulations, the basics of criminal investigation, and grueling physical conditioning.
Harry dove to the left upon entering the final obstacle, feeling the crackle and heat of stunning spells singing the back of his neck as he went into a roll. Getting up at a sprint Harry fired back, jets of a red light finding their mark in three out of the ten spheres. Combat magic had always been Harry's specialty, and the fact that the spheres had not stunned Harry immediately told him that he might be allowed to win this time. He just needed to keep on his feet long enough to stun the remaining spheres. Seven flashes of red light screamed his way, but Harry waved his wand and willed the spells to rebound upon their originators – four more of the spheres went down. The three remaining spheres seemed to get angry at the loss of their compatriots and glowed red, picking up their speed and firing constant beams of spellwork. Harry twisted on the spot and apparated, narrowly missing the intersection of all three beams on his previous location. He appeared behind the spheres, stunning two of them. Before he could stun the final sphere, however, it again seemed to pick up speed and automatically homed in on him, firing an angry red blast of light. Harry narrowly avoided it, but lost his wand in the process. The sphere advanced on Harry in an almost gloating fashion.
Wandless magic was one of the most advanced N.E.W.T. level subjects taught at Hogwarts, and most wizards could barely pull off minor spells without the aid of their wands. Harry, who had once struggled with even wordless spells, knew that he had to use something sufficiently simple if he wanted to cast anything at all.
Then it came to him. Harry raised both of his hands, palms towards the spheres, and willed the sphere to become heavier. He cleared his mind, focusing simply on his desire that the sphere become heavy. The sphere halted in the air and twitched, as though it had reached the end of an invisible tether. As soon as Harry felt a tenuous hold on the spell, a slight crackle of energy that resonated between the palms of his hands, he closed both of his fists and threw his arms towards the ground, grunting with effort. The sphere dove towards the ground like a spiked volleyball, burying itself deep in the mud.
Four wizards suddenly appeared around him. "Congratulations Mr. Potter," said Superior Ingrid Turcotte, a stern looking witch in her mid-forties with a shock of black hair and cat-like purple eyes. "You have made The Auror's Choice. May you make it time and time again." There was a ceremony to her words, and Harry felt a weight lift from him at the thought of finally resting.
"Thank you, Superiors," Harry said, breathlessly, searching around in the mud for his lost wand. Finding it, he straightened up.
"Aye, Potter, that was nice work with the gravity charm at the end there. We thought you would be going back for attempt 67… after you woke up from the stun, of course." This statement came from Superior Buzzwin Brash, a stocky Scotsman with a shining bald head and flaming red beard. "You're the first candidate in 43 years to complete The Auror's Choice on the first attempt after the test becomes possible. You should be proud."
"Thank you, sir. It was a close thing, and luck had more to do with it than skill."
Superior Turcotte spoke up again. "You have the remainder of the week and the weekend to recover. You will be paired with an auror mentor on Monday. Seven o'clock in the Academy conference room, Potter. Don't be late."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said. The superiors turned on the spot and disapparated and Harry did likewise. He reappeared, covered in mud, in the bathroom of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He was ready for a long soak and an even longer nap. His innumerable cuts and scrapes had started stinging again now that he was no longer outside in the cold.
Maybe Kreacher would make him a sandwich. "Kreacher?" Harry called.
With a pop Kreacher appeared in the bathroom. Small and shriveled, with a long, hooked nose, Kreacher was, along with Grimmauld Place, a part of Harry's inheritance from his late godfather, Sirius Black. Harry had attempted multiple times now to free Kreacher, but Kreacher resolutely refused. "As the last living member of the most noble and ancient House of Black, Kreacher chooses to be Master Potter's elf. Master Potter will respect Kreacher's choice." Harry thought it was amusing that Kreacher could make a servant position sound like an order.
"Kreacher, I'd love some food if you don't mind. And firewhiskey. Bring the bottle please. I intend to get in this bath tub and stay here for a very long time."
Kreacher bowed low. "Ah, of course Master. Kreacher will fetch Master some of the stew he made. Kreacher thinks Master will find it most appealing after his time out in the cold."
"I would," Harry said. "Thanks." Kreacher disappeared again, and Harry pulled off his soaked and freezing robes and slid into the tub, hissing as the hot, soapy water stung in his wounds. A few minutes later Kreacher brought the soup and the firewhiskey, along with a glass and a tub of ice. Harry ate ravenously – rations were kept intentionally slim during The Auror's Choice to heighten stress. Afterwards, he drained and refilled the tub, as the water had become dark with mud, and pulled himself a triple serving a firewhiskey. He sunk down to his neck in the water and took a long, slow sip, relishing the way the amber beverage seemed to sear his insides all the way down.
Harry could hear no sounds coming from the house and checked the clock. It was a little past two in the afternoon – Ron would still be working at the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Hermione, studying to become a wizen (a wizarding barrister, for which the Wizengamot was named) would be at school. Harry sank into the tub and enjoyed the quiet of the house – things had been tense recently between Ron and Hermione. Harry did his best not to pry, but it was hard to ignore the shouting voices coming from just down the hall. While the two of them had always bickered even during the best of times, these arguments were more and more resembling the acid-tinged remarks the two of them threw at each other whilst Ron was snogging Lavender Brown on a regular basis. Harry was determined to stay out of it, as Ron had extended the same courtesy when Harry and Ginny's relationship detonated during their final year at Hogwarts.
As if on cue, Harry heard shouting coming from down the hall.
"Honestly, Ron, you're just blowing this out of proportion!"
"Bugger-all Hermione, I'm being perfectly reasonable. When you tell me you can't meet me for lunch because you're too busy working, and I come home for lunch to find you here, sneaking food alone, what am I supposed to think?"
"That I'm actually busy and just stopped home for quick bite!"
Harry sunk his head the rest of the way down in the water. Try as he might, he couldn't always remain ignorant to the goings on in his house. The arguments had been growing more frequent and less kind as the months wore on. It started during their final year of graduation, and Harry couldn't help but think that the only thing tying the two of them together was shared premises at this point. He valued both of their friendship, and he was glad neither tried to bring him into it at this point.
At that thought, Harry drank deeply, wondering what Ginny was up to now. Last Harry heard, she had been recruited to play seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. It was funny how life worked, Harry ruminated. It seemed impossible to tell which dreams were supposed to work out and which ones weren't, but he supposed he was foolish to think that he could come back from a year of hunting horcruxes and expect everything – and everyone – to be the same as he had left it.
After all, even Ron and Hermione had not been able to withstand the terrible act of "growing up." Harry started at the sound of something large and solid crashing against the wall downstairs.
"Well, fine, Hermione. If that's the way you really feel about it, I'm done fucking around with you. I'm not sure what's going on with you, but it's clear you're not interested in sharing it, or much of anything else with me." Harry heard the sounds of frantic packing and Hermione sobbing from the floor below. He sank beneath the water again. It saddened him to see them finally at a breaking point, but truthfully, the two did nothing but make one another miserable these days. They spent so much time chasing what they had together at Hogwarts that they never found something to get them through the rest of the world.
Harry emerged from the tub, dressed, and headed downstairs to assess the damage. He could only hope that their friendship of so many years could survive this one final insult. Hermione was sitting on the old frumpy couch that had come with Number 12, eyes red, face streaked with tears.
"So… er… that sounded worse than usual," Harry said awkwardly. He never knew how to handle Ron and Hermione when they were at odds.
Hermione looked at him with watery eyes. "Oh, Harry, I did it this time. Ron caught me in a stupid, stupid lie… and I think it was the end."
Harry sat down on the couch next to her. "Where did he go?"
"Just upstairs, moving his stuff. I think he's picking out a new room down the hall."
"Well, that's not far, at least. Plenty of opportunities to fight for another go."
"Oh… Harry," Hermione said again, on the verge of tears. "I'm not sure there's another go in us. After everything that happened at Hogwarts and now this…" Hermione trailed off. Harry flushed in a mixture of shame and embarrassment for his own memories of the last year at Hogwarts, and averted his eyes from Hermione, as if it would make him stop thinking of things he shouldn't enjoy, but did.
Harry leaned over stiffly and patted Hermione on the back in his best impersonation of someone being comforting. "Well, whatever you two need, you know I'm here." He got up and decided he best check on Ron and see if this really was well and truly the end.
Ron was in the room he and Hermione shared, making his belongings furiously goose-step down the hall to a different bedroom. Harry rapped lightly on the doorframe as he came in.
"Anything I can do, mate?" Harry said, trying to sound both unbiased and conversational.
"Harry, I know you're trying to be friends with the both of us right now, but I just can't. I can't be reasonable, I can't be smart about this. I love her too much. She's always been the best I could ever have and the only thing I've ever wanted while I'm just the goofy red-head with the big family." At this last sentence Ron sounded dangerously close to losing it.
"Ron, you know Hermione cares about you," Harry said gently.
"Harry, I know she cares for me. Hell, she probably even loves me. But she doesn't need me. And most times, she doesn't even want me all that much. And I can't live with it anymore. I forgave you both for what happened at Hogwarts and I think you've done right by me since, but she's pulling away from me and I'm ready to let her finish the job." Ron had said all of these things very fast, like if he didn't force them out quickly enough they might congeal in his throat and strangle him. Harry was looking at his shoes and feeling very small – the three of them had an implicit agreement not to talk about elephant in the room, and it was now twice in one day that it had been brought up.
"Well, Ron, I just want to say that I'm doing my best to support you both. At the end of the day I just want you both to be happy, regardless of where or with whom."
"Harry, I love you, and I always will, but that's really fucking easy for you to say. Now get out. I need some time."
"Sure, right, of course…" Harry trailed off as he left the room, but Ron didn't notice. Harry was almost glad the breakup had happened now. Maybe they could finally start figuring out how to be friends again. He did his best not to be petty, but Ron and Hermione had been so caught up in their own personal problems that neither had much time anymore to talk with Harry about auror training. Ron because he was busy trying to figure out how to keep Hermione's interest, and Hermione because she and Harry were too busy trying to make whatever interest was there die a slow, miserable death after the fiasco that ended Harry and Ginny's relationship.
Harry went up to the top floor of Grimmauld Place, where his suite was. On the perch next to a well-padded leather armchair with the words "Property of S.B. Not to be touched by R.A.B." scratched into it sat Fawkes, the phoenix that had chosen to accompany Harry after the death of Lord Voldemort. Harry slumped into the chair, arm over his eyes. "Hullo, Fawkes," Harry said. Fawkes keened musically, jumping from the perch to Harry's shoulder, head resting on Harry's neck. It wasn't until Harry felt warm, wet phoenix tears that he looked down and saw that a few of his scratches were deep enough to have oozed blood into his shirt. The healing power of phoenix tears had saved Harry from certain death before, and he was glad to have Dumbledore's faithful companion at his side.
Soon he would be working real cases with a real auror, and the prospect both excited and scared him. Harry wasn't sure how they went about pairing trainees with working wizard detectives. Was there another sorting hat? Harry thought it was unlikely, but even after becoming an adult in the wizarding world, it still managed to surprise him with its sheer determination to be extraordinary. Only a quarter of recruits made it to where Harry now sat, but instead of feeling accomplished he just felt empty. All this training, all this time, only to beat another obstacle course, receive another commendation. Harry wanted to feel valuable again – not just for some test of his worthiness, but because he was actually helping people. When you save the world before you turn eighteen, it can be very difficult not to peak early.
Harry was not going to live the rest of his life as the Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One. It was time to start making a difference. Despite Harry's resolve, he still drifted off to sleep, empty glass in his hand a phoenix song in his ear.