Harry slumped in his chair staring vacantly at the fireplace as he sipped the glass of firewhiskey. The flames turned bright green and flared up as Ron stepped out onto the hearth.
"Leave it, Ron," Harry muttered as his friend opened his mouth to speak, not bothering to meet his gaze.
"But you can't just let it all go like that, Harry. You can work this out."
"No, we can't. She doesn't want to, and frankly, I haven't the energy to fight another battle." Harry knocked back the remaining firewhiskey and got to his feet, dismissing his friend as he moved towards the door of the parlor. Ron grabbed his arm.
"Are you saying that my sister isn't worth it? Do you know what she went through while we were off searching for Horcruxes? You didn't see her face when they threw your lifeless body on the ground in front of all of us! She waited for you, Harry!" Ron exclaimed.
"Then why are you here, instead of her? This isn't about us!" Harry shouted. "Ginny left me, Ron! Okay? It's over! We've been growing apart for a while now. Better we end it now than after the wedding, or Godric forbid, a few kids down the road." He continued out of the parlor and made his way down to the kitchen where he'd left the bottle of firewhiskey, taking it up and refilling his glass. He went to the cupboard and took out another glass, passing it to Ron.
"I just don't get it, mate." Ron sat down and tipped the bottle over the glass that Harry had offered him.
"There's nothing to understand, Ronald. It just is." Harry leaned against the counter. "These things happen. The longer I think about it, the less bothered I am. Maybe it's for the best. I still care about Ginny, and I would never want to hurt her. Staying together when neither of us was truly happy would have done just that." He drank.
Ron drank. "So, where do you go from here?" he asked. Harry sighed.
"I honestly don't know, mate. I just feel as if nothing fits. Something is missing." He drank.
Ron drank. "Yeah, Voldemort breathing down your neck—that's what's missing."
"No. There's something else. I just can't explain it. I feel like I'm just going through the motions—just doing what everyone expects of me, but I don't know if that's what I want any more."
"You're not thinking of leaving the Auror Department?"
"That's exactly what I'm thinking, Ron. I just—" Harry sighed again. "My whole life, I've been defined by the choices that other people have made—my parents, The Ministry, Dumbledore and Riddle—even Snape. I need a life of my own." He drained his glass.
"So, what are you going to do?" Ron asked, knocking back his own glass.
"Right now, all I want is to get completely pissed." He summoned the bottle and poured again.
Harry's face felt cool and wet. There was a small gravelly voice calling his name and an insistent buzzing in his trousers.
"Master Harry…Master Harry…"
Harry opened his eyes to discover the cool, wet sensation was caused by the puddle of drool on the cold stone floor of the kitchen where he lay beneath the table. The house elf, Kreacher, whom he'd inherited along with Grimmauld Place when Sirius died, was standing over him holding a sobriety potion. After managing to get his limbs to cooperate and push himself into a sitting position, he found the buzzing in his trousers to be his mobile phone.
Harry gratefully accepted the potion as he fished his phone out of his pocket and answered it.
"Hullo?" He wiped the spittle from his cheek with the back of his hand.
"Oh, thank Merlin, Harry! I've been trying to reach you for hours!" the other voice exclaimed, laced with anxiety. Harry tossed back the potion and shook his head to clear the fuzzy feeling. He squinted at the phone's caller ID.
"Is that Dean?" he asked.
"Yeah! Yeah it is mate! I need your help!" Dean exclaimed.
"What's going on?" Harry's eyes shot open as the potion kicked in and he crawled from under the table in search of his glasses.
"It's Seamus. He's balls deep in seven shades of shit right now!" Dean's voice was frantic.
"Wait a minute, Dean. I thought you and Seamus were in America at his uncle's funeral. What happened?"
"He's in the nick! Apparently a fight broke out at the wake and he allegedly punched a policeman."
"Punched a policeman? Why didn't he just apparate out of there?" Now sober and fully awake, Harry found his glasses in the sink and put them on.
"I don't know, but that's not the worst of it! They've got his wand, Harry! They think it's some sort of burglary tool! All his family here are muggles. If anyone finds out the truth—"
"Alright, alright, calm down, Dean. Let me see what I can do. I'll call you back."
A few hours and several fire-calls later, Harry stood with Dean on the steps of the Suffolk County Sheriff's Department in Boston, Massachusetts, waiting for Seamus to be released. Dean paced restlessly, checking his watch every few minutes. Finally, Seamus emerged, looking quite a bit worse for wear, accompanied by a well-dressed woman with slightly unruly black hair.
Dean rushed to Seamus, enveloping him in an embrace, his eyes full of worry and relief.
"What about his wand?" Dean asked.
"I have it," the woman replied. "How about we go someplace more private?"
They went to Harry's hotel suite and the woman handed over Seamus' wand.
"I'm sorry, who are you, again?" asked Seamus. He was curled up on the couch beside Dean. "Are you my brief?"
"Seamus, this is Iolanthe Massey. She heads up the Investigation Department of the Boston DMLE."
"Oh." He rubbed his forehead.
"The No-Maj police believe that I am with a federal agency which outranks them. As far as they're concerned, Seamus is now in federal custody. We shift a few records around, obliviate any personnel as the need arises, and the problem is all taken care of. If the witch or wizard in question were indeed of concern, we run it up proper DMLE channels."
"So, how did this all happen and why weren't you two together?" Harry asked.
"Have ye ever been to an Irish wake?" Seamus replied, now lying in Dean's lap with his eyes closed. "Merlin, I am never touching muggle liquor again!"
"I did try to warn you, love."
"I know, I know, 'cushla, but me cousins just kept shoving shots an' Arthurs in me hands. They said wine was for lightweights and homos."
"You are a homo, darling," said Dean, stroking his head.
"Yeah, but they don't know that, do they? Anyway, this bloke came in and just started blaggardin' Patty, callin' him a thievin' bastard and sayin' he owed him. Patrick denied knowing anything about what he was saying. He said he'd cleared the debt and told him to shove off if he wasn't paying respects. Next thing I know, fists are flyin'. I couldn't exactly apparate out of there; they'd have taken the mick out of me for doin' a runner. Nobody told me he was a cop."
"Where were you, Dean?" Harry asked.
"At our hotel." Harry gave Dean a curious look.
"Me family's Catholic, Harry. Most muggles aren't as casual about our type of relationship as wizards—especially Catholics." Seamus grimaced and Dean gave him a squeeze.
"Your cousin owns a pawn shop in South Boston, right?" Iolanthe asked.
"I think so, and he works part-time in his da's pub. Why?"
"Well, the No-Maj police have been investigating a string of burglaries in the Back Bay. At least two of the significant stolen items were turned up in his shop, and the pawn tickets matching the items didn't trace back to any real person."
"So, are you thinking that the initial argument has something to do with those items?" asked Harry.
"Well, Michael Dooley, the cop in question, has also been under investigation in relation to evidence which has come up missing in a number of cases where he was one of the investigating officers."
"So, Seamus' cousin is mixed up with this bent copper over some stolen goods and missing evidence?"
"It's possible," said Iolanthe.
"What has tha' got to do with me wand?" Seamus asked, sitting up. Patrick is a muggle. He's never seen me wand and wouldn't know anythin' about it. Me da's a muggle, and no one in his family except me is a wizard. Believe me, Da's not tellin' anyone about me magic, not even when he's bolloxed. His and Mam's marriage has been on the rocks ever since I got me Hogwarts letter."
"I understand. Sadly, my friend, you've simply found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a high profile heist a few months back—a bank job with a take of about twenty million dollars' worth of cash and items from safety deposit boxes. The job was very clean—no fingerprints, no trace of a hacker on the combination to the vault. There wasn't even an image on surveillance video. The one significant piece of evidence that had been found was a wand."
"Blimey!" Dean exclaimed. "Well, who did the wand belong to?" he asked.
"No idea, it was unregistered. We traced it to Thiago Quintana, a wandmaker out of Arkansas, but his records are a hot mess. He's more of an artist than a businessman. All he could tell us is that it was clearly a replacement wand, and not one made for Ilvermorny—those all have serial numbers required by the school. As far as the No-Maj police are concerned, they thought maybe it was some kind of high-powered magnet or high-tech scanner of sorts that was used to bypass the security on the vault. Of course, we came in and did a little damage control, but your problem, Seamus, is that Dooley was one of the officers on the scene of the heist. Certain evidence from that heist has gone missing too, and of course, you had a wand on your person when you were arrested. If Dooley and your cousin are moving stolen goods or evidence, and Patrick shorted him on his cut of the money, Dooley's probably going to be after you as well."
"Fuck me!" Seamus exclaimed. "I didn't even want ta come ta this funeral, but I promised me Nan. Fucking Patrick! I'm gonna kick his arse when I see him!" He slumped back against Dean, closing his eyes tightly.
"First, you need to sober up, I think, love," said Dean. Seamus gave a reluctant moan and curled even closer to Dean.
"Well, thanks for everything, Iolanthe," said Harry, getting to his feet. "I owe you one."
"Yes, we really appreciate it," added Dean.
"Any time doll." Iolanthe stood, giving Harry a light peck on the cheek. "We should have dinner before you leave town."
"Hey, hang on." Seamus eyed them closely. "Harry, if I didn't know any better, I'd say the two of you were related." He took in her unruly dark hair and wire frame glasses. All she needed was a distinctive scar on her forehead and bright green eyes.
"Huh. You're right, love." Dean tilted his head and looked at them. "That's crazy, innit?"
Harry and Iolanthe looked at one another and shrugged. He smiled.
"My maiden name is Potter," said Iolanthe. Dean and Seamus' eyes grew wide and Seamus sat up once again.
"Get out! Are you serious?"
"Iolanthe's great-great…whatever…grandfather, Abraham Potter, was one of the original twelve American Aurors. He came from England generations ago," said Harry.
"You've got family!" Seamus exclaimed.
"Yeah, I've got family." Harry chuckled.