Hello all!

This is my very first go at writing an HP fic. It wasn't something I ever thought I'd do, but the Drarry thing has been growing on me, and I thought I'd give it a go. This will be pretty fluffy, maybe somewhat lemony (hence the M rating, just to be on the safe side). Rather than dealing with the imminent threat of dark wizards, it will be about human relationships and self discovery.

I'm just throwing myself in to this without a fully fleshed out story, so here's hoping it all comes together. Will probably be a pretty slow burn.

Pretend that the epilogue (and the Cursed Child) never happened (except for Ron and Hermione).

I own nothing but my own imagination...

"Alright Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up at the tinny, distorted voice that suddenly reverberated around his office, and looked over to blink at the disembodied head that sat oddly in the middle of the fireplace, opposite where he sat.

It was one of those things that he thought he ought to be used to by now, seeing his best friend's freckled face, floating in a wreath of green flame… but it still made him feel a bit odd. Body parts shouldn't be separated like that, seemed too much like voluntary splinching.

"Ninny's going to blow a valve if you don't hurry up, mate…"

"Hermione's going to blow a valve if she catches you calling her Ninny again." Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll be right behind you."

Ron just grinned, and his head disappeared with a whoosh just as the phone on Harry desk crackled into life.

"Mr Potter, sir, it's time for your four-thirty."

Harry was already standing, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything on him. Phone, wallet, wand… he reached over to push the intercom button. "Thanks Celia. I'll be taking the express, so there's no need for you to hang around. Head off, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you Mr Potter. Happy birthday."

"Cheers."

He sighed. Poor Celia wasn't having the easiest time in the office. She was trying, she really, really was, but she wasn't muggle born. She was as ignorant about the Muggle way of life as most kids raised in magical families were, and it had created a few problems with her internship.

At least now she hid her wand down in the bottom of her filing cabinet instead of keeping it close at hand. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the floating coffee cup incident…

Harry, on the other hand, had adapted well to working in a Muggle environment. It suited him. He could have done without – perhaps – being used as a political pawn by the Ministry of Magic, but as far as actual work went, he had an adequately satisfying job, for an auror.

There wasn't much call for aurors anymore. Eighteen years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort's followers all but eradicated. The department was still fully staffed of course, and probably always would be, but work out in the field was rare.

So Harry's current position, as the Minister of Magic's Mediator to the Muggle Minister (try saying that five times fast) was busy enough to keep him occupied, and kept him in close contact with the Department of Muggle Relations (formally Misuse of Muggle Artefacts) where Ron was usually working, as the auror liaison to Arthur.

Best of all though, the job kept him out of the wider wizarding world, for the most part.

Not that he didn't like the wizarding world… he just didn't like his place in it. He'd never been comfortable with the level of fame he'd had wand-side, and after The Battle, any delusions he'd had about being able to lead a quiet life were dashed.

He was an icon, a symbol, and while he appreciated how important it was to have icons and symbols to latch on to in difficult times, he really wished it just wasn't him.

There were hundreds of other brave witches and wizards and centaurs and house elves for chrissake that had fought and sacrificed – some with their lives, with their children – for emancipation from the pureblood regime, but as always, he was the one that was lauded above all others… and he hated it.

The level of intrusion had cost him a lot. Shoved into the limelight at such a young age, he'd still struggled during his late teens and early twenties, stretching himself too thin between his responsibilities. His duty to the wizarding community, his auror training, and then his auror work, his friendships, and his relationship… he couldn't do it all, and one of them eventually gave.

He and Ginny were still friends, but in the end, the unwanted attention (including the inevitable sexually charged invitations he'd had to constantly field) and Harry's difficulty with managing a work/life balance, had been too much for her, and she'd dumped him.

She'd be there tonight, no doubt. She and Victor would apparate in from wherever they were currently playing, stay for the cake (but no alcohol, not coming up to the world cup) then apparate away again.

The world's most powerful Quidditch couple. The legendary Victor Krum, considered old for the game, but still going strong… and the best Chaser the Harpies had seen in a century, retiring only two years before, in order to have their first baby, then returning to coach.

Harry didn't think Ron would ever come to terms with the situation… but Harry was fine with it. If he was going to be brutally honest (and so far he hadn't been, not out loud, anyway) he was rather relieved when Ginny had broken up with him.

He'd loved her with all of his heart, but they wanted different things from life. They came from such vastly different backgrounds. Something had always sat uneasy between them. Something that was easy to ignore when they were horny kids, and still easy to ignore when they were dealing with the aftermath of Voldemort's reign of terror… but that in peace time created a restless tension between them that put Harry on edge.

No. Things were better now. Life was good. He still had his friends, his surrogate family. He had his job, and he had relative anonymity in the Muggle world.

It was twenty-five years to the day that he'd first received his Hogwarts letter, inviting him to attend arguably the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Twenty-five years, and he was lucky to have lived through the first one. He was lucky to be alive, and a day didn't go by that he forgot that.

So yes. Things might not have gone exactly as he had planned, but he couldn't complain. The only thing he really wished for, was someone to share the rest of the years with.

Ugh. He always got maudlin on his birthday.

Shaking himself, he double checked that his computer was logged out, tugged his jacket from the back of his chair and stepped up to the fireplace.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder from the vase on the mantelpiece, he stepped one foot into the small space (navigating small fireplaces was a tricky business) and threw the powder into the grate.

"The Glen." He said, clearly, and when the green flames roared up, he stepped into them, whirling through space until he staggered out from Ron and Hermione's – much larger – hearth, facing a room full of smiling people.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

People were crammed up to the walls in the Weasley/Granger sitting room. Most of his friends – from Luna Lovegood to Hagrid the gamekeeper – were there, cheering for him. Not because he'd done something heroic, but because he was just him. Just for his birthday…

Nope, he couldn't complain at all. He might not have everything, but he had enough.