The office was dark, most of the aurors had gone home. Their desks were tidily stacked high with reports, the candles all burnt out. Even the magical window, which gave the illusion of an outside world, let in only the faintest slivers of moonlight. Yet there was one light, just one, which continued to flicker in the depths of the darkness.
Bent over an array of papers and photographs,was the lone figure of a young auror who painstakingly continued his reports. He didn't know the time, nor did he much care. His wife was off training, they kept her on a strict regime before the finals. Families were allowed in the hotel, those that could get away and those who couldn't had just an hour a day. He'd already had his time for that day, just before they'd found the girl. After that it had been a blur. Most of it. All except for her face. She'd been there for only a few hours, eyes wide open but unseeing. He wondered what they had seen before the end.
Most wizards were used to moving photographs, but this auror dispensed with that charm. They needed stillness, the clarity of the moment, to look over what their crime scene had been and try and unpick how it had become that way. He fished through them, looking for the wand. It lay broken on the floor of her dining room, all of its magic escaping the bonds of the wood until it was just a snapped stick. Had she tried to use it to defend herself? Snatched it up in a last ditch effort before the curse had thrown her through the window and left her bleeding on her driveway. Alone in the world.
"Thought I told you to go home, Potter?"
Gawain Robards, head of the Auror Office, asked as he fished out a cigarette from his robes and lit it. The bright light flared in the gloom, illuminating the tired old features of the aged auror. Haggard, moulded by decades of long shifts and lonely hours.
"Yes sir."
"You're no good to me exhausted," Robards commented before letting out a huge sigh of smoke. "She'll still be here in the morning."
"Not for her family," no-one should have to mourn their own child, but Harry had seen more times than he cared to remember. To live without a parent was one thing, to live without a child was somehow even worse.
A sigh of escaped Robards lips, and Harry wondered if it was one of exasperation or understanding. How many times had he gone that extra mile on a case, worked all hours he could to see someone brought to justice? His wife had left him a few years ago, everyone in the station knew but nobody talked about it. It was an auror's lot, some said, they didn't have happy marriages.
"And what's staring a lot of photos and reports going to achieve, exactly?" Harry didn't answer, instead he just kept searching. "You and Weasley have seen all her friends, parents, sister. None of them can think of anyone who'd want to hurt her. The magical signature from the wand that killed her hasn't been logged before."
"Someone wanted to hurt her."
"Clearly. Don't end up dead in your drive because folk like you."
"There has to be something," Harry snapped irritably, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd got it cut. It was getting long. "Something we're not seeing."
"I'm sure there is, but you won't find it now. Go home, Potter. Get some rest. You want to do this girl justice? Then you need to be sharp. I've seen too many people ruin an investigation because they're too tired. Who've missed something they'd normally see, not read things right and take us down the wrong path and before you know it days have dragged by and the killer's long gone."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience?"
He let out a non-committal grunt; but Harry could see it in his eyes. This wasn't just a pep talk to go home, it was a talk to try avoid the path that Robards had walked down. A path destined to end with no family, a single flat and nothing but those you work with and corpses for company.
"Do you know why some people become aurors? It's 'cause it looks good. They're going to be heroes; catch the bad guy and save the girl. Trouble is, it ain't that simple. Sometimes you don't always win. Sometimes it's hard, and it leaves a stain on you that you can't quite shift."
He paused, slipping into a small reverie. Harry couldn't help but think of Ron and the way he had talked about the aurors the first time they had joined. He'd been so excited to finally be able to stand out on his own, catch dark wizards by himself. But Harry had already seen the stress on his friend's face. He'd become ashen; he'd started messing up reports, missing things. Not that Robards knew any of that, of course.
"Others, like you, join because they have to; because there's nothing else they can think of doing. It's a calling. With you, how couldn't it be? Destined to save the world, Dark Lord following wherever you went. You were never going to have a normal life. You've done what's right so long you can't stop. Well, take it from someone who knows, sometimes you have to. Even if it's only for a moment. There's more to life to than the dead."
Harry wanted to tell Robards that he was wrong, that he had it all handled and that he didn't need any time. So why couldn't he? Because, said the small voice at the back of his head, the part of him where the dark memories were trapped and the niggling doubts, you know he's right. Damn. He'd done what he always did, when things went wrong he shut people out and retreated to the safety of what he knew. Hermione had shouted at him more than once for it, so had Ginny. He'd just brushed it off as them over-reacting, but they weren't. Not really. He just wanted to think they were.
He blinked, he didn't know when he'd last truly slept. Had his eyes always felt this heavy?
"Maybe you're right, sir."
"Good lad, now get some rest. Go see the family tomorrow, see if there wasn't anything they missed. Shock'll do that to people."
"Yes, sir."
Slowly he managed to force himself to his feet. Every muscle ached. He didn't know if it was the realisation that he'd been forcing himself to stop, or if tiredness had just hit him like a freight train, but he wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep.
"Goodnight, sir."
"Night, Potter. Look after yourself. In the end, that's what matters. There'll always be a dead girl, just the way of the world. You don't get a second chance at your own life."
"Yes, sir."
He managed to get to the door before Robards spoke again, this time only a voice from the dark of Harry's desk. "Oh and Potter, next time make sure Weasley fills out his own reports."
A begrudging smile marked Harry's face. Of course he knew. "Yes, sir."
The Greengrass case was cracked a few days later, the sister's fiancé had been knocked back by Daphne some years ago and wanted a shot at the inheritance. No Daphne and it would all fall to Astoria, and it still would, but not him. He'd be locked in a cell for the rest of his life. And months later Harry would look back on that night as the night that had changed him. That stopped him from being the obsessive auror that couldn't see the life he was missing, and start paying more attention to what was important.
In the end he wouldn't have a second chance, and considering there'd been a time when he thought he was time was up, he couldn't waste the chance that life had given him.