Harry Potter and the Fruits of Ennui

by Ihateseatbelts

The Dark Lord is dead, and his followers have been left to rot behind bars. Lo and behold, Harry Potter is beginning to miss the thrill of having Death breathe down his neck. His boredom is hardly surprising: his solution, however, is nothing short of show-stopping. Post-DH, departure from Epilogue.

1. The Golden Goose Affair

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, or his universe, or his owl, or even his awesome wand polishing kit. That's all the property of J K Rowling.

TITLE: Harry Potter and the Fruits of Ennui

SUMMARY: Harry reaches a crossroads in his short life, and is unsure of how to proceed. Unbeknownst to Hermione, she has the perfect solution.

Author's note: I'm in a weird mood today - this was a little break from writing the next chapter of Untitled Tome, among other things. We'll see where it goes.

---

'He's been caught on those Muggle cameras five times now- '

I can see clearly now, Snape's nose has gone...

'- so we're sure it's Budgens, sir. We found definite traces of the Imperius Curse on his target -'

...but he's a left an ocean of grease

In my way...

'- and some torn-up lottery tickets, I believe they're called - right, Potter? We don't think he's figured out how the game works yet, sir.'

'Good work, Turpin. Right - well he's clearly not the sharpest quill in the... Potter, are you with us today?'

Oh Hedwig,

Oh you came and you

Gave without takin',

But I... oh.

'Potter!'

Harry suddenly remembered where he was, only slightly embarrassed at being caught. He grinned sheepishly at Head Auror Savage, who didn't look amused, but neither would he if he was losing his hair at the tender wizarding age of sixty-five.

Poor Savage... they have tinctures for that, you know.

'Sorry sir, won't happen again.'

Savage grunted. 'It had better not. So what's the next course of action for you two, then?'

Some blond guy next to Harry cleared his throat. Turnip or something, he believed.

'Well, er... Potter came up with the plan, sir... since he's my mentor, you know... '

'Yes,' Savage said, nodding slowly as if he were conversing with an infant. 'And?'

'Well... I think he'd tell it best, sir.'

Savage sat up, rolling back his immense shoulders. His bushy moustache resembled an old broom-tail in flight as he exhaled.

'Out with it then, Potter, what's wrong?' he asked curtly. 'Kneazle got your tongue?'

'Not at all, sir,' replied Harry, leaning forward. 'We intend to apprehend our man at the earliest opportunity.'

'Ah, good,' said Savage, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

Then, silence.

'So Potter,' Savage asked after a while, 'exactly how do you intend to - as you say - "apprehend your man"?'

That was all he needed to hear. Harry bolted straight up from his seat, stunning the other two Aurors in the cramped office.

'And that, sir,' said Harry boldly, finger-pointing to the ceiling, 'is the thousand Galleon question. I have spent the past week labouring over blueprints, Venn diagrams, mind maps, even street maps... and I have come to the conclusion that the best course of action is a good old sting operation.'

He'd done it. Wowed him into Petrification. It was beautiful... he was sure he heard Putrin clapping next to him, but then again, the brown-nosing Trainee would never give him the satisfaction.

Gnome-tosser.

Savage sighed. It was obviously a sigh of ecstatic release.

'You're telling me, Potter,' he said warily, 'that after gathering all the intelligence that your Trainee has presented today which includes - oh, you know - the whereabouts of the three beds he's slept in every day this month, you'd rather catch him in the process of committing yet another crime?'

'Got it in one, sir,' replied Harry, beaming. 'Well, except for the best part of course.'

Savage's mouth fell agape; his mountain troll impression was second to none, as Harry knew from the last Christmas party.

'The... the best part.'

'Yep!' Harry affirmed, nodding giddily.

'You see, if we simply waited for him to strike again, I'd just be leaving another Muggle to the mercy of the Dark Arts. As an Auror, that would be pretty stupid of me, sir.'

'Yes. It would be.'

'But here's the kicker. I bought a corner shop a while back -'

'You what?' Savage spluttered.

'- at my expense, not to worry, and got the approval for a National Lotto terminal, all within a five-mile radius of Budgens' most recent haunt. Now I've told my informant to tell Budgens that his sister says that the shop owner who works there is really, really dumb -'

'- no doubt -'

'- so he should give "Topper's Newsagents" a look-in. Add to that the Tracking Charm I placed on his watch and it's a done deal.'

Urptin looked back at him, dumbfounded.

'Wait,' said Savage, his brow furrowed. 'You managed to place a Tracking Charm on his watch, but you didn't think to take him down there and then? Even with all the evidence you have?'

'Of course, sir,' Harry answered, shrugging. 'I mean, Director Dawlish won't grant the Office a warrant for anyone who isn't a suspected Death Eater, as you're well aware. Now I understand that there's some bad blood around here and that he doesn't take us too seriously with the abject lack of Dark wizardry - you're welcome, by the way - jay-kay, jay-kay! But in any case, I am still duty-bound to operate within the confines of magical law.'

'By buying a corner shop?'

'That is correct, sir.'

Savage's shoulders slumped forward as he nursed his brow. 'Very well, Potter,' he said tiredly, 'report to me straight after you've brought him in.'

'What?' the Turpentine blustered.

Savage turned to the blond wizard. 'Is there a problem, Turpin?'

'You green-lit the operation, sir?' he asked, sounding almost despondent.

Ungrateful twat, Harry inwardly cursed, doesn't he understand who I'm doing this for?

'Of course I did, you silly sod,' Savage half-laughed. 'Potter brings 'em in like no one else! Clean record, minimal damage. Sure, he's a little er... unorthodox... but he gets the job done half-well. Well then, on your brooms!'

Harry mock-saluted his superior and clapped his Trainee on the back.

'Come on, Rasputin,' he said brightly. 'Let's go make some history.'

---

Harry was in good spirits as he left the Ministry Headquarters, but he knew that it wouldn't last. His newest scheme had been given approval - like there was any doubt - but it wasn't enough. There was no challenge, no adventure... there hadn't been since the Battle of Hogwarts. His Auror training had been interesting enough, he admitted. His mentor, Williamson - good old Williamson - inspired him to study magic and mystery in ways that his school Professors never had, though that might have had something to do with actually needing to cast spells and brew potions to save lives daily instead of monthly... specifically for calamities such as Ron's constant Splinching, which never ceased to amuse him.

Ron and Neville left soon after the field training started, though, and most of the remaining Death Eaters had already been caught by then. Harry was now six years into his career at the Auror Office, and his crowning moment of glory was taking down an elderly wizard who had somehow managed to semi-domesticate a Dementor, whom he had allowed to freely feed on nearby Muggles. Sure, he was evil as, but he also pointed his wand backwards.

That ended well.

Harry was so bored that he elected to complete his N.E.W.T subjects part-time via correspondence courses: three Os and an E in Potions and Herbology wasn't half-bad if he didn't say so himself. When that was over, he had gotten himself a Hit Wizard's licence since they seemed to be getting all the fun, duelling potion-addled warlocks and the like. Savage put a stop to that rather quickly, though ('Too much time on your hands, eh Potter?'), and so he ended up mentoring Trainees, just like Williamson. He really felt for the old bastard, now.

His friends were still the same, which he was grateful for. Ron still followed the Cannons, Hermione was still trying to change the world, and they were both ripping each other apart when they weren't ripping each other's robes apart. Luna was still off in La-la-land - literally, too - Neville still talked to pots, and Seamus did whatever Seamus did, Dean still laughing at him in the background.

And Ginny? Oho... as Slughorn would say, Ginny...

Harry shook his head in an attempt to bring himself back to Earth, the wolfish grin on his face refusing to leave. He was late for lunch with Hermione, who also had a half-day, and it was completely AstroTurf's fault.

Damn Trainees, always asking important questions like it isn't called 'on-the-job' for a reason!

He took a brisk walk to Charing Cross (like hell was he getting Floo Powder on his hundred-Galleon Parkinsons) giving Tom a quick wave as he ambled through the Leaky Cauldron and past the brick wall.

The Golden Goose was a recent addition to Diagon Alley's roster of businesses. The location was in dire need of another gastropub - Harry had no idea how Tom coped - and the ever-accommodating Anthony Goldstein was all too willing to oblige. In fact, as Harry approached the premises, he could see the mousy little wizard chatting up a frustrated Hermione in the front window.

'Harry!' Goldstein bellowed as Harry had barely come through the door. 'Sharp as ever, I see! Is that Acromantula silk?' he asked, pointing at Harry's form-fitting, Muggle-friendly grey cloak.

'No,' drawled Harry, 'Acromantula. Just Acromantula.'

'Well, only the best for the Wizard-Who-Won, am I right?'

Harry nodded weakly, taking a seat in front of a simmering Hermione.

'Here's the specials for today,' said Goldstein, Summoning a menu for the pair with a flick of his wand. 'Take your time, guys. Holler if you need anything!'

As Goldstein skipped towards the back of the pub, Harry turned his attention to his best friend in the whole wide Wizarding World.

'Have I ever told you how much your eyes look like cinnamon-y slash honey-coloured orbs of chocolatey magical wonder?' he said sweetly, batting his eyelids.

Hermione flipped him off.

'I love Ron,' Harry gushed. 'If only we had a camera right now. This is such a Kodak moment!'

'How could you leave me here with him?' whispered Hermione furiously, her eyes strained.

'Who, Goldstein?' Harry asked, chuckling. 'He's harmless.'

'No, he's not,' she shot back. 'He keeps calling me 'Mione. It's not a thing, Harry. Why is he trying to make it a thing?'

Harry rolled his eyes at her. 'Give him a break, Hermione, he's nice. Treats us like family and everything.'

'Who doesn't?' she queried, eyes heavy-lidded. He had to hand it to her there; everyone and their house-elf tried to sidle up to the Golden Trio (not that they called themselves that... of course not) and with Goldstein being known as Goldstein, well...

'You need to stop humouring him,' she said, crossing her arms, 'and besides, Ron is starting to get ideas.'

'Ron gets ideas about every bloke,' Harry said through a snigger. 'He even thought your dad was trying to get a piece of arse- '

'His arse, Harry,' Hermione giggled, 'not mine.'

'Yeah,' he said huskily, leaning back as he waggled his eyebrows at her. 'Still, I'd be tempted- '

'Harry!' she yelped, smacking his arm.

'It's only a joke, 'Mione.'

'Don't,' she said warningly, index finger extended, 'and what about Ginny? Why aren't you returning her Floos?'

Harry shrugged. 'We're playing hide-and-seek.'

'You're imposs- wait,' she said lowly, raising an eyebrow. 'Is that why she could see you hiding under your sofa last night?'

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. 'I left the fireplace on again? Merlin...'

'You're bonkers, Harry Potter,' Hermione sighed, shaking her head. 'Why can't you just stay out of trouble?'

Harry looked at her for a long moment. Hermione seemed to realise that she had hit a nerve, her brow wrinkled in concern.

'What else is there to do, Hermione,' he said quietly, his voice quavering, 'when you've died and come back to beat the Final Boss?'

Hermione appeared to be on the verge of tears for a fleeting moment. Then she cackled like the barmy witch that she was.

'You play the sequel, silly,' she heaved in-between laughs. 'Oh Harry, you're such a drama-king.'

'You know it,' he answered with a grin, 'but forget that! Everyone knows the sequel pales in comparison.'

'When did you become so thirsty for adventure?'

'I suppose I always have been,' he said wistfully, 'but now it's a blank canvas. Where do I even go from here?'

Hermione looked at him with a knowing smile. 'You want to leave the Auror Office.'

'They don't need me there, Hermione,' he huffed, 'and my Trainee is so boring. I try to spice our assignment up a little, and he just turns his nose up at it. Fact is, he could do it all on his own, wand-hand tied behind his back. There's no action over there any more! It's either two-bit thieves who cast the Killing Curse and missed that one time, or it's a toilet seat with rancid Bubotuber pus applied to it, and believe me, the latter is far more common. They don't need me - not really - and I sure as hell haven't needed them for a long while, now.'

'So you want a scrap?' Hermione said with an amused smile. 'Why don't you go back to the Hit Wizards? Savage never could stop you from transferring, you know.'

'It's nothing I haven't seen before though, is it?' he argued. 'The only place in the Ministry that could show me anything new is, incidentally, the only place I'm unofficially barred from ever entering.'

Hermione hummed in acknowledgement as she looked towards the ceiling. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she had wanted to join the Unspeakables at some point, but they both had a Puffskein's chance in the Forbidden Forest of getting an invitation after their fifth year.

'My point still stands,' Hermione said defiantly. 'Play the sequel. You said it yourself: you've died and come back to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard of the century. You're a great wizard, Harry.'

Harry blushed. 'Well when you put it that way...'

Hermione playfully smacked his arm again. 'I'm being serious,' she said with a short laugh. 'You're always saying that you want to see more of the world. Why don't you go on a Grand Tour, then? Travel the world, let them know just what Harry Potter has to offer.'

She was onto something, there. Harry did complain about how trapped he felt in Britain; he was jealous of how Ginny could be playing in the Sahara one weekend and Australia on the next.

'You're right, Hermione,' he said with resolve. 'I'm going to hand in my notice first thing Monday!'

Hermione gawked at him. 'Don't you think that's a bit... rash?'

'Nah,' he scoffed with a hand-wave, 'it's just what I need. Hell, I'll take Kreacher with me! Merlin knows he could do with a tan.'

'House-elves don't tan, Harry,' she said, running a hand through her bushy hair. 'They peel. Badly.'

'How would you know?' asked Harry, stopping her before she could explain. 'Actually, let's leave that one.'

'Good idea.'

---

Harry was right when he thought that his good spirits wouldn't last: handing in his notice that Monday only served to incense his superior. Literally. Savage promptly set fire to Harry's cubicle, and the blaze had gotten out of hand very quickly. No one had anticipated it, after all. They managed to set things right without calling Maintenance, and the Office swore just short of an Unbreakable Vow never to speak of it again. Harry returned from a hastily taken lunch break to find a guilty-looking team. Proudfoot had chewed through a three sets of Sugar Quills, even, but the treats had done little to lift her own spirits.

When they eventually ushered Harry towards the Head Auror's office, Savage could be found under a table, clutching a bottle of Ogden's Old for dear life as he brewed a liberal mixture of tears, snot and Firewhisky into his bushy moustache.

'H-how can you l-leave us, 'Arry?' he blubbered as Harry softly rocked his back. 'I'm not g-g-gonna c-cope withou... ah, damn it to Hades...'

Harry supposed that Savage had developed a soft spot for him, but Harry was a bird that needed setting free.

Oh Hedwig...

He collapsed on the sofa in Grimmauld Place's drawing-room with spectacular grace - Ron would have given him a ten-out-of-ten. Which reminded him; the ginger sod was supposed to be bringing the booze tonight.

'Kreacher,' he moaned from his place on the sofa. 'I require assistance!'

The half-rotten elf appeared immediately before him with a soft pop, their noses almost touching.

'Master is in need of Kreacher?' the house-elf croaked.

Yes, eat a Peppermint Toad or seven.

'Have there been any Floos for me?'

'Yes, Master,' he replied, bowing slightly. 'Mistress Andromeda is expecting you for Sunday dinner, and Mr Weasley from the shop is asking why Master cannot take his own girlfriend to dinner.'

Harry laughed, though it still hurt to laugh. Damn Savage and his mountain troll hugs.

'Good, good,' said Harry ominously, nefariously rubbing his hands together as best he could. 'Now Ron's staying over, so if you could rustle up some hamburgers for us I would be most grateful. Make it a troll platter - you know him.'

Kreacher nodded sagely. 'Is Master liking chips with that?'

'Absolutely.'

'With cheese or without?' asked Kreacher.

'On the burgers? Hells yes. On the chips, however... leave some grated cheddar on the side. You know our salads, don't you? Sorry if it's too much.'

'Not at all, Master,' Kreacher said reassuringly, bowing lower this time. 'Master works hard to keep his House in good standing, Master does.'

'Thanks Kreacher,' Harry yawned, 'you're the best.'

Kreacher gave him a grimace (or a smile, he couldn't really tell) and popped off to wherever it was that he found the ingredients.

Because I sure as hell haven't gone shopping since ever.

Alone once more, Harry crawled over to the fireplace, chucking a sprinkle of Floo Powder in from the mantle.

'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes,' he said before dunking his head into the viridian flames. The vision of the office that greeted him was as vibrant as ever: Ron was busy testing another of his one-eared brother's oddball experiments as usual.

'Oi, Weasley!' he rasped. 'Where's my Butterbeer?'

And as usual, Ron jumped in his seat. The object in front of him - an egg, it appeared - duplicated and sprouted spots.

'Merlin,' Ron breathed, pressing a hand to his chest, scowling at his fireplace. 'You and your fat head, Potter.'

'Still haven't answered my question,' Harry pressed on. 'Now are we getting rat-arsed or nah?'

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Ron were sprawled out on the drawing-room sofa, surrounded by a large stack of burgers and chips, crates of Butterbeer and a perpetually chilled bottle of Madam Rosmerta's own mead.

'Fo anywo,' Ron gobbled in-between mouthfuls of dead cow, 'wots 'e 'cashum?'

Luckily for Harry, he had years of experience in deciphering the obscure English dialect of Roonil Wazlib.

'I quit,' he said simply, grinning ear-to-ear.

Ron proceeded to empty his mouth all over his friend's face and cloak (and they weren't made of Acromantula, silly, but were still very nice) which Harry was not grateful for. One Scouring Charm later, though, he was willing to forgive and forget.

'Mate...' groaned Ron, his face ashen. 'Ginny's gonna kill you. Mum's gonna kill you twice. Dad'll probably make your ghost want to die from the guilt of his disappointment. And Hermione?'

'She'll magic me into non-existence, yes,' Harry finished for him.

Ron did a double-take, his expression soon taking the form of boyish glee. 'No... She knows?'

Harry's grin returned. 'It was her idea!'

Ron fell back into the sofa, contemplating life and wizardry for a long while.

'Fuck it,' he said eventually. 'Congrats, mate. Really.'

'Thanks!' Harry replied as they absently clinked Butterbeers. 'Now let's watch some telly, eh?'

If there was one good thing about being best friends with Ron as well as Ginny's boyfriend, it was knowing Arthur Weasley. The man had somehow enchanted Harry's television to pick up channels from all over the world, not to mention police signals, the neighbour's telephone calls (Stanley was a dirty boy) and what Harry highly suspected to be a private line between DPRK intelligence and its sleeper agents. It was nothing short of amazing that, considering the fact that Grimmauld Place was a very magical dwelling and that the box had over nine-thousand spells placed inside it, the television actually worked.

Good old Weasley... good old Williamson... a wizard with a 'W' is a good old wizard indeed.

They switched the box on and, given the endless supply of content they had to choose from, went for the best choice first.

'ITV,' the wizards said in unison, turning to channel 0.000000000003.

'Damn it,' Ron groused as they watched the credits of a show roll. 'Just remembered... that was the last repeat of the X Factor final!'

Harry sniggered at Ron's newfound taste for Muggle programming.

'Come on, mate,' he said before taking a swig of Butterbeer. 'You know it's all about the audition. Who gives a shit about people who can actually sing?'

'I do,' Ron said quietly, looking a little hurt.

'Are you feeling empty from the void that was once the X Factor in your otherwise miserable Saturday night?' the disembodied man from the television boomed.

'Yes,' moaned Ron with a hint of lust, 'oh Merlin, yes!'

'Down Fluffy,' Harry remarked with a smirk as he nicked a chip, 'it's only a commercial...'

'Do you have a talent that you can't help but share with the world?'

Now that one caught Harry's attention.

'Then look no further: courtesy of the X Factor's Lymon Powell, in the spirit of the variety shows of old, we present to you... BRITAIN'S GOT TALENT!'

'By Jove, she has...' mused Harry aloud, his gaze transfixed.

'What?' Ron said, confused.

'Auditions will take place in... GLASGOW! EDINBURGH! BELFAST! NEWCASTLE! LIVERPOOL! MANCHESTER! YORK! BIRMINGHAM! Aaaaaaaaand... LONDON! Details to apply are as follows... '

Harry quickly Conjured a quill and parchment, copying down the details of the London audition before it flashed off the screen.

Ron sat in silence, the Knut nowhere close to dropping as he alternated glances between the television and Harry.

'I don't get it,' he said dumbly as the announcement was replaced by the News at Ten, which was promptly followed by a Tesco advert.

Harry sat his wad of parchment down as he regarded his poor, ginger companion.

'Won-Won?'

'Scarhead?'

Harry gave him a conspiratorial wink and a clap on the shoulder.

'All will become clear in time, my rufescent friend,' he said with a smile that shined brighter than a thousand suns.

'I love Hermione,' Ron said, scoffing. 'If only we had a... what is it? Nissan Micra loan?'

'Microphone, Ron,' Harry sighed, 'you fell off, mate.'