Breach of Contract: Twelve Signs

by The Matt Silver

To avoid the unjust prosecution of his friends in the days following the end of the war, Harry Potter signed a magical contract in blood. Years later, Harry struggles with the balance of his latest Auror case involving a wizard ritualistically murdering Muggles, periodic contract renewals, and both the developing and deteriorating relationships with those closest to him. HP/NT.

2. Chapter Two: Nine

Thanks to all those who put the story on alert/favourites or reviewed it. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

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Disclaimer :: All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. This fanfiction is a non-profit thing written for enjoyment of myself and my readers.

Breach of Contract: Twelve Signs.

Written by Matt Silver

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Previously on Breach of Contract: Post-HBP AU. Harry Potter won the war. He didn't do it cleanly, and desperate actions were taken in those desperate times. Those at the Ministry and on the Wizengamot who were not approving of those actions started a witch-hunt. To prevent total devastation of those closest to him, Harry shifted reality and bound it to a contract, a contract that must be renewed periodically. Failure to renew before the deadline is reached will only end badly.

Now, in November 2001, Auror Potter deals with a string of Muggle killings in a ritualistic fashion. Meanwhile, he secretly stays in communication with Remus Lupin, who ran away during the war and is thought to be dead. Harry's best friend is Nymphadora Tonks, and although he created the contract in order to give him and his friends a happy ending, such a thing might prove impossible as the renewals take priority and Harry can't find time for his friends...

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Chapter Two: Nine

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About Three Weeks Later: The Ninth

Boot, sinister eyepatch and all, glared at me on my right. Robards, frowning through his beard, held out a meaty paw.

"That's it?" he asked. The bundle of parchment in my hands was an admittedly small bundle, but just last month he had given me a big lecture about concise reports because his immediate superior Williamson had given him a big lecture on the same subject. Robards, ever the one to curry favour wherever he could, was more than happy to make his Aurors master the art of bulletpoints.

"Concise and to the point," I confirmed, handing the report over. "Dover and I have been working double time while the rest of the department rotates out of South America, and most of our assignments have been dealt with."

After only scanning one page, Robards tossed the report to Boot. "File that somewhere," he said. He looked at me. "Potter, I'm a busy man. Give me the highlights."

I nodded. "On the third we were able to arrest one Michael Flannigan for his improper use of ritual magic, namely the sacrificial rites involving several puppies kidnapped from his Muggle neighbours. By the twelfth we had sorted out that whole mess about the exploding cauldrons, and the proper fines have been paid. Our two separate raids of Borgin and Burkes, one on the tenth and one on the fifteenth, yielded no chargeable offences. The monster in the Muggle building in Manchester was identified as a Boggart and removed on the seventeenth. We have also started our inventory of the items procured from the old hideaway unearthed in Serenity Valley, once thought to be owned by the Dark Lord Atraven a couple of centuries back. I think that's all."

"Have you ascertained the whereabouts of Christian Selwyn?" Boot inquired. My leg twitched unconsciously. Thankfully, the damage from Selwyn's little projectile harpoon had been healed by a friendly Healer at St Mungo's, her services repaid with a Memory Charm for good measure.

I schooled my features to avoid looking smug. "His solicitor's latest reply has kindly requested that we stop sending him letters, and he says that he has no idea where we can find Mr Selwyn. With evidence gathered from our goblin friends, we can safely say that Selwyn's done a runner. All that gold must've gone with him." Actually, Loki had it now. That little schemer had definitely deserved his early Christmas bonus this year.

"Are you keeping an eye on Mr Selwyn's immediate family?" Boot asked.

"Miss Moon is being watched periodically, but given her family's split from Mr Selwyn back in the late eighties, it seems unlikely he'll try to contact her or her parents. I'd safely bet he's long gone by now."

"Good riddance to 'im," Robards grunted. "Hope he has the good sense to not show up dead somewhere. After Greengrass, I could do without the hassle."

I smiled and tipped my head. Lord Greengrass's tragic death months earlier had been a crime of passion - his daughter's fiancée declaring his love by decapitating her father. The man I'd framed had enough gold to wiggle out of any prosecution, and last I checked he was living comfortably with Daphne out on the British Virgin Islands.

Robards retrieved a large pipe from his desk, lit it, and took a drag. Letting loose an obnoxious puff of smoke, he said, "How 'bout the whorehouse that burned down? Heard it could be arson."

"Auror Ravenwood and her partner are still dealing with that mess," I said.

Robards nodded. "Right right. What about the Sorcerer case? I got Jason Cole giving me all sorts of grief about his wife's dead brother, and Williamson has been breathing down my neck about it the last few weeks. What's your progress?"

I shrugged. Boot glared at me for my impudence. "Nothing, really. We haven't identified the knife used, and our Muggle friends are coming up empty too. With the recent workload, it's been harder to work with what little we already had to begin with. I know it sounds cold, but waiting for another body may be our only option."

"That," Robards hissed, as if I had said a string of curse words, "does not get to the press, you hear me? I don't care if he's locked up in his crypt or something - Maximillian Jensen does not hear a word of that." He shuddered. "Ghostly bastard freaks me out."

I grinned a little. "Is that all?"

"Yes yes, get outta here. But I want your focus on the Sorcerer case as of now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. Now. No waiting around for a ninth body to show up-"

My partner, Mackenzie Dover, chose that moment to barge into Robards's office, waving a sheet of paper around. "Got a message from the Muggles. There's a ninth body out at Chelsea. The Sorcerer has struck again."

I gathered from the glares coming from both Boot and Robards that this was somehow my fault. I stood up, intent on doing the smart thing: deflecting attention.

"Hey Mac, weren't you supposed to be at this meeting too?"

Dover just smiled. "I was off checking to see if we had any new developments on this very high-profile case. I had a hunch is all."

The rest of us in the room collectively rolled our five collective eyes. Robards and Boot immediately set about organising the manpower needed to retrieve the body and check out the crime scene, myself and Dover being ordered out first and foremost. In Robards's own words, we had to, "find a damn clue so we can catch this fucking killer."

I cajoled Dover into taking the stairs with me down to the Atrium, but his natural laziness shone through and I spent over a minute waiting for him to catch up to my level.

"I'm coming!" I heard him shout. I chuckled, one matched by the more feminine one from behind me - Tonks.

"What's going on?" she asked, her hair an understated gold colour today. "You two heading out?"

"Got a body," I said. "Sorcerer case, we assume."

"It is," Dover said, finally arriving at our level. "Muggles sent me a photo too, though the lack of movement in those things never ceases to freak me out."

"Yeah, it's not like a dead body would move in the first place or anything," Tonks chirped.

"But we have to be sure of it, and we'll find out when we get there," I said. "As in, about two minutes ago in the time it took you to take the stairs."

Dover rolled his eyes at me. "We could've taken the lifts!"

"And get stuck for another five hours? No thanks. Come on, let's go." I circled around Tonks to head for the Atrium, Dover following.

"We still on for tonight?" Tonks called to my retreating back. I paused and turned, Dover nearly bumping into me as I did.

"Sorry, Tonks," I said gently. "It's pretty likely that Robards will keep us all night if we don't solve the case today. Which we won't, I'll bet. We'll do dinner another time."

She deflated a little, but nodded anyway. "Another time, then. Be seeing you."

"Same," I said, dismissing any thought of her as I crossed the Atrium and reached the nearest Apparation point. Dover beside me, I Apparated to a small alleyway located a minute's walk from the crime scene.

It wasn't hard to find, of course - the Muggle police cars and the small crowd outside the abandoned primary school were big enough clues - and we made our way there with minimal fuss. The Muggle policemen were not a big obstacle. Official procedure was to show off identification badges that listed us as special agents on a special taskforce they'd never heard of, but I had forgotten mine and Dover had probably lost his in a poker game. Dover shot off a quick Confundus Charm to solve our problem, and we soon found ourselves kneeling on the cold ground and poking at a dead body. Same stab wound. Same Portkey button.

Then something odd caught my eye.

"What is... that?" It would've been an innocuous thing, had it not been burnt into the underside of our victim's flesh. The hole punched into his chest from whatever knife the Sorcerer had used had left me a nice view of the dead Muggle's insides, including what looked like a dark arrow-shaped mark. I flicked my wand out of its holster and into my hand, illuminating the tip with a bright light.

"What is what?" Dover hadn't noticed it yet. I brightened the light on my wand-tip, and Dover's eyes flashed. I would've called it realisation, but something felt off in his eyes and I had to look away for a moment. "That's a..."

I ignored the uncomfortable feeling in my gut. "A signature of sorts?"

"That's a Sagittarius," Dover said. "Zodiac symbol, like in the Prophet's little daily column. Useless stuff, but I know the sign."

"Was this on the other body we looked at?" I racked my brains - I had been this close to the previous victim, but I couldn't remember a blackened Sagittarius sign under Mr Goren's skin. Then again, my personal examination had been amidst an incoming contract renewal deadline and all the fun that goes with, so I wouldn't exactly call my concentration on the day perfect.

Dover groaned. "I don't know. It could've! I mean, look, it's sort-of a fluke thing that you spotted it and... oh shit. Boot's going to flay us."

"The Muggles never noticed either. We read the reports, we saw their pictures, and there was no mention of these. There's something magical about this mark. Probably to hide it from the Muggles examining the bodies... Or we have a copycat. Took a leaf out of the Sorcerer's book but added a new twist to differentiate himself." I shook my head. "I can't be sure. Either way, we need to get the other bodies exhumed and check them."

"Exhumed?" We spun away from the dead man, finding Boot standing there with a frown. "Is there a new development?"

"Dover can explain it," I said. Something was off about the mark. Once again, I attempted to place a similar sign on Robert Goren's body earlier this month, but I kept blanking. Actually, it was more... blue. Perceptions of the days closer to a renewal deadline were murky. I felt like hitting something for some reason. A mystery I couldn't solve easily was not the norm. The feeling of pressure settled like a slimy and unidentifiable weight in my head and in my stomach.

"Look, it's not a big deal..." Dover was saying, blathering on in the face of Boot's most murderous facial expressions. I just knew we would be tackling the paperwork involved with digging up dead Muggles for the rest of the day.

My fear was very justified. After combing the crime scene and coming up empty, I spent the morning in my little cubicle with Dover and a few books worth of paperwork. The bulk of it was mostly Muggle, as our dear Head Auror Robards had decided that digging the bodies up through the official channels was a more politically-friendly solution than simply spelling the right folk into getting us some dead Muggles. The eighth victim, Robert Goren, was the first dug up at Jason Cole's behest, and we skipped lunch to open the body up once more.

"Huh." Our 'Cutter' was Healer Pierce - a stout man who seemed to enjoy his job in slicing up dead people a little too much. "That doesn't look like a Sagittarius."

"No, that looks like a Scorpio," Dover said, pointing his wand at the nearby Daily Prophet we had scourged up. I scanned Trelawney's daily Divination column, specifically the zodiac section. Sure enough, right there on the page was a small m-shaped sign marked as Scorpio, matching the one on Mr Goren's body. "Burnt right in, just like the Sagittarius on Mr..."

"Lawrence," I said.

"Lawrence, who we found this morning."

"I swear on my mother's grave that that wasn't there before," Pierce said vehemently.

"Really? That was going to be my excuse," Dover joked.

"Robards is going to have my head for this, I know it!"

"Shut up," I said. "No pressure guys. We're making progress, aren't we? We'll just have to dig up the rest of the victims and get them checked out. If we solve the case, Robards won't care that we screwed up. It happens, and as long as something positive comes out of it, no pressure." I looked to Dover. "You're the zodiac expert. What sign should we be expecting next?"

He shrugged. "If there's a tenth, I'd... Nope, not a clue. We can presume that there'll be a different sign on each body."

"Sound logic," I said, picking up a nearby file on Robert Goren. Boring guy, really. Just a normal Muggle businessman. I almost envied him. "Pierce, is there anything magical about the marks?"

Pierce flicked his wand about for a moment, before shaking his head. "No. I mean, it was burnt there with a spell, probably after the Muggle was killed. Probably something about it to hide it from the other Muggles, but I'll need someone else to have a look at them."

"Don't remove anything though," Dover warned. "Robards's orders. No desecrating the bodies anymore than needed."

Something interesting popped up in Goren's file. It was basically a flashing neon sign with "Notice Me!" written on it.

"Dover..."

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Top of your head: when was Goren born?"

Dover scrunched his face up. "Mid-November, I think. The sixties."

A pattern was emerging. I almost crowed in triumph. "And Mr Lawrence?"

I'd said it once before, but it bore repeating: Dover was a good Auror when he put his mind to it, and his mind had a few years on mine. "End of November. As in, born under the Sagittarius sign in the tropical zodiac."

"Goren was a Scorpio..." Pierce said. "Well, looks like we're not out of the job yet!"

"I'll bet anything that our previous victims were all born under seven other zodiac signs, and the signs they were branded with will match them."

"How about when they were killed?" Dover asked. "The first body was killed, when?"

"Five months ago, late June," Pierce replied. "I see your line of thinking, but no. This is our ninth victim, and if the Sorcerer marked them all, it wasn't with the sign they were killed under. Unless there's repeats or something."

"There won't be," I said. "Dover, I need you to get me the files for our previous victims. We have a pattern, and this might help us figure out the killer's ultimate goal. Get to it."

It turned out, after a few minutes or so of checking the retrieved files, that each victim had been born under a different sign. Pierce would no doubt be spending the next few days confirming that the 'sign born under equals sign branded with' theory, while we presented out findings to Robards and Boot.

"Nine bodies, a very probable guess that there are nine different signs on each body, correlating with the zodiac sign they were born under." I was in full-on lecture mode - Hermione would be proud. "When they were killed appears irrelevant. But the method is the same. Stabbed by the same big knife, followed by the sign being magically branded into the underside of the victim's flesh post-mortem. Given the nature of these murders, I think a ritual is the most likely outcome."

Robards nodded. "Good work, good work. Any ideas on what kind of ritual?"

Dover shrugged. "Not really, sir. Off the top of my head, I'd imagine there's something big going down somewhere and on some specific time, and it'll involve three more deaths. It's likely that the next victims will be a Capricorn, an Aquarius and a Pisces."

"I've got a few ideas though," I said. "Tomorrow morning, with your permission, I can go visit a contact of mine. See what I can find on zodiac rituals."

"Same here," Dover interjected, probably wanting to sound useful. I wondered if, by massive coincidence, his own contacts would involve busty barmaids somewhere.

"Well get to it then," Robards ordered. "First thing tomorrow, but tonight you've got to hand off any other open assignments to Auror Ravenwood and her partner... uhh... MacDonald, I think. Anyway, if there's a Dark ritual going down, it's now top priority Auror business. Understand?"

"No pressure," I said lightly. Robards's expression turned thunderous.

"Yes there is so fucking pressure," he snapped. "Cole's complaining to Williamson and Williamson's wondering if my Aurors are up to snuff." He glared at the two of us. "If I get shafted because you two can't solve this thing, you're both done. Potter never finished Auror training after all, and Dover, you are just generally inept."

Quite the pep talk, really. I quite disliked him, and I especially disliked the feeling of being under pressure. I was hoping tomorrow's visit ended up fruitful.

Dover and I did deskwork for a few hours past our shift's end, fuming over Robards's usual bullshit. Tonks dropped by at around midnight with some Muggle takeaway. She was gone as quickly as she came, and I got the distinct feeling I was ignoring something. Damn pressure.

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The Next Day: War Wounds

It had been a while since I had stopped by at Hogwarts. I had my reasons for avoiding the place, but there was something magical, pun intended, about seeing the castle in all its glory after some time. This morning was no different - it was a bright and sunny, if a little chilly, day, the castle brightened by the sun's rays and standing tall, surrounded by wet grass and a feeling of pure magic in the air.

I heard a bell ring throughout the castle. The Friday morning break between classes had started, and I had a fifteen minute window. With my much longer legs these days, I could scale the North Tower in about five minutes easily enough. Plenty of time.

I got a few stares as I walked the halls. I was a celebrity for one thing, an adult that was not a professor for the other. I barely recognised the students, though. My line of work rarely involved children, and any friends I knew with kids were a decade or so away from Hogwarts schooling. Bill and Fleur's eldest would be first up, I mused, waving a quick hello to Nearly Headless Nick as I passed him on the staircases.

But when I rounded into an empty corridor, the atmosphere changed. There was no warmth of students or ghosts or gossiping portraits - just coldness and a static memory of the war's final battle that had taken place within these walls. The castle had been repaired of all cosmetic wounds, but its magic had a life of its own, and that life was scarred now. It didn't let many of its occupants feel that - just those who had spilled blood, their own or someone else's, in the final battle. Hogwarts didn't like me, I gathered. I carried a different aura in my magic. In my blood. The contract. The castle knew I had shifted reality itself, rewrote things and warped and erased and...

Several of the more terrifying events that had taken place in these walls had been erased by spell. But I knew that those events happened, and Hogwarts had a sense about it. It knew it all too.

I was so very thankful when the portrait of Sir Cadogan popped up in my line of sight, and he started chatting to me as if we were old pals. It made the trip to Lavender's tower a bit more bearable.

"Come in, Harry," she called out as I approached the trapdoor. I chuckled, noticing the small mirror hanging on the wall, a clear view of the approaching hallway reflected in it.

"Tricky," I said, climbing the ladder and letting myself in. Trelawney being her hero and all, Lavender hadn't deigned to redecorate the tower. There was still that horrible musty perfume smell, a stuffy heat and shimmering fabrics covering the windows. "Haven't been here in a while."

"Not even to visit an old friend," Lavender Brown teased. She, thankfully, had not adopted Trelawney's style of dress, instead opting for fashionable purple robes that hugged her curves and showed off a tantalising hint of skin. I wondered if the male population's interest in Divination had risen since she had taken over. Compared to the other professors, Lavender was a few decades younger and a hell of a lot prettier.

She hugged me, which felt nice. "How've you been?" I asked once we had disengaged. I tried to keep my tone gentle - Lavender's vanity about her current condition was legendarily snappish. "You look good."

I cringed. Nice one Harry.

"I'm great!" she declared, flipping her hair to one side and showing off the dark spots that marred her pale skin. The scars dotted the side of her neck and up to her left ear, ugly black burns that'll never fade. Best I understood, the scars were the result of superheated brain tissue exploding out the back of Parvati Patil's head. Nobody escaped the war without a permanent wound or two, physical or mental.

"Do you have a class to get ready for?" I asked, settling myself against a wall while Lavender prepared some tea. "I can come back later..."

"It's fine," she said. "Firenze has the third years right now, and while sometimes I do go and check up on the kids, I can skip it if Auror Harry Potter needs my attention."

"Good," I said. I produced a sheet of parchment. "Standard binding agreements apply. This is a sensitive issue if you wish to help me out. You'll receive a stipend and everything in your capacity as an 'official consultant'."

She took the parchment and read it. "Sounds all secret-y," she cooed. Producing a quill from her robes, she signed the contract. "What do you need?"

"I've got a case. Had it for a few weeks actually, but a recent development indicates there's a connection to the zodiac. You're one of the biggest Astronomy and Divination nuts I know and trust." Better her than Firenze the centaur. I avoided magical creatures outside of Remus and Loki as a rule, just in case they sensed something about me related to the contract. "Not only that, but this is Hogwarts. I'd bet big gold that you have books on the subject, those that would never hit the library or any bookstores. Passed down through the years, maybe."

She laughed airily, handing me a chipped mug filled with tea. "Go on..."

"My partner's nicknamed this serial killer the 'Constellation Killer' or the 'Zodiac Killer'. Something like that. He or she stabs Muggles and burns a zodiac sign under their skin after they die. The signs correspond with the one the victim was born under, and not the one they died under." I produced a few photographs from my robes - one of Mr Goren's Scorpio mark and one of Mr Lawerence's Sagittarius. "These are the two most recent kills. We're nine bodies in, and common sense says there's only three left until they have a full set."

She raised an eyebrow at the pictures. "Are they... burnt on the... how 'bout that."

"We're thinking ritual, obviously," I said, taking a sip of my tea. Not bad at all. "Got any hints?"

"Well..." She mulled over the pictures for a minute, stopping occasionally to take measured sips of tea. "You have the bodies, right?"

"Correct. The killer disposes of them and lets the Muggles take care of them. He uses Portkeys, but our guys at the Ministry can't trace them or anything like that. The Muggles never spotted the zodiac marks, either."

She tossed me the picture of Mr Goren's insides. "Is it just me or this body a little more decayed?"

"We dug him up later. Turns out we missed it the first time," I admitted. She gave me a look. "I was busy."

"Still are, I gather." At my shrug, she elaborated. "Your shoulders are tense and you look tired as hell." She shook her head. "But since we're not here to psychoanalyse Harry Potter... I think I might have a book or two." She clicked her fingers. "Ah-ha! Got just the thing in my office."

I abandoned my tea and followed her into the much more conservative office. The musk of the classroom carried slightly, but the windows were wide open and light was streaming in. I liked this office immediately. Lavender shuffled through a bookshelf in the far corner, muttering to herself. Eventually, she pulled a slim volume out.

"Zodiac rituals involve aligning oneself with the stars themselves," she explained. I was impressed with the teacher-tone she carried. "You said those poor Muggles were branded with the sign they were born under, and not with the one they were murdered under. Symbolically, that means the ritual is about birth more than death. But the zodiac is a constant cycle, and cycles are in constant death and rebirth. Some of the rituals in this book were once popular centuries ago. The ritual would involve a rebirthing ceremony, the one undertaking the ritual gaining new and immense power after this rebirth. Mostly, diviners performed the ritual in order to gain the Sight."

"Did it work?" I asked. "Did the wizards gain the Sight after this 'rebirth'?"

"Don't quite know," she replied, pushing the slim volume into my hands. "Not sure this is the same thing either, but the principle might be the same. However, I wouldn't discount the possibility of this just be a Muggle-hunting wizard who likes Divination. He may just be marking his victims for kicks or to throw people like you off the trail."

I shook my head. "Trust me, I thought the same thing once or twice last night. But something is... I don't know. I get the occasional feeling about things, you know? Probably a side effect of my upbringing." Or a reality shift spell. "There's something Dark afoot. I don't want the twelfth body to be found. That could mean bad, a whole lot of it. You said rebirth? What if some nutter wanted to bring Voldemort back?" Could be Grindelwald. Could be Atraven. Could mean more deaths either way.

Lavender considered my words, pursing her lips. "Tell me more. About the case."

"Like?"

"How were the Muggles killed?"

"Stabbed, same knife, same upper chest area. Near the heart. Nothing removed. Knife not identified yet."

She hummed. "Anything magical about the marks burnt into the bodies?"

"We've got people working on that."

"If the killer's dumping the bodies, that means that most of the power behind the ritual is tied to certain tools. The wand and the knife."

She had a point. My own contract renewals were tied to me killing people with magic through my wand, a connection that ran back to my blood, and from there, into the contract. My wand was the focus point. "If our killer's wand burned the marks into the victims, there could be a connection. The wand to the killer. The wand to the knife. Something..."

"There's a few notes on that in the book I gave you," Lavender said. "Sorry I can't be much more help, Harry. Dark magic rituals aren't really my thing, I'm afraid."

"No, that's okay," I said. "I'll leave the tea-leaf reading and the crystal balls to you, then?"

She laughed and swatted me on the shoulder playfully. "I'm making a prediction now, actually. You are about to receive two letters."

"Letters?" Her eyes briefly darted to the window to her immediate left, and I approached it. Sure enough, two owls were heading this way.

"I rarely get letters outside of breakfast," Lavender said with a small smile. "And you're the big important Auror guy and all."

The first owl bore a Ministry collar, and the letter was from Dover. At Lavender's insistence, I gave her the gist. "Our boss is getting a little testy about this case and what it means for his politicking. I couldn't care less, but I'm being ordered to come in immediately." I sighed. "I miss the Death Eater days when everyone was more concerned about keeping people safe."

"You did good in that regard, if it's any consolation."

The second letter was from Remus. About a week ago, he had sent me a terse missive with news that he'd recovered some of his old school things, including several items that belonged to my parents. He wanted me to have them, and busy though I was and conscious that our last meet-up was frosty with a side of bad tea, I had agreed to another lunch.

"Just a reminder," I told the ever-nosy Lavender. "Lunch tomorrow with a friend."

"Oooh, is it your Auror girlfriend?" Still reading the tabloids, eh Lavender? Tonks had stuck several of the more outrageous Skeeter-esque pieces on her fridge, especially the ones that had called her character into question. I, meanwhile, had to restrain myself from adding reporters to my list of people worth killing come contract renewal time.

"No, Lavender," I said flatly. "I should head off though. It's been great catching up. Let's do it again sometime."

"We should!" She hugged me again, showed me the trapdoor, and I was off. I kept up a fast pace while walking the emptier halls, clutching the book Lavender had given me in my hand.

Out on the grounds, I encountered Neville Longbottom, well on his way to becoming Sprout's replacement as Herbology professor.

"Hey Harry, how it's going?" he said cheerfully.

"Work's going," I said shortly but not unkindly. "Sorry mate, but I gotta..."

"Don't let me keep you," Neville said with a smile. I smiled too, before heading off. It seemed like I had been ignoring my friends a lot more lately. Didn't like that.

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December 1st, 1998: Under Pressure

The kitchen was cold, its occupants moody, and the atmosphere in general was just depressing. Ron had gotten into Sirius's old Firewhiskey stash. Hermione had only half-heartedly stopped him from opening a third bottle. I footed the ash pile that had been my red Auror robes minutes earlier. A cathartic outburst towards the Ministry in general, it had been.

I had fucking worked for them when I didn't have to. I had dived right back into the thick of things and helped take care of the remaining Death Eaters. I should've just rested. I should've sat back and let the Death Eaters bog the Ministry down long enough. The idea of trials and prosecutions against our side should never have come up. But it did. I had helped the Ministry out for half a year, and now I was days away from becoming a wanted man.

It was more than a betrayal in the general sense. Kingsley had been on our side throughout the war, the man with the calm advice and a shoulder to lean on, a rock for all those involved. I would never have guessed that that he was secretly disapproving of our actions, nor that he would cajole other like-minded Order members into testifying against us in exchange for immunity. I felt like burning another set of robes.

"We could run," Ron suggested with a slight slur.

"I run and their attentions magnify on everybody else," I said quietly. "The three of us run and they go after the Weasleys, Luna, Tonks - everyone else who wouldn't stand for Neville being locked up. Every single one of us run and we'll never find peace or a place to hide. The international ministries might be even harsher in comparison. We couldn't hide with the Muggles forever... Besides, I do not run away."

Ron nodded along, his comprehension suspect. He pointed to Hermione. "How 'bout you? Any bright ideas?"

"No," she murmured. "But maybe we should just go for a deal or something-"

"And you can continue your education from Bellatrix's old cell, then?" I said acidly. She reacted as if I had struck her, and I softened. "Sorry Hermione, I just..." The words wouldn't form.

The pressure would get to me soon, if it hadn't already.

"The Wizengamot won't be sympathetic," I said. "They're the ones who pushed Kingsley into a corner and started this mess. Neville's trial is in a month. We can't allow it to go through. The Wizengamot are going to sentence him. Maybe even kill him."

"Kill him?" Ron spluttered. "He did wrong in their eyes, I'll give them that, but kill him? Execute him? That's barmy."

"That's just it, Ron. In their eyes." I scoffed. "Neville's list of supposed crimes is quite impressive for an eighteen year-old. Let's see... trained an army of students, most of whom ended up dead or murderers after the final battle. He provoked Voldemort's puppets at Hogwarts so frequently that half the student population got tortured as a result. He instigated insurrectionist acts with us over the Christmas hols. I'm pretty sure that his killings will be noticed too - however many he killed in the final battle, the Bulstrode Abode fire, and the one cold-blooded murder of Rabastan Lestrange."

"Torture and murder," Hermione corrected, out of habit more than anything.

"Amplify and vilify, that's what they'll do," I said darkly. "It got out of hand and Lestrange died - that's what we know. What they'll say is that Neville meant to slice Lestrange's wrist along the vein and he let the man bleed out. I bet they'll even have someone in the Order up there testifying that fact. All because Kingsley told them it was for the best."

"Bulstrode Abode?"

"Tragic mistake via poor intelligence to us. Illegal use of Fiendfyre and destruction of ancient property, not to mention the people who died because of it, to them."

"How bad do you think they'll hang us?" Ron asked.

They had gone for Neville first because he had no one. His extended family was out of the country and his grandmother and parents were either dead or incapacitated. Tonks or any of the other Aurors in the Order would be next on the list, but I'd bet anything Kingsley would let them off lightly. He valued Auror talent. Luna would be safe as long as her father kept The Quibbler up and running. "Neville's just the appetiser. I think it's safe to say the three of us are the main course. The rest of your family is dessert."

"As for our crimes..." I continued, honestly needing a moment to think about it. "Unforgivable use. I've used all three, while the two of you both used the Imperius once or twice-"

"I Crucio'd once too," Ron said. "Some twit in the battle..."

"One use of Cruciatas for Ron then. Let's see... Destruction of pureblood property. Ron, Bill, Neville and me for Bulstrode Abode, the three of us for the Ministry building, me and Tonks for Malfoy Manor." I hummed. If Moody were still here, he'd be charged with all of those crimes. Bastard got off lucky. "Oh, conspiracy to commit theft from the goblins, though I think poor Arvark and Loki will get the worst of it. What else? Murder, mayhem, torture, collateral damage. Let me rack my brain a bit..."

"Stop it," Hermione said forcefully.

Ron snorted, and I too wished to be drunk at that moment. "Fuck it, we're screwed. To Azkaban or an early grave then!" And there went the rest of Ron's third bottle.

He opened up another bottle of Firewhiskey, chugging it. My foot started tapping nervously and Hermione started to sob, but apart from that the kitchen was quiet for a few minutes. I checked my watch - time was going slower for the three of us here. It had only been twenty minutes since Bill had gone off to check on Neville, since we didn't have visitation status. Bill would be arriving back in three... two...

One.

I checked my watch again. Only one second had passed. I fleetingly considered the watch to be broken or spelled by a devious trickster, but I had not needed to study further; the Floo in the next room activated. Hermione quickly wiped her eyes, though Ron didn't move from his spot or even lower the bottle. Bill Weasley shuffled into the kitchen, and the three of us diverted our attention to him and him alone.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Bill announced, his expression grave. "I talked to Neville and I talked to his solicitor, but it's not good. A month from now, I think Azkaban's going to have a new long-term prisoner."

Confirmation. I felt rage. Ron swore and Hermione looked about ready to burst into tears again. I don't know how it got into my hand, but my wand was spitting sparks. One of Ron's empty Firewhiskey bottles exploded.

"That is fucking bullshit," Ron hissed. Bill nodded, reaching over the table to nab his brother's Firewhiskey bottle for himself.

"That's not all," Bill said, taking a long pull from the bottle. "On my way out I overheard Dawlish talking to some other Aurors. They're gearing up to arrest two certain individuals who live out at Ottery St Catchpole."

A trickle of pure fear shot down my spine. "Lovegoods."

"Right in one," Bill confirmed. "I've asked Tonks to join up with the arrest team and make sure nobody gets injured, but she was spacing out and probably didn't hear me."

"I'll talk to her later," I said. "But for now, I need to pay a visit to Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Hermione made a disapproving sound. "Harry, I've known you long enough to know that you shouldn't barge into situations when you're angry. We just need to sit down, think this through, and then set up an appointment at a later date. He's the Minister, Harry. He's very busy."

"Busy jailing our friends, most likely," Bill said darkly. Ron and I echoed the sentiments, me with a nod and Ron with a drunken "Too right!"

"It'll be fine, Hermione." Ludo Bagman would've won a tidy sum if I had bet my vault on that statement remaining accurate. "If I'm not back within three hours, find me a nice solicitor and prepare to break me out of Azkaban. Whichever makes more sense."

"But Harry-"

Are the next words coming out of her mouth going to be, "Go get 'em, tiger!"?

"What's going to happen if you can't convince Kingsley to back off? Or if you get thrown in Azkaban? I admire your loyalty, Harry, I do, but-" Nope.

I tuned out and exited the kitchen. I picked up a pinch of Floo Powder from a pot in the next room, tossing it into the fireplace. As the flames crackled and turned emerald green, I heard footsteps - Hermione had followed me.

"Harry, don't go. Don't do anything drastic."

I let out a single breath. I took another in, planning to hold it for a while. I looked into her eyes. That's it, stop judging me. The breath was out again. "For God's sake Hermione, have you ever been in a leadership position in your entire fucking life like I have? I'm the one bloody responsible for Neville and for Luna and anything else that happens in the coming days. All I feel right now is pressure and rage. Let me tell you, if they keep increasing the former, the latter is going to go up and I'm going to start exploding things. So listen to me carefully: get off my back. I am going to make a decision, as a leader, and I plan to stick to it. Nobody's going to die, nobody's going to Azkaban, and those on the other side of us will be nice and apologetic by the time this mess is over. So. Please, Hermione. Can I. Just. Go?"

In retrospect, it was kind of rude of me to simply Floo out before she could answer. As I shot up through the flames, I swore I could hear Ron giggling, having heard my breathless rant through the walls.

The Ministry of Magic's Atrium was usually filled with people, and today being no exception and me still being a big celebrity in these parts, I naturally got attention. Some of it was of the glaring type from a few folks I could honestly say I'd never had a quarrel with before. Being an actual worker for the Ministry, I didn't need to check in with Eric the Watchwizard, so I headed straight for the lifts, jumping on the first empty one I could find and heading to the floor below Kingsley's office.

I Disillusioned myself before the lift stopped, and only a few wizards on the second floor noticed the supposedly empty lift arrive. I wove my way past a few workers to reach the nearest stairwell, ascending to the Minister's office.

The entire floor was well-furnished, all golds and silvers and with ornate portraits of former Ministers hanging on the walls. I passed several offices, including the offices of the undersecretaries, before turning a corner and finding myself in the reception area outside of Kingsley's office.

The office was guarded by a sour-looking witch who was fighting the lunchtime lull by charming her nails different colours. Kingsley was notorious for eating lunch during his allocated hour instead of working, Minister emergency or no. I had gathered that it was to please his wife, who would "always know" if he hadn't eaten her pre-prepared sandwiches. I could almost find the quirk admirable if I wasn't a little pissed at the man.

A Sleeping Charm sent his secretary to sleep almost instantly, and I erected a quick ward to let me know if someone was approaching the reception area. I could hear soft chewing noises through the wall. Aurors being as paranoid as they are, I half expected Kingsley to start flinging curses at me through the door any moment. I had not expected the large wooden door to open by itself, nor did I expect to be waved in.

"Come in, Harry." I was still invisible, last I checked. I shut the door behind me and dispelled the disillusionment. At his gesture, I took the seat opposite his own, though calling the Minister's big chair a seat wouldn't be the right word. Throne came to mind - a throne that made Ministers like Fudge lazier as time passed. I couldn't blame them though. That chair looked comfortable.

Kingsley's desk could only be described as mahogany perfection, but was unfortunately covered in sandwich remains and stray parchment. A photograph of Neville, taken when he was arrested a week ago, looked up at me in confusion.

"You sound tired, Minister," I said. He abandoned his sandwich and opened a desk drawer. I pointed my wand at him just in case, but he simply pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and two thick glasses.

"Drink?" he offered. I shook my head, and he shrugged, pouring himself a glass.

"A normal habit of yours since getting the desk, Kingsley?"

He took a sip. "A man is entitled to one last drink."

"You think I'm going to kill you?"

"Aren't you?"

I suppose sneaking into his office and pointing my wand at his face might've given off the wrong impression. Well, not wrong. Just a bad one.

I lowered my wand a bit, the tip still pointing upwards towards his chest. "Give me a reason or two not to. I'm glad you've made new friends Kingsley, but you're turning your old friends into enemies. Especially that one guy who killed Voldemort."

"A child of prophecy with luck on his side," Kingsley said.

"Okay, let's ignore me then," I replied lightly. "Let's talk about Dumbledore. Great man, Dumbledore. Did some things he wasn't proud of when he was younger, but managed to redeem himself and become the greatest wizard in modern history. Formed the Order a few decades back, but I think you only joined up in the one that started up again three and a half years ago."

He nodded.

My voice was calm, as if I was telling a roomful of children a story. "Vigilante group and everything. The entire group, though, trusted Dumbledore to pull them through each time, even when, no, especially when anything approaching hope was lost. He had a neat and tidy moral code, and saved a lot of lives in his days as leader. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Your point?"

"Dumbledore died," I said coldly. The kids run scared and wet themselves in fear. "We were lost children out in the wild, but we won. We didn't do it cleanly. We were fighting for the right cause, though. Fighting to avoid oppression and the decimation of half the magical population, targeted simply because of who they were born to!"

"We won," Kingsley said bitterly. "Because of that, that makes us above the law?"

"This isn't about law or justice for either of us, Kingsley! The purebloods that survived the war, or those who sat it out, have poisoned you." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, no no, they haven't poisoned you. They've just awakened the dormant side of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the one that just wasn't there during the war. Where's the calm man who told us all that everything was going to be okay?"

He said nothing, and I continued. "I thought I had you pegged. You're the righteous man. No sins to your name, but you'll do what you have to in order to protect your family." Here, he tensed. Uh-oh. "You joined the Order because Fudge was being ignorant, and you wanted to protect your wife and son. You stayed on because of your faith in what we were fighting for, and you were with us, ready to die if it meant winning the war."

"My position is not an easy one," he said gravely. "What we were fighting for? It was a good cause. However, there are a lot of things we did in the war that were no better than the actions taken by those we were fighting. I cannot abide by that."

"But you could," I implored. "This is corruption. Again. The purebloods slipped through the cracks and they're doing their damnedest to make us suffer for our victory. We could've curbed them. Together! I thought you would've changed the Ministry for the better from that chair, but you've changed. Did they kill your family, Kingsley? Did they force your hand?"

His eyes went cold, and he refilled his drink. "My wife and son have been dead for two months, I'll have you know. Neither side was responsible. Car accident. A Muggle death."

"And when they died, you decided to play the coward who turns on all of his friends?"

He didn't get visibly angry. The calm man was still present. "I decided to play the just man. The righteous man. I am an Auror first and foremost, and I was there when Fudge's Ministry was running on dishonesty and dirty money. Even if I didn't have the Wizengamot pressuring me into doing something drastic, I still would. I want to have an honest tenure. Better to end my days an honest man with the sins of his cowardly actions on his shoulders. I'm tired and my family's dead. I want to go on to the next life free of regret. The honest law is the only truth."

His reasoning ticked me off. He didn't have to throw the rest of us under the bus. I said so, followed by, "What about you, Kingsley? Best I remember, you were there torturing and killing with the rest of us."

He sighed. "I will be one of the last to trial. Azkaban doesn't have Dementors anymore, so maybe my remaining days in prison will be in peace. After what feels like decades of self-loathing, I welcome it."

"But I don't plan on having a cell beside yours!" I said fiercely. "Your inner peace, while no doubt all you've got left now, is nothing compared to the peace and harmony of me and mine. What about the happy ending, Kingsley? What about marrying the first redhead that comes along and making a few sprogs together?"

"I don't like redheads," he said dryly.

Despite myself, I chuckled. "War's over. We should be at peace, but we're not. Doesn't sit right."

"What would you have me do, Harry? Throw all the laws, even the ones that make sense, out the window? Ignore that, despite their status as Death Eaters, real human beings ended up dead because of us. They were still British and they were our kinsmen once, divided only by ideals."

"Murdering rapists and thieving psychopaths led by an immortal snake-loving orphan who didn't get enough hugs as a child, you mean."

There was a moment of total comprehension on both sides of the desk. Two pillars in a storm, standing fast and never wavering in their convictions. Kingsley, a man with nothing to lose looking for final peace in honest justice. Me, a man who had won the war his own way, a war that deserved to be put to rest once and for all. Kingsley nodded once, and I returned the gesture.

He wouldn't fight me.

He downed a glass of the amber liquid in its entirety, pouring the rest of the bottle into the empty glass. "I suppose this is where it ends, then? I should warn you that my replacement will undoubtedly be from the Wizengamot's best stock. Not some Muggleborn like Cresswell who you think could introduce a new idealism into the place."

"Maybe you could leave a note?" I offered. He cracked a grin, and for the first time since I'd met the man, he let out a booming laugh, matched by my own subdued ones. The logical part of me was hammering its appeal into my head: wouldn't killing Kingsley cause more problems? Would I have to start another war, this time playing the anarchist? The counterargument: Killing Kingsley would be unfortunate, but I had to. I needed justice.

I stood up and raised my wand. "I'm sorry, Kingsley."

He couldn't abide by the fact that we won the war the wrong way. I couldn't abide by the fact he was pissing all over our victory like he was.

"We are all just victims of our pressure in the end, eh?" He raised his glass in a toast. "Drastic actions caused by our own need to sleep better at night. You for your friends, me for justice and self-peace. Under pressure... Just like that Muggle song..." He started humming, each note matching the pounding in my ribcage. He paused his humming to take a sip of his drink, and my wand twitched.

CRACK.

The glass exploded in his face, a large shard blasting through his left eye, the power of my spell sending the glass sailing through his brain and out the other side. The shard rode a spurt of blood out of the top of his head, embedding itself in the throne-chair behind him. Death was instantaneous. He slumped forward onto the desk, and I could see his shattered skull and brain tissue for a moment, before blood and other fluids poured out of the exit wound and onto the desk.

Ever had a moment where you realise there were other options you could've taken? There's an immediate phrase that springs to mind:

Oh fuck.

Hermione was going to castrate me. She was absolutely fucking right. I should've just thought things over and-

No. Waiting would've achieved nothing. Kingsley was convinced in what he was doing. He wasn't going to stop his quest for inner piece. Killing him, though... it was...

I felt sick. I was sick. Vomited right in my lap. Smelled horrifying and looked like spaghetti. I hadn't eaten spaghetti in a few weeks. Tonks had made it. Correction: Tonks had tired to make it. Failed miserably, had to have me remake it. Think I may've hurt her feelings by pointing out that pasta needed boiling water in order to cook. Must've hurt Kingsley's too, what with killing him and all.

He was a friend. A family man. A coward. A traitor. Tried to make the best of a bad situation for his own inner peace. Did I respect that? Maybe. I just killed the man, so my respect might be lacking.

Dead Kingsley. Dead dead dead.

Not still-alive Kingsley. Dead. Exterminated. Glass through the brain.

Fire. I needed... fire. Memory Charms too. I'd need a Bulstrode Abode, a Lockhart, a Hermione on McLaggen or two, and a series of the most useful of the Unforgivables. Pure torture got old after a while when there were more creative options, and there were other ways to kill a cat without wasting all that energy.

Fleeting thought of McGonagall in S&M gear. More creative ways to torture people, indeed.

Vomited again. Cleaned myself up with a wave of my wand. Good wand. Killed quite a few people in its time, though gravity killed that one guy in the Battle of Hogwarts. I automatically stood up, ignoring the body. No alarms. No sudden Ministry emergency beacon flashing and telling the world that I had just now deposed the Minister with a glass of scotch. My own alarm ward hadn't been tripped. Ol' secretary gal was still snoozing. Still lunchtime, too. Kingsley's half-eaten sandwich was beside his body. Compared to his previous sandwiches, it looked unappealing. His wife must've made sandiwiches for him back when she was alive, and back when he was alive too. At the same time.

Still lunch? I checked my watch to confirm.

I realised the watch was a possible conspirator against me. Thoughts were scattered. Twenty minutes to burn down the Ministry and make it look an accident. I knew how to get out of this mess. It would be tricky, but I'd wager that the Wizengamot would just be happy to have their own man in the chair Kingsley was killed in. Well, I think that a new chair would be in order after I burnt this office down. I could do it.

I breathed in deeply. I had made things worse, but there was a solution. There always was. I, in the immortalised words of the recently deceased Kingsley Shacklebolt, was a child of prophecy with luck on my side. I'd need to chat to my goblin friends when I was done here. They'd have a suggestion or two if I gave them some gold. Goblins loved gold. Goblins loved playing with gold.

That day, I played with fire. I was still under quite a bit of pressure, to put it mildly. I had something in mind, though. Something to hide everything. Something to give me and my friends a chance towards a better ending. If I had to do it singlehandedly, I'd do it. As long as it takes.

No pressure.

..::..-.-..::..

The Next Day: How Ant-Like Everybody Seems

The day before had ultimately ended unproductively after my visit to Lavender Brown's tower. The head of the DMLE, Williamson, had yelled at Robards all afternoon for some reason, and I suspected an evaluation was approaching. I knew from experience those meant total work stoppage for a week or two, and I couldn't afford to lose time in the Constellation Killer case. If our killer found out we were onto his pattern involving the zodiac ritual, any potential hope of gauging his progress via dead Muggles could be lost. He or she might even start dropping bodies faster if they knew we on their trail. I wondered somewhat arrogantly if the fact that I was the lead Auror on this case would make them change tactics - either becoming overconfident or skittish.

Before I would brave the Auror Office for the day, I paid a visit to my goblin contact Loki. He was surly and still ungrateful even after Selwyn's generous donation earlier in the month. You know, the usual.

We sequestered ourselves in a small office, and he opened his mouth before I could. "What do you want?" he said brusquely. "Having trouble renewing your contract?"

The spell I had used on him a few years back bound the memories of our little reality shift inside of his head, and he could only consciously access them in my presence. Since I was the only one he could talk to about it, he made it his personal mission to throw the injustice of me violating his mind in my face every time we talked, with predictable results.

"Shut up and take your gold," I snapped. "I need you to do me a favour and gather a nice pile of ritual books involving the zodiac, or anything related."

"Is that all?"

"No. I may need you to find me a type of knife in the nearby future if we come up empty ourselves."

"What kind of knife?" he asked curiously.

"The kind that stabs people and kills them dead, and may be related to an upcoming zodiac ritual," I retorted. "Thanks for helping out, Loki. You're a pal."

He said nothing as I exited the room. Loki had little to no backbone, enjoyed my gold and didn't mind a good mystery. The bestest goblin spy a boy could ask for.

My official business in Gringotts today was to check up on my overseas estates (Loki just happening to be my account manager), so I got no suspicious looks from any other goblins as I made my way out of the bank. With a long-suffering sigh, I Apparated from the bank's entrance and arrived at the Atrium, bracing myself for another morning at our stellar department.

When I arrived to find Dover watching Williamson huff around the office and glare at everything, I knew that bracing myself wouldn't help one bit. I collapsed into my cubicle chair and awaited further instructions from Dover, and not getting any, I briefly entertained the thought of napping my way to lunch. Lunch with Remus...

Now there was something to look forward to.

..::..-.-..::..

This time, lunch with Remus was not preceded by lunch with Tonks, but the skies were clearer and tea we were drinking tasted more like actual tea and less like piss. I briefly wondered when I had become such a tea snob while Remus showed me some of my father's old textbooks. It was nice to Remus's face relax a bit and the years leave his eyes as he went on about my father's 'Operation: Animagus'. I don't think the feeling translated to my own face.

He caught my expression and put the Charms textbook down. "I wasn't aware that this was boring you, Harry."

I gave him a tired smile. "Sorry. It's like last time we did lunch and I'm trying not to let my stress get to me, you know? Don't want to say anything... harsh."

"You do indeed look a lot more stressed today," Remus observed in a manner eerily similar to Lavender's yesterday. I guess I was just having one of those months.

"Politics, workload, lack of anything resembling personal time," I surmised. "Probably haven't been entirely happy go-lucky Harry lately."

"God forbid," Remus muttered. "Anything else?"

"The pressure's starting to bug me, actually," I said. "More than just the workload and my lack of a social life, it's something... off. Entirely. Like everything feels wrong." And, to add to that, it was a different kind of wrong. Not like a renewal feeling, where my status as the reality shift's creator allowed me to feel the unravelling reality as the renewal approached. "I've been telling myself it's just been pressure, but there's something draining me. I haven't felt like this for a long time. I just wonder if I'm about to do something drastic." Again. Shifted reality once - what will I do next? Travel through time?

Remus paused. "Life is like that sometimes," he said sagely. "I think you're lacking something. We all have places to go to relax and forget about our worries for a while. Where's yours?"

I thought about it. Really, the only places I frequented these days were the office, Grimmauld Place, the Leaky Cauldron and... somewhere warm and kind of homely. Small place, but with good company. The answer sprang to mind immediately.

"Tonks," I said. Remus stiffened across the table, but I ignored him. "I've uh... been kinda distracted lately. Maybe I've ignored her a little. It's..."

"By your own admission, with Ron off playing Quidditch and Hermione in France, Tonks would be your best friend?"

"Well it's certainly not Dover." Even if Ron and Hermione were around, I wouldn't take Tonks out of the best friend column.

He looked pained, but spoke anyway, "Maybe you should grovel. Take the first night off you can find and ask for forgiveness. Tell her you're sorry for being a prat."

I nodded, and he continued. "You know I'm right. This pressure you're feeling may be work-related, but I'd bet there's a lot of guilt weighing you down. I should know..."

"I think you may be right."

"I have my moments." The poor guy looked like I had asked if I could screw his wife or something, and lunch ended shortly afterwards.

Returning to work after lunch, I was immediately accosted by a euphoric Dover.

"Harry man, we're free for the rest of the weekend," he said happily.

"We are?"

His grin widened. "Williamson got so fed up with Robards that he ordered an immediate review of the entire Auror Office! Barring emergencies, of course, we're done for the weekend and will probably spend the week doing nothing! Isn't that great?"

"What about the case?"

"Oh fuck it, man. Can you honestly say you've got some new interesting lead out of that book that smells disturbingly like Trelawney?"

I said nothing.

"I know, right? Let's get outta here and go to the place with the good fish."

"With the strippers?" I clarified. "Mate, that your mind is on the food instead of the ladies tells me one thing-"

"Yeah, fuck off."

We both laughed for a moment, and I sobered up first. "I might head home and pretend to do work there. I'd rather solve this case as soon as possible rather than deal with more dead Muggles."

Dover shrugged. "Your loss, mate. See you on Monday."

"Wait!" I said. Remus had advised me to take the first night off I could and go see Tonks. It was a sound idea. "Do the trainees get today off too?"

"Harry, it's Saturday. The trainees don't have classes today."

"I hadn't realised. Thanks, Mac."

I took the stairs as per usual, mulling over my next move. The whole grovelling thing looked like an attractive option. I genuinely felt the need to apologise. I may've had the time and I could've used the distraction, but there was something more. I didn't want to let her down. I felt like I had done that enough over the past week or so when work started piling up. I was there for her on the anniversary of Ted and Andromeda's deaths, but one night of joking around and reminiscing over happier times wasn't a cure-all for the feelings associated with the death of your remaining family.

I suddenly felt selfish. Moreso than usual, anyway. By the time I reached the Atrium, I had made my decision. In a choice between a cosy little flat with Tonks and a big abandoned townhouse with Kreacher, I'd choose the former every time, unless I wanted someone to cook for me. Kreacher's patented meat-pie may be maggot-y, but at least it was more edible than Tonks's all-too-yummy charcoal lasagne.

I Apparated to the stairwell of her flat's building. Taking the stairs to the top floor gave me time to fret over whether or not I should be bringing something like flowers as an apology. If I were apologising to Ron or Hermione, some junk food for the former and a new book for the latter would do fine. But Tonks was different. I couldn't put my finger on why or how, but she was. She was certainly a more attractive woman than Hermione...

But perhaps admitting that wouldn't make for a good apology. I might as well let her hex me or something.

Eventually, I had to screw up my courage enough to knock on her door. The woman that answered looked a little peaky, her hair was darker than I was accustomed to.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said. "What's going on?"

I flicked my wrist, caught my wand out of its holster and twirled it around, presenting the handle end to Tonks. "Would this apology end better for the both of us if I allowed you to hex me for being a prat first?"

She darted forward and grabbed my wand, twirling it in her fingers. "Maybe. Depends." She grinned a little, her hair unconsciously brightening to a more familiar pink. "How is that you suddenly found the time for me?"

Okay, maybe I deserved that. "I found it, and that's all that matters," I said. "Okay, that's not true. All that matters is that I didn't play you fair. You're my friend. You're my best friend, even. You're a priority."

"Harry..." She sighed. "I don't hold it against you. I know that being an Auror isn't the most glamorous of jobs-"

"But-"

She held up a hand. "I was in your shoes once, and I get it. Maybe I don't get why you haven't realised that I'm here if you need me, but that's okay. It's just one of those things you do."

I wished she had hexed me. "Just one of those things... One I should rectify. Immediately, if you'll let me. Hex me if you want, but be sure not to use anything that'll affect my hands. I may intend to cook you dinner tonight, and if you don't want to taste a fair approximation of evenly cooked food..."

She let out a giggle. "I'll hold onto your wand for the rest of the afternoon, then. You can help me correct some appalling essays no doubt written by brainless little Gryffindors."

"I am sorry," I said honestly.

"Then prove it," she replied, eyes softening.

She lead me into her warm little flat and set about torturing me with trainee homework. I allowed myself to get lost in the easy camaraderie our conversations carried. The feeling of pressure lessened. Only once or twice when I wasn't laughing or enjoying Tonks's company, I felt the pressure in the back on my mind.

It wasn't guilt. It wasn't contract-related. But it was something, something I couldn't put my finger on.

Hours later I fell asleep on Tonks's couch at her behest, the twelve signs of the zodiac dancing in my mind.

..::..-.-..::..

To be continued in Chapter Three: Ten.

..::..-.-..::..

Two down, three to go. Several plot threads come to a head in chapter three, though most of the action is in chapters four and five.