A/N: Hey Lea, to answer your q I'll most likely finish this up by the Thanksgiving break as I'm going away, my work load this semester is pretty light which is why I can post two stories at once and not be overwhelmed but next semester I'll have a really busy one so neither of them will carry over for sure. Both are completely written it's just the matter of posting at the moment. Thanks for your review and everyone else if you have questions comments or just want to ask where I'm going with all this, feel free to ask :D

Chapter 4:

Harry was bored.

Now that hindsight was twenty-twenty and all that rot, he could see he should have really gone back to Hogwarts. But by now half the year had gone by and he couldn't go back there any more than he could go back in time, now that the time turners had all been destroyed. But if he knew what he did now, he would have gone. His reasons for going still made sense though-he didn't want to go back because it didn't make any bloody sense to go back when you're meant to be going forward after winning a war. The only problem with that whole logic was that people weren't meant to be fighting in wars at seventeen at all.

At first Harry had had a lot to occupy his time. He'd finished up Grimmauld Place-Neville had helped him on his weekends off from the Yorkshire Greenhouses where he worked, and then afterward they had gone out for a pint or three and talked about the good old (pre-war) days. But that didn't last very long because for one Neville had a job and was meant to be there from Monday to Friday and occasionally a few weekends as well, and also with two people working on the house and the assistance of magic, Grimmauld Place fixed itself up really very quickly.

So then Harry decided to visit Teddy. Of course he had had to write first-Andromeda still had Malfoy living with her, doing Merlin knew what since he didn't go back to Hogwarts either. But Harry always banished that thought from his head, because he really couldn't be in a position to judge. It was just that he bloody disliked Malfoy so much. Not that Malfoy was ever around any of the mornings that Andromeda had given him permission to visit-Harry sometimes wondered where Malfoy went off to as he played with Teddy-so many of Malfoy's friends were now imprisoned, dead or back in Hogwarts.

Harry often thought about visiting Ron and Hermione on a Hogsmeade weekend-but he couldn't. He couldn't stand making it seem as though he was worse-off or doing badly, and he didn't want anyone to worry about him-it was the same reason he didn't visit Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nearly as much as he would have liked to. Instead he swallowed the urge to write to Ron and Hermione more often than he did and he simply filled his letters with as much nonsense as he could possibly write, but it was increasingly becoming hard to write about nothing, over and over.

Sighing, Harry woke up for another empty day in an endless cycle of blank, empty days. He wondered if he was going to get as fat as Uncle Vernon and tried to imagine the headline Hero Becomes Overweight and Boring. Harry decided to visit Neville at the Greenhouses, he was fairly sure it had been a week or so since he had visited Neville and if he spaced out that visit long enough it made him look a bit less desperate.

Neville was out tending to the flowers, his hands in the wet, thick earth. To Harry it was all a bit disgusting and reminded him a bit too much of his childhood and summers spent tending to Petunia's flowerbeds, but if it made Neville happy, then he was happy for him. Harry thought that Neville deserved every happiness after the war, they all did.

"Harry," Neville smiled, drinking some water from a flask. "You came to see me-is everything alright?"

Harry swallowed on the urge to groan-that was a tell-tale sign that his mates were talking to each other-it had gone from Harry needs a rest to What are we going to do with Harry? "It's alright," Harry gave the standard response and then sighed. "It's not alright."

Neville nodded. "You want to come in and have a cup of tea? My breaks about to start anyway."

Harry nodded gratefully and followed Neville indoors. Past the humid mists of the large greenhouses there was a small storefront created from a cottage that had been converted into a shop. In the upstairs area, among all the old parchment and ledgers, the gardeners and shop girls had a small tea room, complete with a small table and cupboard with permanent cooling charms where they kept their lunches from home.

Neville set the kettle to boil and in the meantime sat down on an old chair across from Harry. "So," Neville smiled cheekily. "Not enjoying the life of leisure?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd enjoy it if there was something to enjoy," Harry tossed out. "There's nothing in it-I just sit at home all day hiding from the press, making up things to do. It's a bit like taking a holiday from real life-"

"Only real life's moved on without you," Neville said sympathetically, getting up to fetch the kettle and levitating two glasses out in front of him with ease using his non-dominant hand. The war had changed Neville so much-had transformed him from that awkward little boy Malfoy and even some of the Gryffindors had taunted to a bonafide hero and a confident wizard. Harry wished he had half of Neville's confidence right now.

"Yes," Harry said, agreeing with Neville statement as he poured out the tea. "But I can't go back now. It's halfway through the year-and with the NEWTs coming up-"

"Harry," Neville smiled. "What do you want to do?"

Harry blinked. "I haven't really thought about that," he admitted. "Only about what I didn't want to do."

Neville gave out a hearty chuckle. "I think you're going about it in the wrong way, if you don't mind me saying so, Harry. You know what Gran wanted me to do right after the war? She wanted me to make a tour of Italy and Greece like my father had done when he was seventeen and then ask Hannah Abbott to marry me. I'd never felt so stifled in my life. I couldn't sleep for a week after she told me that-I just kept picturing walking down the aisle and instead of seeing Hannah-there would be an Inferi under the veil. So finally I told her the truth."

"How did she take it?" Harry asked, trying to imagine Neville's dragon of a grandmother simply agreeing to disagree with him.

"Not so well," Neville snorted. "But when she saw I wasn't going to be moved, in the end she just gave up. A week ago she told me that I was finally acting like a Longbottom. Anyway, enough about how my Gran is the bossiest pensioner in our parish. What do you want to do, Harry? I mean as a career?"

"I wanted to be an Auror," Harry admitted. "But now it just feels like another story in the series Harry Potter Saves the Day."

"There were more people that day there than just you," Neville said blandly. "But it suits your personality. Dashing hero catches ten criminals-I can see it, you never did know when to quit hogging the spotlight."

"You sound like Malfoy," Harry sniffed.

"Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day as they say," Neville said sadly. "Did you hear what happened to Malfoy?"

"No," Harry said curiously. "He lives with Mrs. Tonks and Teddy though."

"Good for him," Neville said, with much more good will than Harry thought Malfoy deserved. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it though-it's been all over the papers. Malfoy's case was brought to closed court-but someone from the Wizengamot sold their story to the Daily Prophet. It was serialized-all the rot that this clerk knew-but there was a bit about Malfoy. The clerk said Malfoy had been subject to the most gross and inhumane forms of child abuse that'd he'd seen in the post-War experience."

Harry swallowed. "I c-can't believe that," he said faintly. "His mother tried to save his life."

"And trapped him in a house with madmen, psychopaths and former prisoners," Neville snorted. "Gran had choice words to say about her, believe you me. Anyway, Harry, you should think about the Aurors. I think you'd be a good fit."

"Sure," Harry said distractedly. "Thanks, Neville."

Getting a meeting with Auror Robards had been surprisingly easy-it had only taken one letter and the magic of saving the world had worked it's magic on the Ministry. Harry snorted at the piece of parchment in his pocket. There had been so many times that he had wanted to have someone in the upper echelons of the Ministry listen to a bloody word he was saying, ever since he was eleven and he was dropped off at a school in Scotland and started to learn that he should have looked that particular gift horse in the mouth. But now-now of course everyone was listening, and listening far too carefully-people knew his favorite foods, his perfect day, and his least favorite condiments, they were all printed with regularity by the press.

Harry got off of the lift and made his way down the hall toward the bullpen where Robards was training the trainee Aurors. To Harry's eyes none of them looked as young as he felt-on the floor a lean, strong witch grappled with a wizard about twice her weight with comparative ease, while across the room a wizard punched repeatedly into a sandbag-every time his strike rang true a little flash of blue sparks sprung from the bag.

I want they have, Harry thought with clarity-what they were doing, it meant something, it was a part of something, and more than that, he knew that he would enjoy it. That was where he was meant to be-maybe taking six months off hadn't been his most Hermione-like moment, but it had brought him here.

Robards blew an ear-splitting whistle. "Laps," he barked and everyone began running so quickly that Harry had a hard time telling apart the witches from the wizards.

Robards came out into the hall and clapped a meaty hand around Harry's shoulder. He nearly flew into the opposing wall. "Harry Potter," Robards greeted. "Good, good. Why don't we go into my office for a while until these idiots run themselves ragged and the smartest one finally comes and looks for me, eh?"

Harry followed Robards down the hall to the largest office. Robards office was a neat as a hat pin, with several framed photographs of two twin little girls that thankfully looked nothing like their gruff father. Harry took the leather seat closest to the door and Robards sat heavily down in his chair which reclined back with his weight but quickly righted itself-Harry thought that that was some rather impressive charm work as Robards must weigh as much as two of him.

"Harry, you don't mind if I call you Harry, eh?" Robards said, looking down at a piece of parchment with distaste before ripping it in half.

"Er-no, no, sir," Harry said lamely.

"Good, good," Robards said again. "Well. What brings you down to my bullpen, Harry? Want to try a round at dueling one of my trainees-I bet that would shake them up a little, they've grown fat and lazy lately."

Harry thought that Robards' trainees looked anything but fat and lazy, but he also knew that telling Robards that would probably not work in his favor.

"No, sir," Harry said, struggling for the words to ask Robards to consider his application. He already could see that what he was asking for was highly unusual and a sign of favoritism, but Harry wanted it so badly that he couldn't think of anything else but to pull the despicable card of Savior of the Wizarding World.

"Then I can't see what you'd want with me, lad," Robards said, not unkindly. "Is someone bothering you? The press?"

Oh, Harry felt as though he was going to be ill. "No sir," Harry said before he could lose his nerve. "I wanted to talk to you about my chances, sir. As an Auror recruit."

Robards rose from his seat, and his poor chair gave an audible squeak of relief. "I'd say they'd be superb, usually," and Harry could hear the but coming from miles away. "But Harry I can't take on another trainee, for a multitude of reasons. One, we're in a transition government, and I can't ask Minister Shacklebot to request funds when we needs those funds for the basic maintenance and clean-up of the wizarding world. Two, the training session started six months ago, Harry, and you'll never be able to catch up, and I can't hold them back-they're needed in the field immediately."

Auror Robards turned to him sadly and held out a third finger. "Thirdly, and I hate to give this reason, Harry, so don't think this is easy for me, boy-you're a security risk. Everywhere you go, the press, the wireless and gods know who else follow. You could ask me to slap a few glamours on you or some polyjuice, but those are fallible, and I know you're a talented wizard, but you're still a child. The only way I could use you around here would be as a clerk in dispatch and that wouldn't be the best use of your skills, Harry."

Harry swallowed around the knot of disappointment. Everything Auror Robards said made sense-he wasn't trying to be deliberately cruel or prejudiced, in fact he was so fair in his decision that he was putting the needs of the many above the need of the one, popular few. Harry still hated it though-he hadn't asked for this, anymore than he had asked to have that bloody prophecy be written, or for Tom Riddle to choose him over Neville. He hadn't asked for any of it, but it felt as though he was paying for it, day after day, even after everyone else had moved on peacefully.

"There now," Robards said, as though he could read the disappointment on Harry's face. "There are ways and means, my boy. Ways and means."

Harry had no idea what Robards meant and he told him so.

"I may be able to help you out," Robards said his eyes glinting craftily. "You just keep your chin up, lad. If you want this badly enough, you'll have it."

A week passed and with every day that passed Harry was becoming more and more sure that Head Auror Robards had only told him what he had to make him feel better and himself less guilty. Not that Harry blamed him, mind, Robard's reasons did make as much sense to him as they had that afternoon at the Ministry. That wasn't the problem-the problem was that he was so bloody bored. Harry was bored with everything- himself, the day to day, being chased to apparation points, he was even bored of listening to the Quidditch recaps every afternoon.

He wanted a life, and he was tired of waiting for it to start.

An owl knocked on his window. Harry looked at it oddly-the only living people who knew the location of Grimmauld Place were the living members of the Order and the Black family. As there were few of either group around anymore Harry very cautiously took the letter from the bird and unraveled it.

Harry-

You're wise to keep your house unplottable-I had to have the Minister post this letter for me. I wrote to an associate of mine, and told him about your skill and of course your reputation preceded you. As it is in New York City the Auror Academy takes recruits twice a year -once for a Fall/Winter Session, and once for a Spring/Summer Session.

There is a place waiting for you in the Spring/Summer Session if you'd like it, my lad.

Remember, by any means necessary.

I remain, your friend-

Gawain Robards.

Harry stared at the slip of parchment. It wasn't exactly what he wanted, and yet it was what he wanted most of all. How could he just leave England-his home, as though it were nothing at all? And yet-why not? What was holding him here? Ron and Hermione would understand, and he didn't have a family-at least any family that he'd acknowledge or that would acknowledge him. So why shouldn't he go-loads of other people had relocated to the States for school or work, it wasn't as though he was planning to go off and leave to a different world entirely-honestly what he had faced in the War had been more frightening than this.

So why did it feel as though leaving England was leaving something essential and important behind?"

Harry looked at the letter again.

By any means necessary. That odd phrase that seemed so Slytherin made all the hair on Harry's arms stand on end. If this was his dream, and it wasn't hurting anyone to peruse it, he would go after it with full force, and by any means necessary. He wanted more than anything to be an Auror and he had wanted it ever since he had been in school, and he couldn't see one logical reason why he should stay behind in London and let life pass him by while the press hounded him into a corner.

Harry wrote a thank you letter to Auror Robards asking the contact information of his friend in New York.