Warnings: None.
Eleven
Confidence
Harry walked into the exam room with his head held high. He had worked for this moment—trained, sweated, and bled for this moment. He had ensured that he would earn this on his own merit, his own talent, and not by riding on the coattails of his fame.
He nodded at the proctor as he took his place on the dueling platform with ten people at his opposite. He ignored the examiner's doubtful look—it didn't matter that he was only seventeen, only just graduated from Hogwarts, readied his wand, and struck.
Spells rained down on his opponents, overwhelming them, and they fell not five seconds into his assault, immobilized and tied. Harry stopped at the examiner's command, relaxed his stance, and waited, his breathing even and controlled.
A grin overtook his features when he read the paper given to him. It was pale and thin, obviously high quality, and the lettering was in gold. Five signatures bordered the bottom of the page, the ink still drying. He was unsurprised at the results—he had known that he would succeed. After all, he had some of the best and most powerful teachers training him to the best of their abilities.
He walked out just as he had walked in, a smirk on his lips, the men he had defeated still bound and gagged, forgotten in the excitement of Harry's devastating victory, and took the proffered badge.
It read: Harry Potter, Auror of the British Ministry of Magic.
Words: 248
