Respectable wizards don't know how to wear Muggle clothing, and despite being around Muggles every day, it still doesn't look convincing on you. You're walking through the middle of London as if you have a purpose, and although you seem to know where you're going, you also know it's way too early for that. It's hot today, and sticky, even though it's overcast and still only morning. You can't breathe or think properly, the air is so thick.
A gang of male Muggles is coming down the pavement on the other side. You force yourself to walk past the Muggle youths. They laugh and jeer at you, making sneering comments about your clothes, but they don't try to stop you when you walk past, your feet sticking on the pavement as you eye them nervously. This could be the last time you see a Muggle, ever, if they put you away for life. A sentence of that magnitude would be entirely justifiable. The panic rises up in your chest when you think about how long you might get for murder, conspiracy, use of Unforgivable curses. Life - that would be the best part of a century if you lived to be your father's age. You might get out, of course, after decades in prison. The thought gives you vertigo; you can practically see yourself, shrivelled and shrunken, confused, angry and scared as your father had been towards the end, the wrong side of a brutal stretch in Azkaban, your whole life telescoped down to nothing.
This is a bad idea. You don't know what you are doing here. You've never needed anyone, and you find most people dull. You hate chitchat, small talk, all of that, and that this fact seemed to preclude genuine and deeper friendship with other people never bothered you. So why do you feel so trapped in your own head now? Why can't you concentrate on anything for more than twenty seconds?
Your father with that indulgent look in his eye: Now Theodore, here's a challenge for you. And you had never failed before, never, even though it had taken you days to open your mother's jinxed jewellery box. You'd loved proving what you could do. That look of cool approval on your father's face, because he never gave extravagant or unwarranted praise. What would he say if he could see you now? You had failed then; you couldn't do what he asked. And this, this madness, whatever you are planning on doing now, it is more than foolish; it is a betrayal.
You're within the Ministry's walls when the vertigo hits you again: twenty-five years, forty, a hundred! You might never get out of Azkaban. Idiot! Why are you here? There's a badge in your hand now that says, "Theodore Nott, Confession." You can't remember where it came from, but it's like it's pushing you on, this little piece of metal has hijacked your brain and body and is marching you down the corridor to the Auror offices. You could stop this now; just turn around and go. But Potter: he's the one you have to tell. You don't know why, but the flow of wizarding life always seems to eddy around him. He will be able to help you.
You're frightened of Aurors, what are you doing here of all places? They killed your mother and they can still kill with impunity. Someone like you, who'd look too closely into it? Who would even care? You still remember facing that boggart in third year, knowing it would turn into an Auror. There was nothing you could do to stop it, lethifolds, manticores, basilisks, you couldn't think of a single thing that terrified you even half as much. You'd been afraid of what Lupin would say, because you knew, even then, that this was incriminating. If you've got nothing to feel guilty about, why are you frightened? Lupin had looked at you strangely but said nothing when the Auror's wand had turned into a flower, then drooped and died. He must have talked about the incident with the other teachers, because over the next few lessons you caught him looking at you with a curious, pitying gaze. You were glad he never asked if you wanted to talk about it, or invited you into his office to have one of those excruciating guidance chats, because you could sense Lupin was one of those teachers who really wanted to make a difference to his students' lives, but perhaps your frosty demeanor kept him away. You were always good at that.
That lesson was before though, before it happened, and now you do have something to feel guilty about, and a good reason to feel afraid. Potter wouldn't kill you, you don't think, but you don't know who else you might run into around here before you find him. You know that at least one of the Aurors who was on the scene when your mother died is still in the department. The Ministry had said that lessons had been learned, but nobody was punished and you still feel the loss of your mother every day.
Yes, this must be his office. H. Potter, Senior Auror. He's only twenty-five, same as you, but he has an office of his own already, and a wife and a son. You don't know whether he's going to look at you with pity or disgust, once you tell him, but you're sure it will be one of the two and you don't know which would be worse. It's not too late, you could turn around if you wanted, he doesn't know you're here. Maybe the badge means he does, though, maybe he's sitting waiting for you to arrive and make your confession with half a dozen Aurors behind him to prod and poke and peek into your head.
A door opens somewhere down the corridor and you jump back, startled.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" There's a shout from behind you, and you see that you've just tripped into a portrait of Mad-Eye Moody on the wall. You think you've probably just woken him. He terrified you at school, watching you with that wide electric blue eye. You hadn't known then that he'd been a Death Eater, one of your own kind. He'd growled an unexpected apology for the role of the Aurors in the death of your mother, but that hadn't been the real Moody. The real Moody had nothing but contempt for wizards like you. His portrait is now eyeing you beadily, as though sizing you up. You look back, stomach contracting with fear, because you know even before he starts shouting again that his conclusion will not be in your favour.
Moody's verdict is swift and decisive. "Security breach! Dark wizard in the Auror office!"
Before you can react, Potter's door rattles open and Potter charges out into the corridor. You'd better explain why you're here fast, you can see his eyes narrowing suspiciously already like what the fuck are you doing here? Say something! But where do you begin?