The long corridor of an unkept building creaked and dripped as Harry came down the staircase. The sixth door to his left was a cracked oak door that looked like any office door in the muggle world, complete with a wooden plaque with the letter X engraved.

He knocked gently and waited for an answer.

An stale pause followed breaths of what certainly had to be mold that formed along the cracks of the walls. Harry reached for the door knob to slowly open it, but as it creaked, a voice answered.

"Sorry, nobody down here but the Ministry's most unwanted!"

Harry could see a flicker and fade of lights in the room. A panel of images and videos replayed in an infinite loop on a white wall through an old projector helmed by a man turned away, focused on a set of papers at his desk.

The door closed gently behind him and the images took control of him as they projected what looked like normal children on the grounds of Hogwarts. No magic, not trick of light or wondrous illusion to confound and amaze him, just an old projector with a usb stick stuck in the slot to play for the man at the desk who payed little attention to them.

The room was a mess of stacked cardboard boxes with folders and papers and more papers. That much seemed about right for the Ministry, but as he rounded the projector to meet the man and see his face, he noticed the man with pen in hand writing notebook, no wand or quill, no moving text or ominous voices.

Harry felt the need to speak, but he didn't want to interrupt. He coughed and the man, handsome by any average standard, at least with a symmetrical face, short brown hair, shorter than Harry's, and eyes that looked to the 'boy who lived' with complete disregard for identity. Perhaps Harry expected him, like almost any wizard he'd meet to suddenly blurt out his name and that old schtick. No, instead this man seemed almost bothered by Harry's presence and looked at him like a complete stranger.

"Agent, uh," Harry wasn't given a name.

"Must be nice to be so highly regarded by the Ministry all of a sudden," He extended a hand, but no name.

"Harry, Harry Potter." He took the man's hand and felt the firm grasp of cool hands take his. He had quite the grip and released quickly to return to his pen and paper.

"X, you can call me X."

"Like the door."

"No, like the letter."

Perplexed, Harry swung from that dead weight to the images that flickered on the wall.

"Tell me, Harry, who'd you piss off to get stuck down here with me?"

"Actually, I'm not really sure why I'm down here."

The man paused to look back at him as Potter's eyes focused on the wall. He leaned back in his chair and mouthed the end of his pen, amused at the thought.

"Tell me then, I was under the impression you were sent to spy on me."

Harry turned back, brows beaten and cheek twisted. He didn't even know who this man was, let alone why he'd be there to spy on him.

"No, I was with the Aurors and–"

"You give too much information. I don't know you, but I know the Ministry wouldn't just send some Auror down here with me."

"I can show you my credentials."

"I'd rather your senior thesis."

This stopped Harry. He didn't have a senior thesis. In fact, he never finished Hogwarts, nor even the exams for entering the Aurors or the Ministry. For all of his life everything had been given to him just by name alone. Now that his name meant seemingly nothing to this man, he had nothing to show for himself.

"I didn't finish school." Harry bluntly admitted.

"Didn't finish Hogwarts, yet got into the Ministry of Magic? Must have good credentials. I'll buy it for now," he peeled quickly from the chair and moved the projector table back to make room for them, and to expand the image on the wall. "Tell me, Harry, what do you see here?"

"I'm sorry, do you seriously not know who I am?" This mountain he couldn't get over, it bothered Harry. Part of him didn't mind not being recognized, but now that it threatened his entire identity as an Auror, he had to know the truth.

"You're Harry Potter."

He knew it.

"So, you do know."

"Of course, you just told me your name. So, now focus on the images, what do you make of it?"

Unable to pass that hurdle, Harry looked back at the wall and stepped out of the light of the projector to see it all more clearly.

He was about to give up even on the images. Unable to discern anything other than kids at Hogwarts pictures individually, and occasionally together.

"Don't know do you?"

Harry looked back at the smile that cut him.

"Let me explain then."

There were fifteen images. Most of them was of a young brunette girl, a Gryffindor in Hogwarts, a second year and then in third year. Harry thought she sort of reminded him of Hermoine, but with straighter, shorter hair. Six were slides of her alone, all professional photos taken by the school, except for the last five. The others were group photos where you'd barely make her out, but it consisted of several houses then just Gryffindor, likely her classmates of those years.

The last five however were of red stains, a body, robes mangled and bunched over the corpse. These were taken as part of a murder investigation.

"What happened?"

"Didn't hear?"

"No."

"Guess you really can't see beyond your nose there Harry." He continued, "would you guess a dark spell or wizard did this?"

"Seems likely."

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"There are darker things than witchcraft and wizardry in the world, Harry." He turned the projector off.

"What then?"

"Us."

This certainly confounded Harry. He wasn't sure the meaning, but the last five images burned in his mind. If he could see his mother strewn about before the crib, he thought it might look like that. However, his mother would have looked like she had simply fallen down during an earthquake or hurricane, a simple death for an elegant woman, this was violent and bloody.

This was personal.

What did he mean, us?