A/N: I desperately needed a creative outlet in just a total comfort fic. Hope this spices up the last gasp of lockdown for my fellow brits.
Eric Chapman had his feet up on the desk, chair tipped precariously backwards as he buried his nose in the Society section of The Wizard's Voice. His sausage-like fingers wrinkled the edges of the newspaper as he scanned the latest rumours of cheating and scandal in Wizarding Hollywood, tutting occasionally at these 'no good celebrities' even as his own magi-cell lit up with a message from his mistress about their weekly rendezvous. When a wizard suddenly materialised from thin air and crashed haphazardly in front of him, Eric jumped so violently his chair threatened to upend him onto the floor behind, before forcefully righting itself as it hit the limits of the safety charm Eric had learned to cast the hard way. He hastily banished his newspaper to the break room and tipped forwards to read the arrival documents in front of him.
"Welcome to the United States of America, please state your name and business, and present your passport. Place your left index finger on the scanner provided and...say, whatcha doing down there?"
Harry Potter was currently fighting to disentangle himself from his Auror robes so that he could right himself from the floor of the New Orleans portkey arrival dock. The experience of unintentionally sitting on the floor, staring up into the ruddy face of a man wearing a blue official's cap was uncomfortably familiar.
"I didn't do it on purpose, did I?" He snapped irritably. International portkey travel really didn't agree with him; he had yet to even master landing on his feet during domestic spatial relocation.
"Alright, no need to get snippy" the official in front of him sniffed, and Harry immediately arranged his face to look contrite, lest he find himself with a Probity Probe shoved in places he'd really rather not contemplate. American portkey officials weren't exactly known for their patience and good humour, and this man bore an alarming resemblance to Uncle Vernon.
Clambering to his feet, Harry pulled his passport from his pocket, laying it down on the desk along with his statement of transfer from the Auror department, and placed his finger on the scanner before him. The scanner happily trilled out "Harry Potter, involuntary reassignment" making Harry scowl spectacularly, and the official in front of him stamped his passport with a look of supreme uninterest, already summoning his newspaper back from the tiny room behind him.
"Like I said, welcome to the States, Mr Potter. Hope you have a pleasant stay." And with that, Harry was dismissed from the desk with a lazy wave of the man's hand.
Harry stomped from the arrivals dock, his foul mood at his less-than-graceful landing not improved by the revelation that Robards was indeed correct about his lack of reputation stateside. Not that he wanted to be recognised, just that this whole relocation debacle hadn't been his own idea to begin with, and it would have given Harry at least a little vindictive pleasure to be able to return to England post haste with a 'ha! I told you so' ready on his tongue. No such luck, it would seem.
Instead, Harry continued on to find himself met at the exit by a burly figure with a frighteningly impressive moustache, his MACUSA Auror robes immaculate in comparison to Harry's rumpled uniform.
"Auror Potter" the wizard barked out, shaking Harry's hand with two efficient pumps that had the English wizard subtly flexing his fingers to regain feeling. "Auror Zachary Benjamin, pleasure to meet you."
"Pleasure, Auror Benjamin."
"Bah, let's dispense of the formalities right off, Harry. Call me Zach, I'll be your contact while you're stateside."
Harry grinned up at the burly Auror, who was regarding him with open warmth Harry was unused to seeing on the faces of his British colleagues. His new contact had a gruff edge that immediately reminded Harry of Alastor Moody, with an element of steel in his eyes that showed this was not a man to be trifled with.
"Then it's even more of a pleasure, Zach" Harry said, clapping Zach on the back as they turned to head away from the portkey office.
"First things first, we have a very important order of business" Zach growled out, seriously. "I dunno about you but international travel makes me right hungry, let me show you my favourite spot for breakfast around here."
"Fuck, Zach. I don't know you yet, but I'm pretty sure you and I are going to be best friends" Harry laughed, trailing after his culinary tour guide as his stomach gave a resounding rumble.
Breakfast turned out to be a particularly moan-worthy plate of pain perdu in a nearby diner. Harry barely made eye contact with the pretty dark-haired waitress who placed the order down in front of him, he was already salivating like Ron Weasley at a Sorting Feast.
"Alright, brit, hand over your cash and don't stiff the lady her tip" Zach nudged at him good naturedly, content to sit with a strong cup of black coffee and laugh at the new boy's intense enthusiasm for sweet breakfast foods.
Harry moaned around his first mouthful, eyes closed dramatically in pleasure, and he threw down far too many notes on the bill at the end of the table. He grinned sheepishly at the returning waitress.
"Keep the change, thank you."
The waitress beamed at him.
"Visiting from the UK?" She asked as she scooped the notes into the front pocket of her apron.
"Ah - here for the foreseeable" Harry replied with an unimpressed wrinkle of his nose. "Although I might start feeling less bitter about it if all the food is this good."
The waitress laughed and turned away with a reminder to call her over if they wanted any top ups. "You enjoy now, I'll pass on your compliments to Chef."
When Harry had eaten his fill, and revived himself from his early morning start with at least one full cup of coffee, he waved for a quick refill and then sat back to look at his new companion.
"So, Zach. What exactly have I been roped into to stop me twiddling my thumbs in London" he asked, with more than a little resentment colouring his tone.
Post war life in England had been both nothing like he had thought, and yet everything like he had feared. The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice couldn't step foot out of his front door without his every move splashed across the morning's tabloids. Adults who had hid and allowed a teenager to take on the burden of facing the most powerful wizard in the world, lauded him as if medals and statues would help him forgive them their cowardice. Harry had no time to grieve, a fractured public demanding still more from him. Attendance at this event, a statement for that cause. He was pulled and pulled in all directions until he felt so stretched and constricted that he could barely breathe. Frequent nightmares, a bone-deep exhaustion that no sleep could abate, an inability to concentrate on the thread of conversations around him; Hermione and Ron had gently nudged him in the direction of a mind healer, and intercepted as many demands as they could.
'You've given them enough, Harry' Hermione had said, sadly.
'You've given them bloody everything' was Ron's growl of agreement.
And then came the offer of employment. A place in the Auror ranks, a fast track through the training Academy. Harry grasped at the first sign of a purpose, of moving forward, of retracing some of his father's footsteps.
'Consider your motivations for taking this path, Harry' his mind healer had urged. 'You do not have to live your life in honour of the dead, you don't have to find another fight.'
But that was too difficult a message to listen to right now, and progress with mind healing was a journey with many setbacks, not a linear progression.
'I'm not joining you, mate. I'm going to help George in the shop. Don't you think you've had enough danger for one lifetime?' The sting of betrayal from his best friend who was abandoning him once again.
Still, it seemed in the end that none of Harry's nearest and dearest need have worried about him being placed in harm's way once again for the Wizarding World. Harry couldn't shake off the unwanted attention even in the field: puffs of smoke from magical cameras giving away Harry's stakeout positions; patrols interrupted by groups begging for autographs or 'just one exclusive comment, Mr Potter'. Head Auror Gawain Robards had grown increasingly frustrated at the circus running around his newest recruit, though not nearly as frustrated as Harry, who was feeling increasingly unmoored by long gaps between missions and a lack of control and responsibility.
It all came to a head when Harry joined a team ambushing an illegal potions ring, aiming to capture a brewer who had put several misadventuring teenagers into St Mungos. The photographer for the Daily Prophet, merlin knows how they always knew where Harry was, caused a scene before the brewer could be apprehended. The headline the next day outlining Harry's mission failure had come with a picture of the young Auror stalking towards the cameraman with a frankly murderous expression on his face, and Harry had spent a week miserably hunched behind his desk going through paperwork and trying to ignore the loud voice in his head calling him a waste of space, a failure, a freak.
All in all, Robards was probably justified in this decision to transfer Harry to a country less enamoured with his every move. Harry had reflected bitterly on more than one occasion that he could have simply been fired instead.
'You've got potential, kid' Robards had said, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. 'They're wasting it for you. You're wasted here. Go, learn, get out from behind an investigation desk safely. I can't offer you that here anymore.'
The smell of a fresh cup of coffee pushed back into his waiting hands jerked him from his musings, just as Zach pulled a file from his robes and pushed it across the table.
"Mystic Falls, Virginia" Zach said as Harry opened the file and scanned the summary. "A thorn in the side of MACUSA. The magical population seems to become a law unto itself, and that's without the issue of Scourers in the Town Council."
"Scourers?"
"Descendants from witch hunters, in a way, but worse because they were descended from witches and wizards who sold our their own for personal gain. Bounties, property disputes, you get it. A lot of money to be made when people are so scared that it only takes a whisper in the right ear to turn a town's suspicion into a well-sharpened weapon."
Harry nodded slowly, a frown creasing between his brows.
"After the Salem Trials, a lot of Scourers faded into the no-maj world. Most were content to just enjoy the spoils of their vendettas. They turned their back on magic, and the magical world, or the magical world turned its back on them. Mystic Falls is a rare case. There's a secret council run by descendants of families who founded the little town, and they're well aware of magic around them. They know about witches, they know about vampires, they know about werewolves. From what we can tell so far, they clearly have detailed documented knowledge from a Scourer who settled into the town. What we can't tell, is whether that role has been maintained within the council."
"An entire town of no-majs with secretive knowledge of the magical world, I can see why that's a concern."
"Mmm, exactly" Zach hummed. "The town is based on an intersection of leylines, magical creatures from all over find themselves attracted there. In a town with a population of less than 10,000, you can imagine how quickly that becomes conspicuous. There's at least vampires, witches, and werewolves in permanent residence, and the Council remain mighty suspicious."
"The Statute of Secrecy must be stretched to breaking point" Harry mused.
Zach nodded at him, pleased.
"So, where do I come in then?"
"To start with, we at least need thorough reconnaissance. We need to understand the politics of the local factions of magical creatures, and we need to find out more about the Council. If you're up for it, we're hoping we can install you in the town. You'd report to me once a week via floo."
Zach grinned as he watched Harry's eyes light up with interest.
"It's going to be a long term mission. Reconnaissance first, and then we plan. You up for it, kid?"
"Fuck yes" breathed Harry, startling a chuckle out of his new partner. "Sorry, I am just so ready to be busy."
Zach nodded approvingly. "You can keep your name, you might have noticed it doesn't trigger stalker tendencies this side of the Atlantic" he teased, making Harry pout. "We can get you settled into a house, they're big over here and you don't share walls with neighbours, so plenty of privacy at home if needed."
"Something bright, maybe with a garden?" Harry asked hopefully, thinking with a shiver of the dank walls of Grimmauld Place that he had left behind in London. Zach shrugged and made a note.
"Now, the majority of magical activity seems to be centred around the local high school" Zach said, his face taking on an alarmingly shark-like grin. "How exactly would you feel about enrolling as a high school senior?"
'Oh' thought Harry, 'alarming indeed'.