Hello everybody, I hope you enjoy my latest story! I've got the next few chapters written already so they'll be up very soon. Please do drop a review with your thoughts. If you'd ever like me to return the favour let me know and I shall!

The day starts

"I wish it could stay like this forever"
He agreed. She lay curled up in his arms, their faces inches apart. He wanted to count every freckle, memorize the blush in her cheeks, remember forever the way her brown eyes looked at him as if they were the only people in the whole world. He never wanted to forget the feel of her against him. The softness of her skin, the awkward sharpness of her joints, even the dry skin on her feet. He wrapped his hands around her brown curls as if they were rings on his fingers. He closed his eyes as she too ran her hands through his hair. He loved it when she did that. That small comfort made him feel instantly at peace no matter the difficulties they were facing. There was something so primal about that touch that soothed his soul. To soothe her he would gently stoke the bridge of her nose and eyes would follow that touch until they grew heavy and she slept. In a time of nightmares and fear, this was their small routine that allowed them to go to sleep.
In the days he loved to hear her laugh. She didn't muffle it behind her hands as he knew some girls did. Nor would she blush if she snorted or cackled. She would laugh for everyone to hear and it was infectious. Then there was the singing. Quietly under her breath as she prepared the food or set up the security spells. A little hum as they went foraging. Occasionally she'd forget she shared the tent and would sing in the shower as if it were Wembley Stadium. He liked to surprise her by joining in on the chorus. They were happy songs, love songs, modern songs and old songs. They were never sad songs.
"What are you thinking about?" She breathed.
He took her hand and kissed her fingers. "You." He said honestly. "And how I want us to stay like this forever."
She looked at him sadly. "But we can't." Already she started to sound further away. "You know that. It's time to wake up soon."
The familiar pang in his chest. "Five more minutes."
"You haven't got time. You must wake up."
"Please-"

"Wake up."
The alarm clock shrieked into life and Harry Potter woke with a start.

Harry Potter was unusual in many ways. One way was that he had always been an early riser. It was a trick that he'd learned from life at the Dursley's. Wake up early and you can sneak downstairs to snack in the kitchen. Never take enough food to arouse suspicion, but by waking up a few hours early you could have a fairly decent feast. The growing boy Dudley would end up taking most of the blame.
It was quieter in the mornings too. It gave him time to be alone with his thoughts. As a child he would have pretend conversations with his imaginary parents. As a teenager he would continue the homework he'd fallen asleep doing the night before. As an adult he would start the arduous work of preparing for a new day.

The shower was cold. He'd forgotten to pay for hot water again. Not that he cared. Even though the water was like ice against his skin it did a good job of waking him up. It helped him see clearly. It reminded him of what life was like. As he dressed he flicked on the tv, a comfort he'd kept from his muggle days. Not that he ever really watched it. The people on the screen were his background noise. They kept him company, even if he never listened to the things they said.

A dozen takeaway boxes littered the kitchen surface. Harry made a mental note to remind himself to pretend to do something about that later. But not now. Throwing a cloak around his shoulders he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
Most wizards apparated or used Floo Powder but Harry liked the run before work. He'd always held a nervous energy and an early morning run helped him control it. But he had to leave early enough to stop himself being mobbed by the paparazzi. Luckily they'd not twigged the ungodly hour he left the house or, if they had, they'd decided that their own sleep was more important to them.

Another reason Harry liked to get to work early was to sort out the mountains of hate mail that arrived promptly at his desk at 7 o'clock every morning. Howlers were the most common and if he left it too long he'd come into work to find his office on fire. Plus there were often parcels. They often needed to be disposed of fairly quickly. It hadn't always been that way. After the war he was lauded a hero and was sent mountains of gifts every day. Books were written about him, celebrating his success. There was even talk of a musical. People would stop him in the street and ask for a picture. Children asked him to sign their broomstick handles. But then the first lawsuit came.

Mr Letch, 45, argues that had it not been for Mr Potter's foolish decision to head into a building filled with minors and put everyone at risk, his son would still be alive. Mr Potter's reckless actions did not take into account the dangers others, including underage students, would face. Had a proper plan been implemented, many would still be alive.

The article Rita Skeeter had written for the Daily Prophet had burned into his skull. Filled with guilt and shame he had paid Mr Letch 10,000 galleons as compensation. Barry Letch was not a name he had heard of during his time at Hogwarts but he would have passed the Ravenclaw on the stairs or in the Great Hall. He released a statement along with the money to apologise to the family and to anyone else who had been affected by him.
That is where it began to snowball. Soon everyone knew that Harry Potter would part with money if you found something to blame him for. It started off just with the families of those who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. Then it escalated. If you were related to anyone who died at the hands of Voldemort or a Death Eater you could make a claim. Then the families of Death Eaters began to make their claims. Before he knew it, nearly every family in Wizarding Britain had approached him for money. Which he paid every single time.
There were seven howlers today, an improvement on yesterday. He listened to them all patiently and wrote down the names along with their bank details. An envelope seeping with dragon dung went straight in the bin. When he opened a card a stinging jinx shot him in the face while a cartoon Voldemort grinned. 'Fuck you, Potter' was written in a childish scrawl. Technically he could report it and the poster would find themselves in court. But Harry knew if he reported every piece of hate mail, soon everyone would be in Azkaban. Even people he'd once considered to be his friends sent it.

Harry had just finished clearing his desk ready to start the day when his manager came in with a lump of paperwork. The sound of it hitting the desk made his chest tighten.

"Have these filed within ten minutes." He sneered. "Or I'll dock your wages."
Finneas Dipow had been one of many to bring a lawsuit against Harry. But he was one of the few who insisted it be brought to court. Harry could still remember sitting there as the bulbous nosed idiot prattled on and on about an ancient family heirloom that had been damaged by a Death Eater who was searching for Harry. He'd paid the fine but Dipow still continued to do whatever he could to make Harry's life a living hell.

"Yes sir."

Dipow bit the inside of his cheek. Harry could see the longing in his eyes to see if he could do anything further to provoke. But Harry would not rise to it as he once had. It was too tiring. When Diplow eventually flounced away, Harry picked up the documents and began to leaf through them.
This is not what he'd expected his Auror career to be like. He'd passed his exams with flying colours and was noted to be one of the most promising new talents. But due to all the lawsuits and Diplow's obsessive hatred of him, Harry had spent his career cooped up in an office while those junior to him got to go out and do what he should be doing. Afterwards he would write up their adventures, trying not to seethe with envy.
At lunchtime Kingsley Shacklebolt poked his head round the door. The Minister would pop in from time to time under the guise of asking Harry to do something or even to borrow a quill. But Harry knew when he was being checked up on.

"Have you sorted the – ah" Kingsley smiled as Harry handed him the Rosier file. "I knew I could count on you. You heading off for lunch yet?"

Harry gestured to the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. "I think today needs to be a working lunch."
Kingsley gave him a knowing smile as he perched on the small free space on the desk. "Harry, when's the last time you didn't work through lunch?" He asked gently.
"It's fine." He knew the man was well meaning, one of many in his life who was keen to act as a father figure, but at times it could feel grating. "I prefer it. Being kept busy."
Kingsley seemed to accept his explanation but did not leave, instead choosing to rifle through the documents. He whistled. "Dipow has you doing all of this? Harry, I need to have a word with that man. We have people to do this. No wonder the apprentices are twiddling their thumbs. You should be out on the field!"

"You're telling me." He muttered.

The Minister looked like he was about to say something, but then he caught sight of the ashes of the howlers in the bin.
"More hate mail?" He crossed over to the bin and began to sift through its contents, his smooth face turning into a frown. "Harry, I told you to report this stuff. You shouldn't have to put up with this."
"Yeah, well I do." Harry knew he was being rude, but he was too tired to care. "I do have to put up with it. So I will."
Kingsley tutted as he sifted through the letters that hadn't exploded after reading, the ones more keen on grabbing payment from him. "Are you still paying these people?"
When Harry didn't answer him he asked again.
"Yes!" It burst out in frustration. "It's none of your business."
"It is my business when the public are bleeding my best auror dry." Kingsley had lost the reassuring smile. He leaned over the desk, his face firm. "I mean it, Harry. I knew your parents. They worked hard for that money to give you a good life. It's not for greedy people out to make a claim. No more paying people. Voldemort has been dead for five years. Anyone who is still coming forward is a liar or a chancer. Okay?"

Deep inside the old Harry was fighting to agree with him. But the Harry he was now felt laden down with the world. He felt like he was carrying a dozen sacks filled with guilt and grief. Every time he paid someone he could put a sack down.

"And then three more appear." Kingsley didn't apologise for breaking into Harry's thoughts. "I'm allowed to worry about you. I promised Dumbledore I would look out for you and I am a man of my word, but I feel like I am failing you at the moment. You're the boy who lived, Harry. But you're not living. You're behaving like the man who died."

Thank you for reading!