The victim laid sprawled face up on the ground, right arm outstretched to her side as if reaching for something, her head turned in the same direction. What she had been reaching for was clear: her wand laid several feet out of her reach, sticking tauntingly halfway out from under a dresser, so close and yet it might as well have been miles away.

Harry sighed quietly from where he knelt next to the body, and continued his initial look over the scene.

The dead woman was covered in blood, the substance pooled beneath her and sprayed against the nearby dresser and wall. It was difficult to tell exactly how many injuries she had sustained simply due to the number of them, but the deep and jagged gash across her throat was starkly and gruesomely visible. That was unusual for many reasons, but foremost of which being that Death Eaters—and most dark wizards in general—preferred the hands-off approach, and while some spells could do something like this, they were typically considered distasteful. Inelegant. Too close to how muggles might kill.

Could a muggle have done this? Or a muggle-born wizard, maybe? Harry hoped not; the last thing anyone needed right now was an incident that might incite anti-muggle or anti-muggleborn sentiments. The tensions in wizard society were always there when it came to opinions on muggles and muggleborns, and with it having only been three years since Voldemort's defeat there were many who still felt emboldened in their prejudices. And there were also the remaining Death Eaters, many of which were still at large despite the efforts to bring them to justice.

Harry pushed those fears aside for now, though; worrying about the greater societal issues wasn't his job, and it wouldn't help right now. He needed to be objective, consider the evidence, and track down whoever was responsible for this. The social aspect of everything was Hermione's area, and he didn't envy her position.

He returned his focus to the body, frowning at the wounds and willing them to tell him something he hadn't already noticed, but the faint sound of motion outside the door caught his attention. He rose to his feet, not exactly alarmed—his partner was supposed to be on the way to join him—but at the ready all the same, still and silent as the doorknob turned.

But, as expected, it was just Parvati Patil.

After Voldemort's defeat, Kingsley Shacklebolt—the then-interim Minister for Magic—had made an offer to all veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts: anyone who had participated was eligible to become an auror, regardless of their grades. After taking some time to consider it, Harry had accepted, but he'd been a little surprised by just how many of his classmates had ended up making the same choice as well.

Ron, Neville, the Patil twins, and a few others had all also accepted the offer, and together with the other aurors who had survived the war they worked to track down former Death Eaters and other Voldemort supporters. For the first two years after the war Harry and Ron had been partners, but then Ron had retired to help George run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes; afterward, Neville and Harry had worked together. But now Neville had also left the job, retiring just a few months earlier to train in assisting Professor Sprout in teaching herbology at Hogwarts.

So now Harry's current partner was Parvati, and although she wasn't someone who would've come to mind as a choice had he been asked, Harry had still been relieved to be paired with someone he knew and liked. Harry and Parvati had known each other ever since their first years at Hogwarts, had attended the Yule Ball together (Parvati, thankfully jokingly, had never let Harry forget about how badly it had gone), had been part of Dumbledore's Army together, and had fought together during the Battle of Hogwarts. She was brave and loyal, and while Harry never considered her a close friend, he felt at ease with and trusted her.

He also knew her well enough that her reaction to seeing the scene surprised him. Parvati, normally steadfast and fearless, had stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the scene before her with hollow eyes.

"Yeah, it's a little… Gruesome." Harry said, glancing at the body and then pack to Parvati, but his tone was hesitant; sure, he hadn't seen anything quite like this on the job before and presumed she probably hadn't as well, but he doubted that was the actual issue. They'd both seen death before, violent and otherwise, and some blood wasn't likely to rattle either of them in itself.

It therefore wasn't a surprise when she shook her head mutely at his words, but she stepped fully into the room and crossed the distance to reach Harry's side, kneeling next to the body just as he had been before. She studied it for only a moment before reaching out slowly toward the dead woman's chest, though she stopped short of touching her, her hand hovering over the body.

"Harry, did you see…?" Parvati asked, and Harry was about to ask her what she was talking about when Parvati spread her fingers as far as she could, then curled them into claws. And Harry suddenly understood, right before Parvati mimed the motion of a slash.

"Claw marks." He said, realization dawning. "And her throat—"

"Teeth." Parvati confirmed, tearing her gaze from the body to look over her shoulder and back up at him. "It's him. It has to be."

Harry knew, of course, who she was talking about, and he could've told her that they can't just jump to that conclusion. They didn't have enough evidence, it could still be anyone, they had to keep an open mind.

But he didn't say that, because he knew just as certainly as Parvati did that she was right.

Although, as Harry had thought about earlier, Death Eaters and dark wizards usually preferred a hands-off approach, there were exceptions. Fenrir Greyback was very distinctly one of them.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Greyback—along with many surviving Death Eaters and their allies—had been sent to Azkaban, but the Ministry had been in utter shambles and the dementors had abandoned Azkaban and Ministry control entirely. It took some time before the Ministry could be built up again and even longer before Azkaban was truly equipped to handle prisoners, and that had allowed many of those initially arrested after the Battle to escape within months. Aurors, including Harry and his former classmates, had been tracking them down, but although they had successfully recaptured some of them others were still on the run. Greyback was among those still free.

So instead of disagreeing with Parvati's assessment Harry nodded, frowning down at the body but not really seeing it, lost in thought. "Okay. Yeah. This does seem like his work." Horrifying, and personal, and violent. "If it was, he's not very subtle, so I'm going to ask the neighbors if they saw or heard anything. But in case he's still around…"

"I'll stay on guard." Parvati assured him, though her gaze had turned back toward the body as well. "Have you had a chance to look around the room yet?"

"Not really. Do you want to handle that?"

"Sure, I've got it."

Harry gave her another nod, making his way to the door and then hesitating next to it for a moment. But Parvati seemed like she had this under control, and probably wanted a moment to herself anyway, so Harry finally stepped out the door and then the apartment.

The small street was quiet and deserted, devoid of any people despite the daylight hours, but that in itself wasn't terribly unusual; the area in general was quiet, with mostly older wizards living there, and many stayed inside most of the time. It was known as a peaceful enough place, and that worked in Harry's favor as it increased the chance that someone might've taken note of any odd noises or sights. Hopefully he could find someone who would be able to tell him something.

Harry tried the immediate neighbors first, each being elderly witches in retirement, and both told him similar stories; they'd heard a little commotion in the night, but it didn't sound violent or like anything to worry about. They had both peeked out their curtains in search of anyone suspicious and hadn't seen anyone, although neither had watched for very long and admitted they easily could've missed someone coming or going.

Unfortunately, none of that was very helpful in either confirming or refuting Harry and Parvati's suspicions, or even adding anything to their knowledge of the situation. Harry couldn't help but feel an intense flash of frustration at that, having been expecting to get something—as he'd said to Parvati, Greyback wasn't the most subtle person in the world—and so he needed a moment or two to compose himself before he continued talking to other neighbors. Taking a look around seemed like the best use of his time, and so he turned his attention to the alleyway behind the victim's apartment.

The alley was just as quiet as the street, narrow and shadowed, dead leaves and a small amount of trash scattered about on the cobblestones. Harry took a cautious step into the shadowed passage, glancing around for anything of interest, but the first thing to draw his attention was a leaf caught in a small gust of wind. The leaf skittered across the ground and swirled briefly in the air before it settled down a few feet further into the alley, and as Harry tracked its motion, he noticed something about where it had come to rest.

At first it seemed to be just dirt or grime on the stones, but as Harry moved closer he realized it was something else; a footprint, or a part of one, was pressed onto the cobblestone in blood. The toe and the outer curve of a boot were distinctly visible, the blood dried and smudged at the edges but clearly recognizable, and Harry was careful to avoid touching it as he stepped up next to it.

The print was much larger than his shoe, and although that didn't narrow things down that much—Harry was somewhat small compared to most adult men—it clearly belonged to someone on the tall side, which fit Greyback. Unfortunately, it also fit most Death Eaters and any large men, and was therefore not particularly helpful.

He sighed in frustration and looked up from the footprint, glancing around to see if the blood had tracked anywhere else, and caught sight of a few more droplets further down the alleyway. Harry followed them, noticing another smudged print as he did so, similar to the first but much fainter; still, that was a clear indication of the path this person had taken, and also said that he'd chosen to leave on foot, at least for a short time, instead of disapparating immediately after the murder. Why?

The blood trail ended just beyond that with a few drops of blood and nothing more, still some distance from the end of the alley, which meant the suspect had either disapparated at this point or the hadn't had enough blood on him to continue the trail. The latter seemed unlikely considering the state of the crime scene itself, but the whole thing seemed strange to Harry and he was therefore concerned he was overlooking something, so it seemed best to go get Parvati. She'd want to see this evidence immediately anyway, and might notice something Harry hadn't.

With a last glance at the droplets and the end of alley, Harry turned around and came face to face with Voldemort.

Terror and shock both struck through Harry in an instant, warring for control and yet combining into the same end result. Harry's breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as if he'd been petrified, his eyes wide and staring into Voldemort's. Voldemort simply stared back, calm and serene, a small smile growing on his face as he spoke with fake fondness.

"It's been too long, Harry."

The moment was so surreal that Harry couldn't process it. The part of him that was always ready and always on guard was trying to move, to draw his wand and do something, but his body wouldn't respond; there was a part of him that couldn't accept that this was real, that this was happening, that this could be possible. It couldn't be possible. It couldn't.

Harry's vision was going dark around the edges, dimming Voldemort's growing smile, and he could only faintly see Voldemort's hand beginning to reach slowly for his forehead. Then, suddenly, there was the sound of something slamming, and it was as if the noise put reality back into place again; Harry opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the ground against the far wall of the alley. Voldemort was gone.

In Voldemort's place was Parvati, her eyes wide with concern as she stared down at Harry.

Harry realized then that he was no longer frozen in shock, and that instead he was beginning to shake violently. He tucked his arms against his chest and pulled his knees up to meet them, gasping in ragged breaths, vaguely aware that he had no idea how he'd ended up on the ground or against the wall of the alley, but he didn't care about any of that right now. At this point all that mattered was that it was Parvati standing there with him, not Voldemort. It hadn't been real. Voldemort was gone, and he was never coming back. It was over.

It had to be over.

"—ry? Harry?" Parvati's voice drew Harry's gaze back toward her again, and he saw that she'd kneeled down so she should reach out to touch him, her hands gripping his shoulders firmly but gently. "Harry, can you hear me? What happened? Were you attacked?" Her tone became more and more worried with each question and she whipped her gaze around the alley, but presumably found it deserted as she soon looked back at Harry once again.

"I… I…" Harry's voice was as shaky as his body, and he had to try a second time both to steady it and to just pull himself together enough to form words. "I wasn't attacked. It's okay. I-I'm…"

He was what? Fine? Or, alternatively, not fine? She wasn't going to buy the former, but was he really going to answer truthfully and explain what had happened?

Of course not. There was no need to. He'd imagined it, probably from lack of sleep and stress, two things that had been an issue for him his entire life and which certainly hadn't gone away upon entering into a dangerous career. Hallucinating from stress or exhaustion wasn't exactly a good thing, but it was something that could be fixed, and it made perfect sense. That was what happened.

It had to be.

"Harry?" Parvati asked again, drawing his attention once more. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"N-No. No. I'm okay, I just need a minute." Harry was finding his voice again, vision clearing more and more now that he'd caught his breath, though his body still shook and Parvati looked unconvinced by his assurances. Still, her grip on his shoulders loosened, and she rose to her feet with her wand in hand to check the alley again.

As she did so Harry managed to uncurl himself and began struggling to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall just in case his legs decided they couldn't hold him on their own, but felt more or less steady by the time Parvati returned. She studied him a moment and Harry forced a shaky smile that clearly didn't reassure her, but she at least seemed convinced that he wasn't badly hurt.

"I came out here because I heard you scream." She said after a moment, again glancing around as though there might still be someone lurking despite how many times she'd checked their surroundings, then fixed her gaze on Harry once more. "Harry, what happened?"

He didn't know how to answer that, and his attempts to convince himself it had just been a hallucination were suddenly crumbling. He didn't remember screaming, didn't know what happened between the time Parvati opened the door and when he came back to awareness on the ground, didn't know what was real. But he had to tell her something and it couldn't be that he saw Voldemort, but he wasn't sure if that was because he was afraid she wouldn't believe him, or because he was afraid she would.

"I… I must have passed out, or something. Maybe there was a lingering curse, or a trap; I was just going to go get you so you could look at—" The footprint. He stepped shakily past Parvati, unsure of what he'd see just behind her on the ground.

But there it was. The second of the two footprints remained just where he expected it to be, as did the first one a little before it. Parvati moved to inspect it herself, kneeling down for a closer look, but whatever she decided she did so quickly and without elaboration. Only a few seconds later and she was standing once more, grabbing Harry's arm gently but firmly and beginning to drag him toward the door before he could even start to protest.

"We're going back to the Ministry, and I'll gather a team to come out here and collect evidence. You're going to rest."

"I don't—I'm fine now, Parvati, it's—" Harry protested feebly, made even less convincing by the fact that she was half supporting and half dragging him with very little resistance on his part.

"I've known you half our lives, Harry, and you've always been a terrible liar." Parvati informed him, which Harry took a faint sense of offense at; he wasn't that bad of a liar, and although she was correct about the time they'd known each other, it wasn't as though they'd been particularly close. But as the adrenaline was fading, exhaustion and the hazy senses of dread and confusion were settling in, and so he found it difficult to muster up the strength or desire to argue with her.

Parvati led him back into the apartment, and then toward the living room and its fireplace. "You first. My office." She told him, letting go of him briefly to dig out a small bag of floo powder from her robes, then grabbing his hand and turning it palm up so she could pour some of the powder into it.

"I can do it myself." Harry informed her with what he thought passed for a suitably affronted tone, but Parvati ignored him and Harry in turn ignored the fact that his hands still shook badly enough that he had trouble holding the powder and certainly couldn't have poured it in the first place.

He stepped into the fireplace, threw down the powder, and despite his unsteadiness he was still very careful to speak clearly.

"Parvati Patil's office, the Ministry of Magic."

By the time Harry had finished filling Parvati in on what the neighbors had told him—and had also finished the tea and extremely sugary biscuits that had been shoved his way—he was feeling almost calm. The shaking had stopped, he felt mostly clear headed, and embarrassment was rapidly replacing the fear that had been so intense less than a half an hour before.

When Parvati finally told him to go back to his office and that she'd take over getting a team back out to the crime scene, he'd decided not to argue. As he made his way down the crowded halls he received a few looks of mild concern, but he'd managed to reassure them with a smile and a quick greeting, which he considered a success. Things were going back to normal, and everything was fine.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice was always instantly recognizable to Harry, and the fake smile he'd been using on passersby morphed into a genuine one upon seeing her heading his way down the hall. Hermione in turn was beaming at him, clearly delighted with whatever reason had prompted her to seek him out. "Harry, I'm glad you're back, you have a—" And then she stopped, the smile fading from her face in an instant, which Harry felt a sense of distinct regret at having caused. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you later." The answers were contradictory, but Harry was confident Hermione knew him more than well enough to understand what he actually meant.

And indeed she was quiet a moment, expression hesitant, but finally nodded and let the subject drop for the now in favor of the original reason she'd come looking for him. "You have a visitor. They're waiting in your office."

"Is it someone I want waiting in my office?" Harry made the weak joke as they began walking the rest of the way to his office, trying to both lighten the mood and lessen her concern, and Hermione obligingly rolled her eyes as she fell into step beside him.

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Care to take a guess?"

"No." He might've made an outlandish guess or two if he'd been feeling better, but now he was just mildly curious. Maybe one of their former classmates, such as Neville? It surely wasn't Ron or Hermione would've told him already, but it could be one of the other Weasleys; he hadn't seen any of them—Ron included—in a week, something that had become very unusual since the end of war.

In the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts, the wizarding world had been in chaos as the war had reduced both sides of the conflict to shambles, leadership structures gutted and people left with no clear direction or understanding of how to move forward. In some cases—such as in the Ministry—it wasn't even clear which side of the war any given individual had belonged to, and therefore who could be trusted. Although Kingsley, as interim Minister, had quickly managed to restore at least some sense of order, the situation had been incredibly tenuous.

The lives of so many had been completely overturned, homes destroyed and families broken, fragments of what used to be shattered into pieces that had to be slowly collected and reshaped into something new. Hermione, who had hoped to eventually find her parents and restore their memories, realized it was too dangerous to do so just yet and so was left with nowhere to go. Harry, who had never truly believed he would survive to see the end of the war at all, was similarly adrift in uncertainty and had no mental or emotional strength left to figure out what to do next.

McGonagall had told anyone present at the Battle of Hogwarts that they were welcome to live in the castle for a time, and Harry considered taking her up on it, but the Weasleys had immediately told both him and Hermione that they were coming home with them. There was no debate to be had, and neither Harry nor Hermione had wanted to protest anyway.

They had accompanied Ron and his family back to the Burrow the day after the Battle, and Harry had very little memory of his first two days the Weasley home; he'd been told he slept through most of it, but he couldn't differentiate what had been reality and what had been dreams. The next few days he did remember, albeit hazily, as he'd joined Hermione in helping the grieving family as much as possible, allowing them to mourn the loss of Fred without needing to worry about mundane chores and fielding well-meaning visitors. The two of them had split the housework—at least as much as Molly would allow, as she insisted upon doing some of it herself, declaring that she wouldn't have them acting like maids—and provided support in as many other ways that they could, unsure of what to do but desperately wanting to help.

The first week had seen the entire family crammed into the Burrow, including Bill, Charlie, and Percy, as well as Fleur, Harry, and Hermione, and it had been both chaotic and intensely somber. That week had also been one of so many, many funerals, Fred's among them, and there had been very few moments when there hadn't been at least one person in tears at any given time.

The week after, Fleur and the oldest three Weasley boys had been assured that although it was wonderful to have them around, they could return to their jobs without feeling as though they were abandoning their family in a time of need. They'd left shortly after, Percy first and then Bill and Fleur, then finally Charlie.

The house had been more quiet and more still after they left, but also much calmer with fewer people constantly around. It had given everyone remaining more time to breathe, to begin to process, and to try to figure out how and where to go from there. The remaining Weasleys were those who Harry had always been closest to, but with the exception of Ron he was no longer entirely sure how to relate to them. This was especially true when it came to George, who had been understandably despondent since the Battle, something Harry was entirely unused to seeing from him.

The twins had been such a constant in Harry's life for so long that he'd almost taken for granted that they'd always be around in some capacity or another. Even after they'd left Hogwarts Harry had seen them often, always there as surrogate older brother figures, jokingly poking fun at him one second and then steadfastly supporting him through his worst moments the next. Harry would never be able to repay Fred for everything he'd done, but he still had the chance to try to do so for George.

Harry remembered clearly how little the looks of pity and the well-meaning attempts to make him talk about his experiences had helped him after a loss, and so he took a different tactic. One day, in that somber third week, Harry had found George lurking listlessly in the kitchen and asked if he'd ever tried casting a spell with two wands at once.

And so had started a trade, of sorts, in which Harry had taken to teaching George some of the skills and tricks he'd learned while searching for Horcruxes, and George had returned the favor by patiently helping Harry improve his dismal nonverbal spellcasting abilities. Over the next few days of this they had been joined by Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, and all five had spent hours each day outside in the warmth of the summer sun, practicing their skills and learning from each other and appreciating that they ever had the chance to do so at all.

But while the bonds between all five deepened in many ways, another connection had dissolved, fading out as quietly and peacefully as a flickering candle.

Looking back, Harry was pretty sure that he and Ginny had fallen out of love simply because what they'd initially found so attractive about each other no longer existed. Ginny's spark hadn't gone out, and her strength hadn't diminished, but she had no longer seemed like the untouchable rock in the midst of a stormy ocean; she was devastated by the loss of her brother, by what she'd seen in the war, by the reality of the aftermath. And in turn, she had seen that Harry wasn't the resilient, courageous Chosen One; he was a shadow of his legend, lost in a world he'd been prepared to never see, something shattered in him that he didn't know if he'd ever be able to piece together.

The war had changed them both, had altered the paths ahead of them, and those paths no longer converged in the same way they had before.

But that was okay. One type of love wasn't stronger or more important than another, and although there had been a little awkwardness at first, Harry and Ginny had been able to make the transition back to a platonic relationship without too much difficulty, remaining close friends in the time since.

Harry and Hermione had ended up staying with the Weasley family for several months, until the start of the next term at Hogwarts. Any student who had been unable to attend the previous year for whatever reason, no matter whether they would've been first years, seventh years, or anywhere in between, had been given special permission to return to Hogwarts and have their individual circumstances evaluated in order to determine what would be best for their continued schooling. Harry had considered the offer, a part of him wanting desperately to return to the first place he'd truly considered home, but the thought of just going to classes as if nothing had happened caused his stomach to twist in anxiety. It felt wrong, like a life he no longer belonged to, and he eventually turned down the option in favor of accepting Kingsley's offer to become an auror.

Ron had also accepted Kingsley's offer, joking that a person would have to be mad to choose to go back to school if they didn't have to, which had earned him a slap on the arm from Hermione. She had, of course, chosen to go back and earn her N.E.W.T.s, determined to finish her education properly and have all options available to her for a future career.

In contrast to Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione had continued their relationship, albeit at a much slower pace than Harry thought they'd originally intended. Hermione's return to school had only slowed things further but they'd stuck it out, dating long-distance while Hermione was at school, and this last year they had finally moved in together.

They had invited Harry to stay with them, but he'd declined, wanting them to have a long-overdue chance to live together as a couple. Instead, he'd stayed with the Weasleys another month or so, then with George—who had moved out about a year after the Battle—for another month after that, before finally returning to 12 Grimmauld Place.

He'd been back a few times since he, Ron, and Hermione had stayed there while on the run, but never for particularly long. Once had been to officially free Kreacher, presenting the house-elf with Regulus' Slytherin scarf, which Harry had found in Regulus' old room after only a brief search; Kreacher had stared at the scarf in disbelief for several seconds before taking it as though it were the most precious of artifacts, and Harry had told him he'd always been welcome in the Black family home, but he was no longer tethered to it.

Another time Harry had returned had been for some records that he'd thought might be helpful in a particular case he'd been working, and another had been to find an old bottle of wine in the cellar that he could pass off as a decent gift during a social function he hadn't wanted to attend in the first place. Neither time had he seen Kreacher, but he had found a carefully wrapped and magically preserved tray of treacle tart set out neatly on the grand dining room table.

Now, despite having officially moved in, Harry still spent very little time at the house. He found it more convenient to just sleep at his office in the Ministry, with Ron and Hermione whenever they insisted that he stay with them, or with the Weasleys whenever Molly demanded he let her shove food in his direction. The latter two situations were common occurrences, but Harry had been busy this last week, and so hadn't see anyone in the Weasley family for what seemed like a long time now.

So he suspected it was one of them waiting to in his office, but didn't bother to actually guess. Instead he just listened to Hermione launch into a summary of the meeting she'd had earlier that day, which was something about a piece of legislature that sounded vaguely familiar but Harry absolutely could not have explained even if he life had been on the line, but that was okay; he knew she was just filling the silence, giving him something to be distracted with while not expecting anything from him. It was that sense of understanding that calmed Harry's nerves as much if not more than the distraction itself, allowing him to have mostly pulled himself back together by the time they reached his office door.

Hermione turned to face him, a small frown crossing her face again. "I need to get back to work, but please come find me after your meeting. I mean it, Harry." She said, her voice dropping to a softer but more urgent tone at her last statement, staring at him imploringly.

He nodded, managing another weak smile. "Yeah. I will. I promise." And he meant it, which he could tell by her reaction that she understood.

"You better." She told him, but she offered a smile of her own before turning to head down a hall that would take her back toward the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hermione had put her education and experience to good use immediately after graduating, advocating for the rights of non-human beings in the wizarding world, and although it was difficult to make progress in an area of such longstanding tradition and prejudice it was even more difficult to stop Hermione once she put her mind to something.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to gather some of his own determination, turning toward his office door. Judging by what Hermione had said, whoever was in there was probably not someone he needed to be too worried about looking extremely professional in front of, but he still thought it was best to be on the safe side and so made sure to project as much composure as possible as he finally opened the door.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, how can I—" And then Harry recognized his visitor, and although it had not been someone he might've expected, Hermione was right. He was indeed pleasantly surprised.

Minerva McGonagall was waiting patiently in the middle of the small room, elegant and composed as always, and she greeted Harry with a restrained but warm and genuine smile. "It's no trouble at all, Mr. Potter."

Harry shut the door behind him, stepping further into the room, and couldn't help but return her smile with one of his own. "It's good to see you, Professor. Would you like…" He hesitated, glancing around his office—did he actually have any tea to offer?—but before he could even try to figure that out, McGonagall spared him.

"That won't be necessary. I know you're busy, and you know I am as well, so I'll get to the point." She stated in her usual no-nonsense manner, something Harry always appreciated, and he nodded and turned his full attention toward her. "While preparing for the start of the school year, there have been report of sightings that have caused some concern. The centaurs believe there may be Death Eaters hiding in the Forbidden Forest."

That was… Certainly not anything Harry expected to hear, and he fixed McGonagall with a faintly incredulous expression. "That'd be stupid of any Death Eaters, wouldn't it? Why would they be hiding in the Forest?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Potter. But the centaurs are quite certain, and they have been correct before."

Harry remembered his first year, when he'd met Firenze deep in the woods, and had spoken to him about the entity seen drinking unicorn blood. He didn't doubt that the centaurs knew more about what lurked in the Forest than those at Hogwarts did, and so despite his hesitation to believe that Death Eaters might be choosing to hide there, he knew better than to discount the possibility. They had, after all, chosen the Forest for their base during the Battle of Hogwarts, so it wouldn't be an unprecedented move, just an incredibly strange one to make here and now.

Seemingly satisfied that Harry was on board, McGonagall continued. "With this possible threat at hand, we would like to increase security at Hogwarts, at least for the beginning of the year. And as it so happens, I am also in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry had, on occasion, been accused of being somewhat dense. Even he could accept that it was a fair accusation often enough, but this time he did put two and two together very quickly, realizing right away what McGonagall was saying without her needing to spell it out for him. But he didn't have the first idea how to react to it.

His first inclination was to refuse, to tell McGonagall that he'd be glad to arrange additional security or even provide it himself, but that he wasn't qualified to be a teacher. That she was giving him too much credit, that she had a belief that he was something he wasn't, that she was seeing a version of him that didn't exist.

But he also knew better than to say such a thing. McGonagall was not known for having false impressions of people, and if any adult in his life had ever seen him as he truly was rather than what they wanted from him, it was her.

So instead of protesting, he allowed himself to consider the possibility.

Teaching was something that had, occasionally, crossed Harry's mind. He'd never considered it as a real potential, focusing his energy and focus on his career as an auror, but the idea of teaching was still something that he'd liked the thought of. In the almost endless nightmare that had been his fifth year at Hogwarts, teaching the DA meetings had been a glimmer of light, and he held on fondly to those memories.

But the idea of actually being a professor, particularly at Hogwarts, seemed both daunting and too good to be true all at the same time. And although he couldn't deny that the offer was tempting, despite his insecurity about his own capabilities, he still had work to do here. He couldn't just abandon Parvati, especially not when they'd just started an investigation.

"You don't need to give me your answer immediately." McGonagall told him, clearly reading his expression and hesitation for what they were. "The term doesn't start for another two weeks. But if you could inform me of your decision within the next few days, I would appreciate it."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I can do that." Harry said hurriedly, realizing how long he'd been silent. "I appreciate the offer, about the job, and I'll think it. Really, I will. It's just, I have work here, and—"

"Kingsley has already assured me that if you choose to accept, your job here will be waiting for you. But I understand the need to think about your decision. Whatever you decide will not offend me." McGonagall assured him, her expression restrained as usual, but the warmth that still shone through her smile put Harry more at ease.

"Thank you, Professor. For the offer. And if I don't take it, I'll make sure someone is assigned to Hogwarts, just in case, though you do have Neville now." It was easy to forget, but Neville had been an auror as long as Harry had, and was very capable in his own right.

"Mr. Longbottom was actually the one to request additional help." McGonagall responded. "He is only one person, and while many of the staff are capable of defending students if need be, the possibility of multiple Death Eaters lurking in the woods has caused him some concern."

"Right. Yeah, it would." That made sense. Despite his boost in confidence the last several years, Neville was the cautious type, not as prone to overconfidence as many of his peers, Harry included. Of course he wouldn't want to take unnecessary chances when there were alternative options, and during the time he and Harry had worked together, Neville's thoughtfulness in that respect had saved them more than once.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned his gaze back to McGonagall, not realizing until he did so that he'd been staring blankly at the floor in thought, and found her watching him with a look of mild concern.

"Yeah. Yeah, just… Weird case this morning. That's all." It wasn't totally a lie—in fact it was pretty close to the truth—but Harry had the distinct impression that McGonagall was not particularly convinced by his assurances. She continued to study him a few moments, but then finally nodded.

"Well, I won't continue to distract you from dealing with it." McGonagall said, tone understanding rather than short. "Please let me know when you've made your decision, and in the meantime, Mr. Potter, take care of yourself." She stepped toward Harry and patted his shoulder gently, before letting herself out of the office and disappearing as the door swung closed after her.