III.

O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

- Shakespeare -

One of the first things Harry had had to re-learn, years after joining the Auror Office, was procedure.

While they were fighting the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry had done everything on the fly. He had been in charge of his own personal crusade against Voldemort. More than that, he had first been introduced to the adult world via the Order of the Phoenix - itself an unprofessional, clandestine, almost subversive organisation made of rebels and dissidents. And he had followed suit in creating his own group of rebels - Dumbledore's Army. And in the first two tumultuous years of his Auror career, while they had been massively short-handed, he had been allowed to do many things without going by the book.

That was not how the Auror Office normally worked, but Harry had only really appreciated the need for procedure when he himself came to have young Aurors as subordinates.

Step one: concealment.

To walk through Muggle London in the middle of a warm August weekday, wizards needed to blend into the crowds. For Harry it was simple; he took off his red Auror cloak, and he was ready. For some of his Aurors who usually went around in robes, they changed into a set of clothes as dictated by a Muggle Relations expert whose job it was to keep up with the trends - the poor chap everyone nicknamed 'the Fashion Patrol'. Around the terrace house in Tooting Bec, inside the towering office building in the heart of London, and out on the pavement around the stately Grade I-listed heritage townhouse nearby, wizards slipped through the Muggle populace and no-one was the wiser.

Step two: containment.

First, Harry waited for Susan Bones to confirm his three teams were in place, that they had eyes watching the target buildings and the undercover H.I.T. Wizards and Aurors were ready to take action in case everything blew up right there and then. Then, on his signal, they would put up Anti-Apparation Jinxes, Anti-Portkey Jinxes, and the Floo Office would cut the Network. An assortment of Muggle-Repelling Charms would turn Muggles' attention away from the target buildings, or make them suddenly need to be somewhere else.

The whole process was shot through with various dangers throughout - any one of a hundred things from someone botching a spell, to a Muggle police officer stopping an Auror for suspicious behaviour, to the suspects spotting one of them - but this was the moment when the danger levels went into the red. For if a Floo call was in progress and was cut off, or the suspects tried to Disapparate, that was when they would know the Aurors were closing in.

Outside Number 28 Queen Anne's Gate, Harry walked slowly but purposefully, pretending to have a serious business conversation on a Muggle cellphone. The Communication Charm that linked him to the Operations Room was not on the cellphone - it was on his Auror badge, in his pocket. Even in there, when he cast the spell, he could speak softly, and the other Aurors would hear him all the same. In some ways it was better than Muggle radio. "Control, are we ready?"

Susan's voice sounded loud and clear in his head. "All teams are ready."

"Okay, then we go in exactly…" Harry checked Fabian Prewett's watch, "...one minute from - mark."

Harry paced slowly past the house, counting to fifty, then turned casually on his heel. In his head, he heard Susan say "...three, two, one, go!"

And nothing happened.

"Hippogriff, done, no change."

"Chimaera, secured, everything seems normal."

"The Floo Office confirms all three addresses are hard-isolated."

And Harry heard Senior Auror Sean Savage say, "Phoenix, done. Nothing. Not a sign."

Both good news and bad news, thought Harry. He would almost have liked something to happen, if only to confirm that they were not on a triple wild goose chase. He said, "Okay, Potter to all teams, move in," and saw two of his Aurors immediately cross the street and walk up to the ornate front door of Number 28.

Step three: conversation.

On the basis of the mere suspicions they had, Harry's Aurors could only knock on the door of Osbert's house in Tooting and hope he (or someone else) answered, and patrol the many floors of the office building at 50 Broadway. On his authority as Head of Department, however, Harry could authorise a quiet entry of Number 28 Queen Anne's Gate, though if the Wizengamot - or Hermione, the Minister for Magic - reviewed the case and disagreed with his decision, he might be reprimanded or lose his job.

And wouldn't the Daily Prophet enjoy that, thought Harry.

But this was it, this was the place, Harry knew. All his instincts, all his many years of experience shouted it.

And all his instincts were confirmed when Oscar Osbert opened the door in answer to the Aurors' knock.

Had a Muggle answered the door, the Aurors had a number of approved contingencies, such as pretending to be real estate agents, or tourists. This time, because they recognised him, one of the Aurors said crisply, "Oscar Osbert? We're from the Auror Office."

Osbert's hands were empty, the man unsuspecting, Harry saw. Which was why he too was shocked to hear the blast of spellfire and see both Aurors thrown across the street to crash into the railings lining the pavement.

"AURORS HEXED!" screamed Harry, whipping out his own wand as Osbert disappeared back into the entrance hall. "Osbert's here, at Number 28, and possible accomplices! Susan, get me backup; Phoenix, move in, go go go!"

Harry ran to where his Aurors were slumped on the ground. Both out cold. He swept his wand over them, concentrated and said: "Renervate!"

They groaned and stirred limply. Harry looked around, and did a Summoning Charm. Two wands flew towards him from where they had fallen in the street. "Are you alright?" he asked urgently. "How bad is it?"

One of them rolled onto her hands and knees, then accepted his helping hand up. She leaned against the railings and vomited. Spitting and wiping her mouth, she replied, "Better. Some kind of Stunning and Vertigo jinx…"

"Could've been worse," said Harry harshly. It could have been the Killing Curse. Osbert's friend doesn't want to kill? After murdering three Muggles? He handed her the wands. "Can you watch the front while backup arrives?"

"Yes..."

Harry turned back towards the front stoop of the house, with its ornate carved wooden canopy over the door. The blood thumped in head and his chest felt taut, almost painful with excitement. Finally, his choices were simple and familiar.

Step whatever: confrontation.

Harry entered the house with his wand pointing ahead. The oak-panelled entrance hall was brightly-lit, meticulously-maintained, and generally oozed wealth and history. On this floor there was a cloakroom, dining room and toilet, all richly decorated, all empty; Harry checked them all quickly but cautiously, expecting a spell to come his way at any moment. The dining room looked out onto St James's Park and the back garden; as Harry looked out the full-length windows he saw two Aurors come up the garden staircase.

"Garden floor is clear, sir," said the one leading. "Savage is watching the back and coordinating backup. Indra's team is on the roof, they'll be entering from the balcony and clearing from Fourth."

"Ground floor is clear," said Harry. "Tolliver's down out front, Whitehorn's groggy but she can keep an eye on that end. First floor, hurry." The words You lead, Jason were on the tip of his tongue, but… well, Harry Potter had never been one to lead from the rear, so he turned matter-of-factly and headed up the stairs, pretending not to notice Jason McKinnon's start of surprise at this breach in procedure.

Heads of Department aren't really supposed to take the lead in a raid.

Up the beautiful oak staircase, at least a hundred years old. Like many London townhouses including Harry's own much more modest home in Grimmauld Place, the first floor had a study and a drawing room. The study was empty but littered with parchment, quills, and jars and containers of what Harry recognised as potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the fireplace, smoking. He noted the contents of the room, then moved on.

He found Oscar Osbert in the drawing room.

Entering the room, Harry caught just a glimpse of the wizard, saw the motion of Osbert's hands, and immediately put up a Shield Charm while hurriedly backpedalling behind the jamb. Flash of spellfire, and a chunk of the lintel shattered overhead. Behind him, Jason McKinnon swore.

"Oh stop that, Osbert," shouted Harry, "you're cornered, there's nowhere you can go!"

"Burn in hell, Potter!" screamed Osbert, ducking behind a sofa.

That's what they always say. Harry blocked another spell, took aim, and exploded the beautiful leather sofa behind which Osbert had taken cover. Dust, splinters and scraps of stuffing burst everywhere; there was a loud grunt, then silence.

From upstairs came the sound of more shouting, spellfire, and a high-pitched scream, a woman's scream.

"Go check that out, Jason. Be careful," said Harry, meaning don't be accidentally cursed by the Auror team upstairs.

"Got it, Harry."

Suddenly Harry felt exhausted, short of breath even, as if he had been running a marathon. He shook off the feeling, and moved into the debris-littered drawing room to check on Osbert. From the windows - blasted open by the force of his spell, and now completely glass-free - he heard the shouts of more Aurors running up from the back garden. Backup had arrived. Upstairs, the spellfire had stopped, and he could hear Senior Auror Indra Kaur's voice echoing down the stairwell as she rapped out commands.

Sounds like it's over.

Harry reached into his pocket for his Auror badge, clipped it to his shirt pocket, and activated its built-in Communication Charm. "Control, this is Potter."

"Harry!" It was Susan. "Where are you?! I've sent most of the Reaction Squad over to Queen Anne's Gate, it's all quiet on Broadway and in Tooting, and…"

"I'm in the first floor drawing room of Number 28. Osbert's knocked out. Well done, Susan, well done."

"Stay put with him then, please," said Susan curtly, her annoyance obvious.

I'm going to have to make it up to her later. Harry suppressed a chuckle, and started looking around. But not right now. He hadn't felt this alive in ages.

Like the study, the drawing room too was filled with potions ingredients and equipment. By the fireplace was a turned-over cauldron, and a small drift of spilled Floo powder. Harry recognised a sack of Sopophorous beans. Beside Osbert's unconscious body, near his outflung hand, lay a large mason jar with a curiously heavy and ornate lid, heavy dark smoke swirling and roiling inside. Harry crouched down to get a closer look.

Two things happened simultaneously - Harry saw that the top of the jar was covered with some kind of wrought silver clockwork device, ticking quietly; from amidst the smoke inside the jar, a blossom of flame licked up against the glass. Inside the flames, a pair of fiery eyes took shape - and blinked.

Oh, fuck!

Harry reacted immediately, pointing his wand and barking, "Impello!"

The jar flew across the room, but in mid-air it gouted fire and smoke, orange and black and scorching hot. Even before the jar landed in the corner and shattered, the fireball burst forth with a whoomph and filled the room, laying paws of consuming flame on carpet, furniture, wallpaper, everything.

The blast flung Harry down on top of Osbert's body. As he reflexively threw up his left arm, he glimpsed the grinning vulpine face of the Fyrefiend, just before it opened its flaming jaws to swallow him, even as he shouted hoarsely through the choking smoke: "Protego amiantos!"

Ginny Potter, as she stepped out of the reception Floo in St Mungo's, was quiet and calm.

Ever since her disastrous first year at Hogwarts, Ginny had had a recurring nightmare. In it, chickens shrieked like terrified children, before cutting off one by one in choking gurgles as a small pale hand strangled them silent. Of course, she knew what that was all about, but it still shook her even now, as do all nightmares spun from a little thread of truth deep inside them. She had learned, over the years, to lock up the screaming echoes of the dream in a box in her head, and go back to sleep.

Right now, inside her head, it was Ginny who was screaming… but she had it all locked up tight in a box.

"I'm here to see Harry Potter," she said to the Welcomewitch.

Without looking up from her paperwork, the Welcomewitch pasted on a customer service smile, and said "Who?"

"Harry Potter," repeated Ginny evenly.

"Oh, yes." She had the full attention of the Welcomewitch now, the smile wiped off her face. "Please wait here, Mrs Potter, I'll get a Healer."

But it wasn't a Healer who came running to meet her a minute later. Not exactly. It was her James.

"Mum, Mum! They brought in Dad, he's in Emergency, he…" James looked pleadingly at her. "He was unconscious. I think. I'm not sure…"

Oh, son. Ginny suppressed the urge to grab him and hold him tight. Not now, not with so many curious onlooking eyes. Instead, she took his hand, and led him over to a quiet corner of the reception room. A whispered Muffliato gave them a degree of privacy. "James, are you off your shift?" asked Ginny.

James Sirius Potter reflexively smoothed down his pale turquoise Trainee Healer robes, and nodded rapidly. "I was about to go home when Dad came in. I tried to help but they kicked me out! He looked pretty bad, all blackened, and his arm was smoking!"

Ginny's heart leapt into her throat at the words blackened and smoking, but she locked it down hard, with the effort of years. James needed her not to panic now, needed his Mum. She reached up and brushed back his untidy shock of hair, so like Harry's. "James, darling, calm down. In an emergency, everyone's going to be panicky. That's exactly when you need to keep a level head on you. Because that's just when important things need to be done, and if no-one else can do the job, maybe you'll have to step in. You're going to be a Healer, love," Ginny smiled, "you need to learn this."

"But - this is Dad!"

Ginny forced herself to speak calmly, without being either jaunty or false-sounding. "Believe me, he's been through worse. You were too young then to know." Or not even born yet. "Now, what we're going to do is stay calm, sit down here, let the Healers do their job, and wait for word. Have you had lunch?"

James shook his head.

"Then if that Welcomewitch doesn't come back with a Healer in ten minutes, you go to the tearoom and buy a pasty or something. I'll wait here."

"I'm not hungry, Mum." James put his elbows on his knees and stared off into the distance.

"Things always look worse on an empty stomach." Ginny ran her hand through his hair again. "Your father's an Auror, James. That's not exactly the safest job in the world, and it was even more dangerous when he was more junior. But he does it for us, to keep us safe. Because he's good at it, and because there aren't enough people in the world who'll stand up for what's right, so he has to. When we were about your age - we had to do something like that as well."

"The Voldemort Wars. You, and Dad, and Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione, I know. But you never talked much about that."

"We didn't want to scare you." I'm sorry, James, thought Ginny, I should have prepared you better. Instead I was busy - busy playing bloody Quidditch!

When James had been growing up, Harry had spent more time investigating cases and deploying to respond to attacks, rather than the more deskbound job he had these days. Harry and Ginny had decided not to tell the children about the constant dangers Harry faced, or about the more grim details about the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry's childhood struggle with Voldemort - or Ginny's - until they were older. More ready to accept the realities of their parents' lives. So they had skirted around the subject, and more or less ignored the news articles and books written about them. The children could read those, Harry and Ginny couldn't stop them, but the writing was always short on details, as the public didn't know the full story anyway.

It had been doubly hard on Ginny of course, both knowing that Harry was out there and yet having to keep up a cheerful, almost carefree front for the children. But we were young, we were bold, even reckless; and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Even now, Ginny kept her worry carefully away from her expression and her words, for James's sake. But for just a moment she let herself think, What if Harry doesn't - doesn't make it this time? What will I tell the children? James isn't ready, not yet. Albus is still in Hogwarts; Lily's still so young, she still loves to snuggle up to us… at least if she was older… Oh God, we're so close, so close!

For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Ginny felt her heart pounding in fear, real life-threatened fear.

Please be alright Harry!

"Ginny?"

It was Ron, a touch of soot from the Floo clinging to the shoulders of his business robes. "Hermione told me. Is he alright? Have you heard anything? Have the Healers…"

"No, they haven't said anything, no-one's come to me yet…"

"Stupid sods," growled Ron dangerously, and he started to make for the counter, where the welcomewitch seemed to be paging unconcernedly through paperwork.

Ginny laid an arm on him. "No, Ron," she said firmly. Her youngest brother had always been easy-going, but he had developed an explosive temper ever since joining the Aurors - ever since the Battle at Hogwarts. Ginny knew she had to head him off. "I've decided to give them a few minutes, then I'll ask again."

Ron was about to object, then glanced at James, seeming to notice him for the first time, and then nodded stiffly. He sat down with them, and listened intently, jaw clenched, while James filled him in on what he'd seen.

"What do you think, Uncle Ron?" asked James when he was finished. "You were once an Auror with Dad and Neville, weren't you? You've seen this sort of thing before, haven't you?"

Ron said gruffly but kindly to his eldest nephew, "We'll just have to wait and see, James."

And Ginny was reminded, once again, that Harry was her brother's oldest and closest friend. Harry even beat Hermione by a month, in that regard. Besides her and the children, no-one else would miss him more, if… no, don't think about that.

"Someday you've got to tell me all about your adventures with Dad. From the Auror Office, and before."

"Yeah, you're probably old enough."

A few minutes later, Ron was looking even more thunderous and staring at his watch; James, sensing his uncle's mood, had shut up and was watching him warily. But just then a rumpled Healer appeared in the reception room, looked around, caught sight of them, and made his way over.

"Mrs Potter? James?" The Healer nodded at Ron.

Ginny looked up. Oh please please please…

The middle-aged Healer looked exhausted, but a small professional smile was on his face. A cautious hope bloomed inside Ginny's heart. "I'm Healer Pye. Mr Potter is still unconscious, but out of danger. The team is still working on his arm, but he should be able to make a quick recovery."

Ginny couldn't help smiling in relief. "Thank you. You're Augustus Pye? I remember you." Stitches, ha! "What happened to Harry?"

Pye's smile widened at being recognised, and he nodded. "Yes, I am. Well, it seems like Mr Potter had a run-in with Fiendfyre, judging by the pattern of the burns. Fiendfyre takes the form of animals, you know, and the resulting marks are distinctive. But he shielded himself from most of the Fiendfyre, and I understand his team subdued the blaze quickly. He also swallowed a lot of smoke, and possibly overexerted himself - that's probably why he lost consciousness soon after we brought him in - but we'll stuff him with potions and he'll be right as rain in no time."

Ginny's heart soared. "Thank you, Healer Pye."

"My pleasure." Augustus Pye crossed his arms and said with mock-severity, "James, I know you've been in the hospital since twelve last night, and you're coming in again tonight. You go home and get some sleep, young man, or I'll have words with your supervising Healer."

James sat up immediately. "Yes, sir. Can I see my father first, sir?"

Pye shook his head. "Perhaps tomorrow. We'll monitor him for twenty-four hours, in case there's a delayed curse effect we haven't detected. And he needs his rest too. Now hop it!"

"Come on, James," added Ginny. "We need to go home, and tell your brother and sister. Tomorrow, we'll come visit Dad, with Albus and Lily." She glanced over at Ron, and saw the look of relief mirrored in his eyes. Ron's bunched shoulders had relaxed, and his face lost its look of suppressed worry. "Harry," shrugged Ginny, in a what-can-you-do kind of tone that sounded fake even to her.

"Been a while since the daft bastard chanced his arm like that," said Ron, then grimaced at his own choice of words. He looked down at James, and brightened up. "Aren't you supposed to be on call, or having lessons, or something? Or did they give you the day off just because your dad got shoved around a bit, you lucky bugger?"

James grinned at Ron's jokey tone. "My shift's midnight to noon," he said. "And yeah, I tried to get into Emergency, twice, but they gave me the boot."

"Ah, don't fret," said Ron, as if he himself hadn't been just minutes ago. "The Healers'll sort your dad out in no time. Ginny, I'm going to go back to Diagon Alley, and I'll write a note to let the rest of the family know Harry's alright. You probably need to wash up." He stared quizzically at Ginny. "Flying again?"

Ginny looked down at herself, and realised she was still in her sweat- and mud-stained Harpies training gear. Her hair was askew from flying and from the fight with Gwenog, which, she remembered suddenly, was only - half an hour ago, perhaps? She'd lost track of time. "Not quite. Long story. I'll tell you all about it, Saturday."

"See ya."

And there goes another trip to St Mungo's, thought Ginny, as they made their way to the Floo. How many have there been, over the years? But this time, this time was different, somehow. This time I felt close to breaking.

I feel like shit.

That was Harry's first thought, as he opened his eyes. He turned his head groggily to the left, and saw Ginny sitting by the unfamiliar bed, writing. Her much-hated reading glasses had slipped down her nose, perched at an angle that would have irritated Harry no end, but she didn't seem to notice. She had only had to use them recently, and was still getting used to the idea. For Harry, the glasses were but a reminder of the many years they'd spent together.

I was there, by her side, all this time. Love you, Ginny.

"Love you too, Harry," she said. Ginny finished the sentence she was writing, put down her quill, and removed her glasses with only a faint grimace of annoyance, tossing them aside carelessly. Then she looked up at him. "How are you feeling?"

Harry moved around experimentally, winced. "Left arm… hurts…" he said hoarsely.

"The Healers said you burned it rather badly," said Ginny, as she took a glass of water from the bedside table and passed it to Harry. "It would be just like you to try and hold off a Fyrefiend with your arm."

Harry felt much better after the water. "Threw up a Shield Charm as well." He tried to struggle into a sitting position without moving or putting weight on his left arm, but suddenly a dozen aches and bruises all over the rest of his body began making themselves felt. He glanced down, and saw that thick bandages were wrapped around his arm from fingertips to just above the elbow, with what felt like a thick layer of oil beneath.

"Yes, apparently that's why I'm not a grieving widow right now."

"Sorry, Ginny," mumbled Harry. "We had a few leads, and we didn't have enough Aurors, and then suddenly there was this weird jar that…" He ran out of breath and lay back. Ouch. Ow.

Ginny didn't even bother saying anything, just looked at him. As if her disappointment was a statement of fact.

Stung, Harry reached out for her instinctively, and winced as his left arm complained again, then reached over awkwardly with his right to hold her hand. "I'm sorry," he said again, stroking the top of her knuckles with his thumb.

She kept up her stony gaze a moment longer, then relented just a little. "We'll talk about it later," Ginny said, like another statement of fact, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

"Where are the children?" Harry looked around the ward, a very private single-bed room, and spotted James's jacket, Albus's book bag, and Lily's parrot-feather quill lying amidst abandoned homework, sweet wrappers, and water bottles.

Ginny snorted. "They stayed dutifully by your side. For about thirty minutes. Then Albus complained about James's snoring, James said he couldn't possibly be snoring as Lily's singing was keeping him awake, and Lily said Albus's textbooks were taking up more than his fair share of the table. So I sent them off to the tearoom."

"What a circus we've raised," Harry grinned. "I see they didn't mourn me too much."

"You utter prat." Ginny sat on the side of the bed, carefully avoiding his injured arm. She wasn't smiling now. "You've put me through a lot, but very well, I knew what I was getting into, and signed on anyway. What about the children? Did you think about them? As a matter of fact, they were devastated! They're not children any more, they're beginning to understand what danger and death really mean. James was nearer panic than I've ever seen him, Albus looked completely at sea, and Lily fairly burst into tears. And that was even after I told them you weren't all that badly hurt, according to the Healer. They were terrified all the same. You are such a big part of their world - they would miss you so much if they lost you."

The very tiny hitch in Ginny's voice told him she wasn't far off tears herself, and Harry felt even more guilty. He squeezed Ginny's hand. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said again. At that moment he made a decision. "I - it won't happen again. I can't resign, you know that, but I won't put myself in the front line."

"I'm not asking you to resign," said Ginny. "And I won't ask more of you than you can give - you're Harry, Harry; I know you can never get the target off your back. Just… don't expose yourself recklessly, that's all I ask. You're - we're forty now, not twenty, not any more."

"I know."

"Love you," said Ginny, bending down to kiss him, first on the forehead. Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the flowery scent of his Ginny, as her lips worked their way down the side of his face, leaving a trail of mini kisses…

The door of the ward banged open.

"Mum! We got you a curry pie, and - oh, bloody hell!"

"Merlin's balls!"

"Have you no control, woman, the poor man's in hospital!"

James clomped into the room, flung himself into a chair with studied nonchalance, and ostentatiously kicked off his brand-new bespoke dragonhide shoes (a Hogwarts-leaving gift from Charlie); at the foot of the bed, Albus folded his arms while pointedly looking away from his parents in disgust; Lily squeezed herself onto the bed on Harry's right side, scattering crumbs all over him from the scone she was eating.

"Oi, no swearing, James, Lily!" said Ginny, smiling. "And that's 'Mum' or 'Mother' to you, Albus, not 'woman'!"

Harry put his right arm around Lily. "Hello, darlings. How was your day?"

"Not as bad as yours, apparently. A shedload of classes and I only got to see one witch with a nasty bit of dragon-pox; I'd have had an up-close look at somebody's burns but they threw me out…"

"I did a whole half an essay, so if you're alright now Daddy can I go to the Burrow and fly?"

"You are alright, aren't you?" asked Albus.

Harry shrugged. "Arm hurts a bit, that's all, thank you Albus." He was lying; he ached all over, as if he'd sprained half the muscles in his body, and his throat and lungs felt raw. But his children didn't need to know that. Weren't ready to know that.

Albus's face lost its slightly pinched, worried look. "All in a day's work, huh, Dad?"

"Well…" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smug let's-see-you-answer-this-one kind of look flash across Ginny's face, and he shot her a glare with his eyes only. Just you wait till we're alone. "No, Al, it's not always this exciting, really."

"Oh come on, Al, obviously not, how often do you see Dad in St Mungo's?" said James.

"What would you know about Auror work?" Albus retorted.

"Don't need to know that much to notice where Dad is most of the time: at home."

Lily joined in. "You're only one month into the Trainee Healer programme, James, don't act like you know it all by now."

"Know more than you at any rate, pipsqueak."

"Nnh!" She stuck out her tongue at him, then turned her attention to more important matters. "So can I go to the Burrow, Dad?"

"If you finish one whole essay, Lily," said Harry, "and you ask Granny if you can come visit and use the paddock, and if Granny says yes, then yes, you can. With Albus."

"Aw come on, Dad, why do I always have to babysit her?!"

"You don't have to come if you don't want to!" snapped Lily.

"Lily, you are not going flying unaccompanied; Al, you can bring your books to the paddock, though I think you ought to get in some exercise too."

And on and on it rolled, the burble and chatter of family life - his family. Harry had never heard a sweeter music. It was a wonderful song to fall asleep to.

The next day, Healer Pye reluctantly agreed to let Harry go home, provided he was diligent about taking his potions and changing the bandages on his arm.

Ginny and the children fussed over him, and Harry let them open doors for him, adjust the car seat just so, fluff up the pillows, and make him tea, and so on. James scrutinised his potions regimen and pronounced his expert approval. Harry spent most of that Thursday sleeping, but that night declared he was going back to the Auror Office the next day.

Ginny didn't even bother tutting, she merely rolled her eyes and said "Not even you would be so pig-headed as to get yourself in another pickle so soon." But later that night, she was quiet and pensive, and fell asleep in the crook of his good arm. And in the morning Ginny was especially solicitous over making breakfast for him, and seeing him off.

There's a custom, almost a superstition, which Aurors have: the first day one returns to the office after receiving an injury, no one says anything about it. Nobody comments on one's absence, asks how one is doing, passes any well-wishes, gifts any flowers or cards or fruit. Everyone pretends nothing has happened, and makes small talk accordingly. It is part tradition, part bravado, part coping mechanism - as Aurors encounter maiming or death more often than other professions, it helps to be given space to come to terms with loss, and to steel oneself to take the plunge back into the fray.

So when Harry walked through Auror Headquarters with his arm bandaged and in a sling, his Aurors only nodded and murmured their usual greetings. He visited the Operations Room, saw that it had gone back to its usual level of activity, then made straight for Briefing Room Three, where he found Susan Bones.

"Morning, Harry," said Susan, glancing briefly at his arm, then launched without fuss straight into what she knew Harry wanted to hear: the updates. "Oscar's in custody, along with Griflet Bergerissen, goblin. Besides you, the little weasel jinxed Indra, Tolliver, Kirke and Whitehorn, none too badly, but that's five counts of assault anyhow. That's on top of the kidnap and murder charges, according to Rani Chatterjee. She's with the Muggle Relations people; when they're done debriefing her, we get our shot, then we work on the cover story and call in the Obliviators."

"Goblin, huh," mused Harry. "That's interesting. Griflet didn't jinx me though - that was Osbert. He let off some kind of… Fiendfyre bomb in a jar."

Susan frowned. "Fiendfyre kept in a jar - is that even possible? Fiendfyre eats everything. Are you sure he didn't cast it?"

"If it wasn't possible before, apparently it is now. I saw the thing inside, and it had a kind of release mechanism on top - probably goblin-made. I Banished it away from me but it exploded in mid-air. And then… I don't quite remember." I'll have to use the office Pensieve, thought Harry.

"Everyone in the house felt the fire start, of course. Jason McKinnon was the first on-scene. He found you holding off the Fyrefiend with a lousy Shield Charm, and did most of the work extinguishing it. You passed out not long after." Susan looked around to make sure they were alone, then said quietly, "You weren't supposed to be there, Harry. What in Merlin's name were you thinking? Your job now's commanding the whole Department, that's about as far from being point man on a raid as it possibly can."

Harry groaned. "I know, I know. Trust me, Ginny's given me plenty of guff about this already."

"Well, I ought to be doing my bit as well, if I call myself her friend. And yours. Don't do this again, Harry, for all our sakes. Please."

"You did a great job in Control, and in handling this investigation. I won't forget it," said Harry. "And yeah, you're right. It won't happen again."

Susan nodded, and patted his right arm. "We'll have our hands full cleaning up at Queen Anne's Gate and Tooting Bec, and charging Osbert and Bergerissen. Go take a break if you want. I'll notify you when we interrogate those two, if you want to sit in."

"Thanks."

Harry spent the rest of the morning catching up on the real work he was supposed to be doing.

Besides the Chatterjee case, there were other serious crime investigations for him to monitor. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol also brought in minor breaches nearly every day - various forms of illegal magic, altercations, behaviour that risked drawing the attention of Muggles. There was training and exercises to conduct - Harry was a direct participant in some of these. There were budgets to set, expenditures to sign off, and inventory to review - a new experience for Harry, which he wasn't particularly keen on. And there were professional social engagements to attend - meetings with Aurors and leaders of law enforcement of other countries, the International Confederation of Wizards, and so on.

But his thoughts kept going back to the Chatterjee case - and the Dark Mark.

After lunch, Susan came to give him an update.

Neither Osbert nor Bergerissen bothered to confess, despite being caught more or less red-handed. The case against them would have to be built up bit by painstaking bit. In fact, for the murder of the Chatterjees and Mrs Byrd, the testimony of Rani Chatterjee was all they had. Knowing they had limited time with her before she had to be returned to the Muggle world, her memories wiped, the Aurors recorded her testimony as quickly as possible. With the guidance of a Muggle Relations counsellor on hand, they made the interviews as easy on her as they could. But there was little sugar-coating that could be done, when it came to the murders of her parents.

"On that she's clear as day," said Susan in frustration. "But she won't talk about why they kidnapped her instead of doing her in as well. She's being a bit of a pain in the bum, frankly, and the clock's ticking; Muggle Relations keeps harping that it's past time to send her back."

Harry understood Susan's irritation; Rani was directly impeding her case. He nodded. "I'll give it a try. If she still won't talk, we let her go. My call."

He met Rani in Interview Room Four, under the watchful eye of a witch from Muggle Relations.

Though red-eyed and blotchy-nosed, Rani was calm for a young woman who had seen her father murdered before her eyes, been kidnapped by a wizard and a goblin, and was now sequestered by more wizards who claimed they were the 'good guys' but were going to wipe her memories.

She's nearly as strong as Ginny, thought Harry, as he sat down across from her in the interview room. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Rani eyed him with critical defiance. "You're hardly older than the other one," she said.

"Who, Susan?" Harry chuckled. "She's my classmate from school, actually. We are a very small community - and few of us are keen on this sort of job."

Rani stared at him, glanced at his arm, then nodded. "Is it that dangerous? What are you really, Special Branch? SCO 19?"

"It is," said Harry frankly. He understood the reference to the Metropolitan Police Service's Specialist Firearms Command. "The Aurors are Special Branch, SCO 19, and the British Army all in one. My opposite numbers would be the Chief of Defence Staff and the Commissioner of the Met, actually. But they don't know we exist. Only the Prime Minister does."

"Uhuh, yeah. You're a bit young for all that aren't you? Good for you anyway. I suppose you've even shook hands with the PM."

"I've met him." Under the post-Voldemort reforms pushed through by Kingsley Shacklebolt, more of the Ministry of Magic's key staff were introduced to the British Prime Minister, and would attend meetings with the PM. Future Ministers would not, unlike Cornelius Fudge, get to keep the PM in their pockets and become the sole interface between the Ministry of Magic and the British Government.

"Bit of an overgrown lad, isn't he?"

"I can't possibly comment." Harry cleared his throat. "Rani, I'm here to ask you for your help. We need you to testify to the full story of what happened to you. I'm sorry for your loss, and I know it's hard on you right now, but…"

At the mention of her parents the look in Rani Chatterjee's eye turned hard and cold. "What would you know about that, pretty boy?"

Harry turned to the Muggle Relations witch. "Could you please leave us alone for a few minutes?"

The witch folded her arms. "Mr Potter, what on earth are you playing at? You know very well I can't do that."

Harry put his hand in his pocket. "Here. Take my wand with you. No, really, go on."

The counsellor looked down at it. "We both know you're quite proficient at wandless magic."

"I'm not that good," said Harry coolly.

She gave a snort of disbelief, but took Harry's wand. "If you so much as slap her, Mr Potter…" She slammed the door.

Rani tensed up as Harry took out his wallet. From it he selected an old photograph, one from the album Hagrid had gifted him all those years ago, and showed it to her. Rani's eyes widened at the waving figures, but it was probably not the most impressive magic she had been shown in the past few days.

"This is my father, this, my mother. That's my godfather - my father's best friend. And this baby is me. A few months after this picture was taken, a Dark wizard killed my parents. My godfather was framed for the murders, and spent most of his life in prison. They were twenty-one years old." Harry didn't mention Peter Pettigrew, or Remus Lupin, and the Marauders; there was no need to go that far. Keeping himself to the barest facts helped lessen the sting.

"I can - I can see the resemblance," said Rani, looking up. "You look like your father. But your eyes…"

"Mum's. So I've heard. Until my eleventh birthday, I didn't know this story. I lived in your world - the 'normal' world, so to speak. I went to primary school in Surrey. Then on my eleventh birthday, I was brought into the magical world. That same Dark wizard tried to kill me, several times, until I - defeated him when I was eighteen. Since then, I've been an Auror." Harry took back the photograph and looked down at it. "I never really met my parents. All I have are… flashes of emotion, snippets of words. The scraps of a baby's memories. And photographs. I think in some ways, I have it easier than you. You can't miss what you never had."

A lie.

"Why are you telling me this?" Rani's tone was sympathetic, Harry noted, but she stood her ground still. "I've given you what I remember about Osbert and… that other one."

"Because your parents were killed by followers of that Dark wizard who killed mine," said Harry. "They leave a calling-card at the scene, a symbol. We think they've also murdered fourteen other Muggles - non-wizards - in the past seven months. But you, you are the first one they took alive. You're important to them, somehow, and if I'm to stop them, I need to know why."

Rani Chatterjee looked at him for a long moment. Her eyes flicked down to the photograph, watched James Potter look on proudly, as Lily Evans cuddled and rocked her months-old baby, and Sirius Black grinned and squeezed his best mate's shoulder in congratulatory fashion.

"Alright," she said.

Harry allowed himself one last look at the photograph, then kept it carefully away, and went to call in the witch from Muggle Relations.

Author's note: Thank you all for reading, and thank you Bernardus for the corrections. Do please drop a line in the comment box if you have any feedback, or just to say hi lol! Next chapter is the last.