Chapter: 1/4
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the reipient's mood at the time.
Author's Note: My first ever fic - please be gentle!
ONE MORE KISS
By Rosgrana
Harry stared down at the report on his desk without actually seeing it; wondering why life always seemed to be so... flat. He started to mentally tick off the points of his life, trying to analyse what it was that made him feel not-happy. Not *un*happy, exactly, but definitely not *happy*.
The War. Well, that obviously wasn't something to be happy about. The wizarding community had been fighting Voldemort for five years now, and Harry himself had been doing it even longer, since his first year at Hogwarts. On the other hand, recently things had been going fairly well for the good guys, and Harry's continued survival could only be counted as a victory, since his personal battle with the Dark Lord was concentrated on stopping Voldemort from killing him.
Home. Nothing to get excited about, but comfortable, private, nothing to get miserable about either. And he supposed he could change it if he wanted to; but material things just weren't that important to him. Which brought him on to:
Money. He had plenty. Which was, of course, A Good Thing. He'd have a reason to be not-happy if he was broke, or had to worry about the bills.
Work. Steadily improving. He'd joined the Auror's Office at the Ministry of Magic straight from Hogwarts, and been flabbergasted at how *boring* his first couple of years had been. Nothing but training in protecting himself (and others) and routine clerical work. These days, though, he was doing more actual field work, which was... not fun, exactly, but interesting, and what he'd joined the Ministry to do. He was still very junior, and wasn't allowed anywhere near the really dangerous stuff, like the continuing attempts to break the wards on Voldemort's headquarters, but he was making a real contribution to the war effort, and he knew he wasn't ready for that kind of thing yet. Since he'd learned so much more about the Dark Arts than they taught at Hogwarts, he'd been horrified to realise just how recklessly he'd endangered himself during his school years, and how lucky he'd been to survive them at all. So work wasn't bad, really, even if his boss was the most unpleasant person he'd met since Severus Snape.
Relationships. Ah. Well. Harry had decided a while ago that relationships were just not his strong point. Somehow, he always managed to mess things up big time. Jon, his most recent boyfriend, had been very clear on that point when he left. "You know, Harry," he'd said. "You have got to sort out what you really want. Half the time you're lovely, and the rest you're pushing me away. I do care for you, but I can't stand this any more." But then, Jon was now living with an Estate Agent called Tarquin, so what did *he* know? Hermione reckoned Harry was afraid of commitment because of his years with the Dursleys - enough to sour anyone on family life. It was as good an excuse as any.
Hermione. Friends. Harry smiled to himself. When it came to friends, he was pretty lucky really. OK, *very* lucky. He'd had his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, to lean on for eleven years now, and the bond was as strong as ever. They'd been through adolescence, school, war and various near-fatal experiences together, they hardly ever wanted to kill each other these days, and the other two didn't even blame him for all the times he'd got them almost killed or actually into trouble. He had plenty of other friends as well, not least his Godfather and his former Headmaster, but Ron and Hermione would always be something more to him, and he to them. On the whole then, life was fairly good. So why did he feel lousy?
"Well, here comes one reason," he muttered under his breath, as Eilunedd Wynne-Davis snatched the door open and strode in, glaring.
"I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter," his boss announced, her tone making it clear that work was the last thing she expected to find Harry doing. He had never worked out what the older witch had against him; his first month she'd been all sweetness and light, and then suddenly changed into a human(ish) version of something Hagrid would like.
"Yes, Eilunedd, it's work," he said with exaggerated patience. "It's the report on recovery rates from the Cruciatus Curse using different counter-curses."
"You were supposed to finish that last week," she snapped. "Go over to Research and find out if they've got me that information on resistance to Veritaserum. And don't spend half the day gossiping to Weasley, either." The other occupants of the office shot him looks of sympathy, but no-one risked saying anything and drawing Eilunedd's fire.
The Research and Records department fascinated Harry. He could never understand how they managed to work in the chaos of books, ledgers, parchments and various magical storage devices that littered the place. He was gazing round in awe as he waited for Reg Bettany to unearth the notes he'd made for Eilunedd, and didn't notice someone else approaching until she came up behind him and hugged him.
"Hullo, Harry! Have you heard? Isn't it wonderful?"
He jumped, then grinned at Hermione and asked "Heard what? Are the Cannons top of the League?"
Reg snorted, and Hermione laughed. "Fat chance! Mind you, they drew with Wimbourne two weeks ago, and Ron was in such a good mood that when I got an owl from Viktor he didn't even ask what 'that duck-footed git' wanted!"
"*That* good a mood? Wow!"
Ron was as junior among the Chudley Cannons coaching staff as Harry was at the Ministry, but swore he'd be manager one day, and if anything, was even more obsessive about the team than he'd been at school. Hermione had persuaded him to ditch his safe but tedious job with Gringotts for something he *wanted* to do not long after they'd married, and two years later Ron was still unmistakeably thrilled with both the big changes to his life.
"Well, if it's not Quidditch, what's the big news, then?" asked Harry.
"You mean you really *haven't* heard? They've broken the wards on the Riddle House!"
Harry was stunned. Voldemort's HQ was officially known as "Target site #1", but everyone in the wizarding world knew where it was, and the local name was used by everyone except Percy Weasley, who still had trouble breaking rules.
"How? When? What happened? I haven't heard anything about it! Last I knew, they were as far off as they've ever been!"
"Well, officially nothing *has* happened, of course. It's all terribly hush-hush still. The team are taking the place apart stone by stone, and nothing will be announced until they've finished. If it was made public they wouldn't be able to move for people coming to gawp, once they knew they could get near the House without being turned into something unpleasant."
"So how come you know about it, if it's all classified?"
Reg snorted again.
"This *is* the Research department, Harry," Hermione said casually. "If they could stop *us* finding things out, they'd have to sack us for being inefficient, wouldn't they?"
"Well, tell me the rest, then! Was anyone captured? Any of our lot injured? What have they found in there?"
"I don't know all that much more myself. It only happened two days ago. No prisoners, I do know that. There was a general Apparition spell linked to the wards, so when they went down, You-Know-Who and everyone else shifted straight out. Almost certainly to somewhere abroad, but no-one knows where. Could be any of a dozen or more places, that's one of the things they're searching the House to try and find out. Still, they couldn't take much with them, no time, so all their records and a whole lot of other stuff is still there, which will make life very difficult for them, wherever they are."
"You're right, it *is* wonderful! This could be the turning point of the whole war! And don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're sharing Ministry secrets with all and sundry."
"Never thought you would," grinned Hermione. "If we can't trust The Boy Who Lived, who can we trust?" Harry flushed; he still hated that name. "Come over for dinner at the weekend, and I'll tell you everything I dig up in the meantime. You'd better get back to work, I bet Eilunedd's timing how long it takes you to fetch those papers."
Harry groaned. "God, I loathe that woman! I'm trying to think of something I can do that she can't bollock me for, that will really get up her nose. Apart from existing, that is. I've decided there's no point trying to get on with her, so I'm going to get some fun out of her hating me. I just wish I knew what her problem is."
"Fancies you," said Reg and Hermione in unison.
"Everyone knows that," added Reg.
"It's true, you know," Hermione said gently, trying not to snicker at Harry's horror-struck expression. "When you first started here, she was flirting with you like mad, remember? Then when she found out you're..."
"Gay," interjected Reg.
"...unlikely to return her interest," continued Hermione, ignoring him, "She decided that you're unnatural and she hates the sight of you."
Harry was stunned. "I wonder..." he mused. "Does that make winding her up unfair, or just much easier?"
"Easier." Hermione replied firmly. "She can't help having weird ideas about... alternative lifestyles, but she needn't be such a cow. You don't have to be perfect, Harry, just because you're on the good side in the war. Ron and I've spent eleven years trying to convince you of it, and it's only polite for you to pretend we're succeeding occasionally."
Harry laughed at that, and headed back to the office with the notes that Reg had finally found under his coffee cup. There was an owl sitting on his desk when he got there, so he gave it some of his lunch and untied the message from its leg. It was from one of the staff at Azkaban that he had contact with occasionally.
Harry,
this isn't an official thing, so you can ignore it if you like, but we've got someone here who wants to see you - not as an Auror, just a visitor. We shouldn't really allow it until after he's been interrogated, but since you're often here anyway, we can get round that if you want. An old classmate of yours, I gather: Draco Malfoy. He was picked up at the Riddle House (and you didn't hear *that* from me, either!) Like I said, it's up to you whether you see him or not, but you need to make your mind up fast. If half the rumours I've heard about him are true, as soon as he's tried, he's looking at execution. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, if he was a friend.
Draco Malfoy. Harry's heart lurched. These days, he tried not to think about the son of Voldemort's most trusted assistant. The blond Slytherin had been his Nemesis throughout his Hogwarts days. Enemy and rival for seven years, and, for two glorious months, his lover.
*******
TBC
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the reipient's mood at the time.
Author's Note: My first ever fic - please be gentle!
ONE MORE KISS
By Rosgrana
Harry stared down at the report on his desk without actually seeing it; wondering why life always seemed to be so... flat. He started to mentally tick off the points of his life, trying to analyse what it was that made him feel not-happy. Not *un*happy, exactly, but definitely not *happy*.
The War. Well, that obviously wasn't something to be happy about. The wizarding community had been fighting Voldemort for five years now, and Harry himself had been doing it even longer, since his first year at Hogwarts. On the other hand, recently things had been going fairly well for the good guys, and Harry's continued survival could only be counted as a victory, since his personal battle with the Dark Lord was concentrated on stopping Voldemort from killing him.
Home. Nothing to get excited about, but comfortable, private, nothing to get miserable about either. And he supposed he could change it if he wanted to; but material things just weren't that important to him. Which brought him on to:
Money. He had plenty. Which was, of course, A Good Thing. He'd have a reason to be not-happy if he was broke, or had to worry about the bills.
Work. Steadily improving. He'd joined the Auror's Office at the Ministry of Magic straight from Hogwarts, and been flabbergasted at how *boring* his first couple of years had been. Nothing but training in protecting himself (and others) and routine clerical work. These days, though, he was doing more actual field work, which was... not fun, exactly, but interesting, and what he'd joined the Ministry to do. He was still very junior, and wasn't allowed anywhere near the really dangerous stuff, like the continuing attempts to break the wards on Voldemort's headquarters, but he was making a real contribution to the war effort, and he knew he wasn't ready for that kind of thing yet. Since he'd learned so much more about the Dark Arts than they taught at Hogwarts, he'd been horrified to realise just how recklessly he'd endangered himself during his school years, and how lucky he'd been to survive them at all. So work wasn't bad, really, even if his boss was the most unpleasant person he'd met since Severus Snape.
Relationships. Ah. Well. Harry had decided a while ago that relationships were just not his strong point. Somehow, he always managed to mess things up big time. Jon, his most recent boyfriend, had been very clear on that point when he left. "You know, Harry," he'd said. "You have got to sort out what you really want. Half the time you're lovely, and the rest you're pushing me away. I do care for you, but I can't stand this any more." But then, Jon was now living with an Estate Agent called Tarquin, so what did *he* know? Hermione reckoned Harry was afraid of commitment because of his years with the Dursleys - enough to sour anyone on family life. It was as good an excuse as any.
Hermione. Friends. Harry smiled to himself. When it came to friends, he was pretty lucky really. OK, *very* lucky. He'd had his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, to lean on for eleven years now, and the bond was as strong as ever. They'd been through adolescence, school, war and various near-fatal experiences together, they hardly ever wanted to kill each other these days, and the other two didn't even blame him for all the times he'd got them almost killed or actually into trouble. He had plenty of other friends as well, not least his Godfather and his former Headmaster, but Ron and Hermione would always be something more to him, and he to them. On the whole then, life was fairly good. So why did he feel lousy?
"Well, here comes one reason," he muttered under his breath, as Eilunedd Wynne-Davis snatched the door open and strode in, glaring.
"I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter," his boss announced, her tone making it clear that work was the last thing she expected to find Harry doing. He had never worked out what the older witch had against him; his first month she'd been all sweetness and light, and then suddenly changed into a human(ish) version of something Hagrid would like.
"Yes, Eilunedd, it's work," he said with exaggerated patience. "It's the report on recovery rates from the Cruciatus Curse using different counter-curses."
"You were supposed to finish that last week," she snapped. "Go over to Research and find out if they've got me that information on resistance to Veritaserum. And don't spend half the day gossiping to Weasley, either." The other occupants of the office shot him looks of sympathy, but no-one risked saying anything and drawing Eilunedd's fire.
The Research and Records department fascinated Harry. He could never understand how they managed to work in the chaos of books, ledgers, parchments and various magical storage devices that littered the place. He was gazing round in awe as he waited for Reg Bettany to unearth the notes he'd made for Eilunedd, and didn't notice someone else approaching until she came up behind him and hugged him.
"Hullo, Harry! Have you heard? Isn't it wonderful?"
He jumped, then grinned at Hermione and asked "Heard what? Are the Cannons top of the League?"
Reg snorted, and Hermione laughed. "Fat chance! Mind you, they drew with Wimbourne two weeks ago, and Ron was in such a good mood that when I got an owl from Viktor he didn't even ask what 'that duck-footed git' wanted!"
"*That* good a mood? Wow!"
Ron was as junior among the Chudley Cannons coaching staff as Harry was at the Ministry, but swore he'd be manager one day, and if anything, was even more obsessive about the team than he'd been at school. Hermione had persuaded him to ditch his safe but tedious job with Gringotts for something he *wanted* to do not long after they'd married, and two years later Ron was still unmistakeably thrilled with both the big changes to his life.
"Well, if it's not Quidditch, what's the big news, then?" asked Harry.
"You mean you really *haven't* heard? They've broken the wards on the Riddle House!"
Harry was stunned. Voldemort's HQ was officially known as "Target site #1", but everyone in the wizarding world knew where it was, and the local name was used by everyone except Percy Weasley, who still had trouble breaking rules.
"How? When? What happened? I haven't heard anything about it! Last I knew, they were as far off as they've ever been!"
"Well, officially nothing *has* happened, of course. It's all terribly hush-hush still. The team are taking the place apart stone by stone, and nothing will be announced until they've finished. If it was made public they wouldn't be able to move for people coming to gawp, once they knew they could get near the House without being turned into something unpleasant."
"So how come you know about it, if it's all classified?"
Reg snorted again.
"This *is* the Research department, Harry," Hermione said casually. "If they could stop *us* finding things out, they'd have to sack us for being inefficient, wouldn't they?"
"Well, tell me the rest, then! Was anyone captured? Any of our lot injured? What have they found in there?"
"I don't know all that much more myself. It only happened two days ago. No prisoners, I do know that. There was a general Apparition spell linked to the wards, so when they went down, You-Know-Who and everyone else shifted straight out. Almost certainly to somewhere abroad, but no-one knows where. Could be any of a dozen or more places, that's one of the things they're searching the House to try and find out. Still, they couldn't take much with them, no time, so all their records and a whole lot of other stuff is still there, which will make life very difficult for them, wherever they are."
"You're right, it *is* wonderful! This could be the turning point of the whole war! And don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're sharing Ministry secrets with all and sundry."
"Never thought you would," grinned Hermione. "If we can't trust The Boy Who Lived, who can we trust?" Harry flushed; he still hated that name. "Come over for dinner at the weekend, and I'll tell you everything I dig up in the meantime. You'd better get back to work, I bet Eilunedd's timing how long it takes you to fetch those papers."
Harry groaned. "God, I loathe that woman! I'm trying to think of something I can do that she can't bollock me for, that will really get up her nose. Apart from existing, that is. I've decided there's no point trying to get on with her, so I'm going to get some fun out of her hating me. I just wish I knew what her problem is."
"Fancies you," said Reg and Hermione in unison.
"Everyone knows that," added Reg.
"It's true, you know," Hermione said gently, trying not to snicker at Harry's horror-struck expression. "When you first started here, she was flirting with you like mad, remember? Then when she found out you're..."
"Gay," interjected Reg.
"...unlikely to return her interest," continued Hermione, ignoring him, "She decided that you're unnatural and she hates the sight of you."
Harry was stunned. "I wonder..." he mused. "Does that make winding her up unfair, or just much easier?"
"Easier." Hermione replied firmly. "She can't help having weird ideas about... alternative lifestyles, but she needn't be such a cow. You don't have to be perfect, Harry, just because you're on the good side in the war. Ron and I've spent eleven years trying to convince you of it, and it's only polite for you to pretend we're succeeding occasionally."
Harry laughed at that, and headed back to the office with the notes that Reg had finally found under his coffee cup. There was an owl sitting on his desk when he got there, so he gave it some of his lunch and untied the message from its leg. It was from one of the staff at Azkaban that he had contact with occasionally.
Harry,
this isn't an official thing, so you can ignore it if you like, but we've got someone here who wants to see you - not as an Auror, just a visitor. We shouldn't really allow it until after he's been interrogated, but since you're often here anyway, we can get round that if you want. An old classmate of yours, I gather: Draco Malfoy. He was picked up at the Riddle House (and you didn't hear *that* from me, either!) Like I said, it's up to you whether you see him or not, but you need to make your mind up fast. If half the rumours I've heard about him are true, as soon as he's tried, he's looking at execution. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, if he was a friend.
Draco Malfoy. Harry's heart lurched. These days, he tried not to think about the son of Voldemort's most trusted assistant. The blond Slytherin had been his Nemesis throughout his Hogwarts days. Enemy and rival for seven years, and, for two glorious months, his lover.
*******
TBC
