Author's Notes: And now, a brief interlude featuring Harry and Diana, from…gasp! Diana's point of view. Now, I know with Diana people either love her or they hate her, so those of you who aren't fond of her will just have to bear with me for this chapter. Forgiveness, please.
The chapter might seem sort of off-topic, but it was fun to write – let's hear it for character development and random backstory, yeah! There are some important, key parts to the plot in this chapter though, so if you were gonna skip it, think again, buddy. I'm watching you. -_-
P.S. Yay for March break! I'm goin' to Florida, so finally I shall be free from -30 degree Celcius weather! Disney World, here I come, baby!
***
Her feet pounded on the ground, her breathing short and laboured. Perspiration was beginning to form on her brow. Her arms pumped back and forth as she ran, feeling air rush by her, seeing the objects around her pass by in a blur of colour. Exhilarated and exhausted at the same time, Diana Drago cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her pursuer. He was quickly gaining on her. Feeling a fresh surge of adrenaline course through her veins, she pushed forward harder, pain searing through her legs. She was also beginning to feel a cramp in her side. She ignored it and pressed on. Faster and faster, until her head spun and all other noises were completely drowned out by the sound of her heart thudding in her ears.
She had never been very athletic as a child, or even for most of her adult life. Quidditch was fun, but only as a spectator. Muggle sports bored her. But she'd always loved to run; it had been her way of escaping from her father, both literally and figuratively. She would quietly leave the place where they happened to be hiding at the time and run at night, loving the feel of the Muggle roads under her feet, and the sound of wind rushing through her hair. Diana almost reached up to feel her hair now, then remembered it was all gone; short and layered, but still the exact same colour as the jet black robes she'd worn at Hogwarts. She'd never been very vain, so she hadn't really cared when Mad-Eye told her to chop it all off. She wouldn't admit it, but Diana sort of liked it better this way.
She supposed running had become an instinct, a form of survival, especially since her father had been running from the law every two seconds. The number of times he'd roughly awoken her in the middle of the night, forcing her to leave all her things behind, were countless. Then they would have to run, the Aurors always close behind. Diana marvelled at the irony; she had somehow become one of the people she'd always run from.
Diana idly wondered, not for the first time, why her father had bothered to keep bringing her along. She was excess luggage, and only hindered his frequent attempts at escape. She wondered why he'd pulled her out of school in her seventh year, and why he had then dragged her around, forcing her - under the Imperius curse - to watch the unspeakable things that he, Donovan, and Samantha Owens did. She'd always known her father had dabbled in the dark arts, and it didn't take her long to figure out what they were: Death Eaters. Cold-blooded killers. Servants of Voldemort.
She supposed that her father's motives for taking her with them were selfish, as usual; if he had left her behind at Durmstrang, she was a liability. She could have told the Ministry too many of his secrets. She could have been used as a witness at his trial. But then, why hadn't he just killed her? He'd likely killed her mother – she had died, for reasons unknown to Diana, when she was very young – so what difference did it make if he murdered his only daughter?
Yet Alonso had dragged her along, and Diana would never know why. She'd betrayed him in the end and had agreed to testify against him anyway. He was found guilty, not that it had mattered; he and Donovan had escaped. And then Donovan Owens had ended up killing Alonso Drago.
He deserved it, Diana told herself savagely, then returned her concentration and focus to the task at hand. She breathed deeply and pushed even harder forward, now able to hear the heavy breathing of her pursuer, only a few feet behind her now. She smirked; he was stronger, and most likely could be faster, but he would never catch up. She loved to run.
Finally, she began to slow, crossing the familiar white line on the ground. Her arms and legs now moving of their own will, she tried to stop herself, her heart thudding against her chest. A victorious smile crossed her face as she turned around, panting, to meet her pursuer. Her face, usually an emotionless mask, was flushed, and her dark eyes sparkled with triumph, though she clutched at the stitch in her side. Her follower also slowed, eventually coming to a stop beside her, hands on his knees as his chest heaved up and down, trying to suck up as much oxygen as possible.
With a groan, Harry Potter fell to the ground dramatically, breathing heavily. His forehead was shiny with sweat, and his face was red after the long run. He let his head lull to the side, closing his eyes and not moving.
Her breathing still laboured, Diana grinned wryly and nudged him in the side with her foot. "Still alive?" she asked in cool triumph.
"No," Harry gasped out, though he sat up on the ground and mopped his forehead with his own top – a white T-shirt with faded writing on it, not unlike the ones Muggles wore. Diana caught a brief flash of skin and immediately looked away, folding her arms while Potter composed himself.
"Where in the blazes did you learn to run like that?" Potter asked, managing to get to his feet.
Diana smirked. "At Durmstrang," she answered in a fake, heavily accented voice. "Ve are running in the snow and in the fields, every day, and ve haff to run faster if Karkaroff cracks the whip – "
"Alright, alright," Potter groaned, grinning a bit. "So I'm faster on a broom, and you're faster on the ground. Happy now?" He mopped his forehead with his shirt again, and Diana rolled her eyes, tossing him the towel she'd had waiting for her at the finish line.
"Jealous now?" she retorted with a sneer as the towel hit him in the face.
"Yes," Harry admitted solemnly. "I am infinitely jealous of the talented Miss Drago, with her amazing athletic skills and charming good looks." Harry's ears turned a bit red as he grinned cheekily and mopped his face again.
Diana hastily turned away, her face the emotionless mask once more. She avoided her partner's eyes as she picked up the duffle bag she'd brought along and slung it over her shoulder. When she had first started working as Potter's partner, the other Aurors – most of them being men – had joked with and teased Harry about having a woman for a partner. Diana had acted unimpressed, but Potter had taken it all with good humour. He even threw in a joke of his own about it every now and then.
They were meant to be just that – jokes. The new partners would often trade sarcastic remarks; they both had the same dry sense of humour, which made the nature of their work a lot lighter. But when Potter joked about certain things…Diana would never admit it or show it, but it made her suddenly uncomfortable, especially when she happened to look up or turn around when he wasn't expecting it, and he was staring at her with an intense, unreadable look. It bothered her, for some reason. But she didn't say anything or show that she was uncomfortable. That was her nature – showing emotion meant showing weakness. She supposed her father had something to do with that philosophy, but she didn't care. Bad things always seemed to happen when she let emotion get the best of her.
In the short months she'd been training with them, the rest of the Aurors had come to get to know and respect, even admire, the rare woman in their midst. She was dedicated and intelligent, not to mention capable of brewing potions that most of the others couldn't even dream of attempting. Diana took a sort of pride in this – if there was anything she excelled at, it was Potions, and now they all knew it. The jokes had become less frequent, and she'd eventually been accepted. Everyone had pretty much learned not to mess with the cold woman, with the notable exception of Joel Landers; but he was an idiot. She'd even become somewhat companionable with the rest of them; if companionable was a word that appropriately described Diana Drago.
Diana got along best with her partner; this may or may not have had anything to do with Vitae Infinitum, the spell that bonded them. Diana had been reluctant to participate in the spell at first, the defence mechanisms she'd built up around herself having kicked into play. But she'd eventually agreed to it.
The first few months had been hard. Her partner hid some of his innermost feelings almost as well as she did. Harry had a lot of pain and troubles in his dark past, and, to her surprise, Diana was frequently subjected to his feelings of guilt, morose, and even loneliness. When they'd found him in the tomb in Egypt, Diana had been violently sick to her stomach with Harry's strong feelings of pain and fatigue. She must have masked it well though, because Weasley, thankfully, had not noticed.
Eventually she'd learned to block most of Potter's emotions, unless they were particularly strong or alarming, which meant that he was in trouble. It was a good system, even if the idea of being bonded to Harry was slightly unnerving, for whatever reason. Diana always worried that he could feel her buried emotions just as well as she could sense his.
"Oi, Diana!" His voice broke through her thoughts. Diana immediately felt angry with herself; she'd probably been standing there, in the middle of the Ministry of Magic's gym, looking like an idiot with a dazed expression on her face. Silently scolding herself, Diana adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder and left the gym, casting a glance back at the track which circled the large, glistening room.
Few people knew what went on in the lower levels of the Ministry of Magic building, and even fewer people had the proper clearance to find out. It was there that all the confidential Ministry business transpired – the offices of the Department of Mysteries could be found in the lower levels, as well as the headquarters and facilities of the Aurors. She followed Harry out into the hallway, which was dimly lit compared to the bright gym, and walked in silence beside him, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
Diana sharply glanced over at Potter, wondering - and perhaps maybe a small part of her hoping - that she'd catch him staring at her. But Potter seemed to be interested only in the hallway before them, and Diana cursed herself for being so stupid.
She wasn't sure what it was about Potter, but she found she often let her defences down around him. He was too easy to talk to. It had started back at Hogwarts the year before, when she had still been teaching. Diana had helped Harry and his friends to chase down and kill Donovan Owens, the man that had murdered her father. Diana felt a wave of envy towards Potter, which quickly passed. She had wanted to be the one to kill Owens, to watch him suffer. Not to avenge her father's death or anything foolish like that, but to get revenge on him for herself. For years of trying to persuade Alonso that they'd be better off without her, for insisting to put her under the Imperius curse, and even, on occasion, the Cruciatus curse.
Diana's fists clenched; she'd wanted to inflict as much pain upon Donovan as he'd inflicted upon her. But Harry had gotten there first; or rather, Donovan himself had. He'd been stupid enough to try to curse Potter, who still had Severus Snape's sacrifice to protect him. It served Owens right; but still, Diana had wanted to do the deed. She almost sighed out loud, but stifled it quickly, causing Potter to shoot her a curious look as a strange, muffled sound escaped her instead. She shot him a look as if to challenge him to say something in return, and he grinned, swinging his own bag back and forth.
They'd become – what? She wasn't quite sure, because she'd never had a friend before. They had things in common: both of them liked Quidditch, had the same sense of humour, and enjoyed teasing Granger and Weasley. They had both lost their parents - not that Diana had given a damn about her father, but it might have been nice to have a mother – and they had both personally experienced, in their own ways, the pain and suffering Voldemort had caused. When Potter had taken off suddenly at the end of last year, Diana was slightly disappointed, but she'd gotten over it quickly. Then when she had been offered Weasley's place as an Auror, she'd immediately gone. Not because she'd be Potter's partner, she reminded herself, but because she wanted to.
With the placement of that damn spell on both of them, it had become harder and harder for Diana to keep up her indifferent, sarcastic attitude. To her great surprise, she found herself talking to Potter about things that she'd told only one other person – Albus Dumbledore. She spoke about her father and his idiot Death Eater friends, how she'd been dragged around like a suitcase no one wanted, how she'd always loved potions, how sometimes she'd even fantasized about brewing a potion to poison her own father. To her even greater surprise, he hadn't passed judgement, only shared things with her in return in his quiet way – the death of his parents, the often humorous antics of the Muggles he'd been forced to live with, his years at Hogwarts, his friendship with Weasley and Granger, the mind-numbing guilt he'd felt after Voldemort's return and when hearing about every death he caused after that; even the last moment's of Voldemort's life. Once he'd even mentioned a girl that he'd been in love with, or so he thought…Ginny, or something like that.
Diana kept telling herself that these details were personal, that she didn't need to know some of the things he told her. But, just like Albus Dumbledore (who had been like a father to her and had taken her in after the trial against Alonso), Potter had a way of talking so easily, of being so naturally friendly and trusting, that Diana forgot herself and became just as comfortable. She'd always hate herself later for letting her guard down; but then a little voice, which sounded suspiciously like Albus', would ask what exactly she had her guard up for in the first place. And, to be truthful, she didn't know.
"Did we accidentally stray into the morgue or something?" Diana commented, seeking to break the silence and her train of thought. The usually semi-busy hallways were deserted. Diana briefly felt annoyed; a certain scroll that had the potential to destroy Muggle-kind was missing, and everyone had taken the day off.
"It's Saturday, remember?" Potter replied. "Everyone else that works here have lives, unlike us."
"Unlike you, you mean."
Harry immediately bristled and assumed a pose that he evidently thought resembled her – nose stuck up in the air, arms folded, walking in strides that were long and purposeful. Diana pressed her lips together to keep from snickering.
"Hey, Potter, get your lazy arse out of bed and get down to the gym," Harry mimicked in a high-pitched tone that sounded nothing like Diana's voice. "We'll see who's faster on the ground."
It was true. Feeling restless and agitated without an assignment (her partner was supposed to be recuperating from his situation in Egypt, though he looked just fine to her), especially during this difficult time, Diana had somehow found herself at Potter's flat that morning. She rolled her eyes at her partner.
"That poor excuse for an imitation of me was the worst I have ever seen."
"You've seen others?" Potter asked innocently.
Diana rolled her eyes and stopped walking, moving to punch her partner in the shoulder, preferably hard. Reflexes automatically kicking in, he caught her wrist and grinned lopsidedly, causing a strange feeling in Diana's stomach. He had stopped walking too, his hand now tightly squeezing her small wrist.
"Let go," Diana said, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
"Make me."
"Oh come on Potter, what are you, five years old?" Diana asked. But, in one quick movement, she had dropped her bag and deftly reached for her wand anyway, secretly enjoying these games they played.
But while she may have been faster when running, Potter was definitely faster when it came to reflexes. He had been an Auror for seven years, whereas she had been one for barely seven months. Potter caught her other wrist before she could grab her wand out of the belt slung around her hips, where she always kept it. Diana struggled, but to no avail; her partner also happened to be the stronger of the two. Now he was holding both of her wrists, grinning stupidly, not seeming to realize that they were only inches apart. Not that Diana had noticed.
"Come on, Potter. Let go," Diana demanded. The game had ceased to be funny a few seconds ago.
"Oh, but what if I were the enemy?" Harry asked in mock seriousness, tightening his grip on her wrists and assuming Mad-Eye Moody mode. "What would you do? Your wand's out of reach, your partner's not around – off, selflessly saving someone, no doubt – and no matter how much you struggle, your attacker's not letting go. What do you do, Agent Drago?"
"I do this," Diana said smugly. She brought back her foot, and kicked him in the knee. Potter yelped and hopped on one foot for a bit, but his grip became tighter, if anything.
"Potter, let go," Diana said edgily, once he'd recovered. She was so close she could feel his breath on her bare neck.
"If you asked a vampire to let go nicely, do you think he would?"
"Let go," Diana said forcefully. Harry immediately released her wrists, looking sheepish as he realized how close they had been. Diana noted that the tips of his ears had become a bit pink again. Rubbing her wrists, Diana picked up her bag again, briskly starting to walk away. Harry followed, taking long strides to catch up.
"Sorry," he muttered lamely after a moment's silence. He made a few gestures, as if he was going to say something else, then just let his arms drop to his sides uselessly, blushing. Diana didn't respond, just barely shrugged her shoulders and continued rapidly walking, staring straight ahead.
Suddenly, both Aurors froze as they heard a faint, scuffling noise down the corridor.
Diana quietly dropped her bag again, drawing her wand, watching Potter do the same in her peripheral vision.
"Lumos," Potter said in the barest of whispers. The dim corridor lit up, the wand from Harry's wand nearly blinding Diana. She caught a glimpse of a shadow quickly move in the bright light, and raised her wand.
"Stupefy!" both Aurors shouted, as if they had one voice. Flashes of red light erupted from both wands, rebounding off the smooth walls of the corridor, until Harry and Diana heard a cry, then a thud as a body hit the ground. The two partners exchanged looks, and, without speaking, both moved in the direction of the sound – behind a pillar ahead of them. Diana heard Harry mutter something about hoping that they hadn't just Stunned Nicholas Foran.
The two of them reached the pillar and stared, for a moment, at the unconscious man lying there. He was in his thirties or forties, with a mop of pale, blonde hair and, Diana thought personally, a very weak chin. She knew she'd seen him somewhere, but couldn't quite place him…
"Merriton," Harry said sharply, crouching down and resting his hands on his knees. "Tony Merriton, or Antoine, or whatever the hell his name is." He shook his head and felt around Tony Merriton's robes for anything suspicious. Harry grabbed Merriton's wand, tossed it behind him, and then shook his head again. "He's got nothing on him. Should we wake him up?"
Realization had just dawned on Diana; Tony Merriton was one of Dameon Stark's cronies, one of the political weasels who made up the ensemble which followed Stark everywhere. Looking at the unconscious man with new disgust, Diana pointed her wand at him and said clearly, "Ennervate."
Tony Merriton jerked back to life, looking around wildly. The emotions on his face flickered from surprise, to fear, to anger, and finally, annoyance. He brushed off his deep blue robes, scowling up at the Aurors standing over him.
"Oh, the Aurors, what a pleasant surprise," the haughty Pureblood said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his head where it had hit the cold floor. "Did you Stun me, Drago?" he demanded indignantly.
"That depends," she replied icily. "Did you break into a high-level security area of the Ministry that you're not supposed to have access to?"
"I did not break in, I was let in," Merriton said pretentiously. His hand went inside his robes and emerged empty. "Give me my wand at once!" he exclaimed, pushing himself off the floor with his palms and rubbing them together in disgust, as if they were filthy. His demand was directed at Diana, who only had her own wand in her hand.
"If you want your wand, maybe you should be talking to me," Harry said in a harsh, authoritative tone. Diana nearly winced; she had only heard her partner use that tone of voice once or twice, and did not envy whoever was on the receiving end of it. Tony Merriton seemed to go a bit paler; he obviously was not as cocky under the stern glare of the famous Harry Potter. His tone immediately turned oily and business-like, though his sarcasm was thinly veiled.
"I believe this is all a misunderstanding, Agent Potter," Merriton said pleasantly. "I was allowed into this area by the guard outside – Collins, is his name? He seemed quite eager to let me in and have a look around."
Diana heard Harry groan under his breath.
Tony Merriton cleared his throat. "As I was saying…seeing as I should be taking over the Department of Mysteries once Mr. Stark has become Minister – "
Diana laughed a cold, hard laugh. "You wish," she spat. Antoine ignored her.
" – I thought it my right to be able to have a look around down here," Merriton finished haughtily.
"Is that right? Funny that you should choose the weekend, when no one would usually be around, and sneak around like a robber if it's your right," Potter said sharply. Antoine Merriton's face fell, and he instantly dropped his oily manner.
"Just give me my wand back. I'm no Death Eater," he snapped, outstretching his hand. Potter's eyes searched the pale man's face appraisingly; he then turned around hesitantly to pick up Merriton's wand.
"Although you may want to check out your girlfriend here," Merriton muttered under his breath. The comment was directed at Harry, but clearly Diana was the only one meant to hear it.
Diana reacted immediately, her anger and her instincts taking over. When Harry turned around not even a second later, Merriton had been shoved roughly against the wall, Diana clutching a fistful of his robes, her wand pointed at his neck. She dug the sharp end of her wand into his skin; if she had put any more pressure on it, she would have surely drawn blood. Diana took satisfaction in the fact that Merriton no longer looked arrogant and at ease. Instead, his face had gone ashen and beads of perspiration were beginning to appear on his forehead.
"Let me go!" Merriton gasped, struggling. But Diana had an iron grip, and Stark's little friend was going nowhere if she had anything to do with it.
Most people involved in Ministry affairs knew her family history, and what Diana's father had been. Normally, Diana couldn't care less what others thought of her. But if there was one thing that made her blood boil, it was people making the assumption that she was like him, people thinking that she was a Death Eater as well. She could stand anything but being compared to her father. Especially when the comparison came from someone like Dameon Stark or Antoine Merriton.
"Take it back, you insignificant, idiotic little man," Diana hissed severely. The raven-haired witch's eyes flashed dangerously, and she could feel her face grow hot with fury. "Take it back, or I will hex you so badly that your own unfortunate mother won't be able to recognize your slimy face."
Harry remained uncharacteristically quiet at her side. He was usually the one that acted on instinct, the one that let his emotions or his sense of heroicness get the best of him. He made rash decisions, and later they usually paid for it.
Diana clenched her fist by her side, reminding herself again that this was what happened when she let emotions control her. But the infuriated part of her mind pushed the logic part aside, and she increased the pressure of her thin, pointy wand on Merriton's neck. She saw, with satisfaction, that she had indeed broken the skin as a tiny pinprick of blood appeared. He tried struggling uselessly again.
"Take it back!" Diana repeated forcefully, raising her voice. It echoed throughout the empty halls, followed by the sounds of Merriton's frantic pants.
"Diana," said Harry quietly.
Diana's dark eyes bore into Merriton's cold blue ones before she released him, shoving him against the wall one more time for good measure. She snatched his wand out of Harry's hand and threw it at his feet. "Get out," she hissed. Merriton didn't waste any time; scooping his wand off the floor and looking humiliated, he turned on his heel and hurried off. Diana considered hexing him while his back was turned, just for good measure, but she knew it would be a waste of her time. After seeing the fear in his eyes and the humiliation on his face, she knew he wouldn't be returning any time soon.
Taking a deep breath and cooling down considerably, she calmly picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and began walking again as if nothing had happened. Harry followed, unspeaking. The silence grated on Diana's nerves, and finally she halted, folding her arms.
"You're angry," she said flatly.
"No, I'm not," Potter replied, not looking her in the eye.
"Yes, you are," Diana retorted, frustrated. "I can feel it through this stupid bond. You're angry because I just about slit the throat of a politician with my wand. Well tough luck, Potter, I don't regret it. He deserved it, the dirty bastard. I just wish it had been Stark instead." Diana said all of this very fast, and felt an immense sense of relief immediately after.
Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "I'm not angry because you did that," he finally said. "I'm angry at what he said. I'm angry at the fact that there's a slightly possibility people that like are going to end up working at the Ministry." He paused again, taking a deep breath, and looked Diana in the eye. "I'm afraid Stark's going to win," he admitted in a low voice.
Diana blinked. "He won't," she said firmly.
"I think he's the one after the scrolls," Harry blurted out. This revelation did not surprise or faze Diana, and she just shrugged.
"He's a politician, Potter; a pig-headed, Pureblood-obsessed, Muggle-hating one, but a politician all the same. I can't see Stark as the leader of some secret group of terrorists out to destroy the Muggle world. He doesn't have the brains for it," she scoffed.
"What if someone else was in charge? And Stark's just the pawn?"
"Chess," Diana smirked. "You sound like Weasley."
"Well, I have known him since I was eleven."
Diana tapped her wand, which she still had out, rhythmically against her arm. "So you think that Stark…sorry, some secret head of operations whom we don't know about…has the Scroll of Malady, and he's going to use it to make all the Muggles sick, so that while they're all in bed nursing head colds and fevers Stark can become Minister for Magic?"
"Well, when you say it like that…"
"Just telling it like it is, Potter."
"Why else would Merriton be down here, snooping around?"
"Because he's a royal pain in the – "
"No," Harry said patiently. "Maybe he was looking for the other four scrolls."
"What, he thinks we keep them in the gym?"
Potter sighed, and although he now looked weary and anxious, he couldn't suppress a grin at that. "No, I suppose not," he said with what sounded like a forced laugh. "Shall we?"
"Yes," Diana agreed, continuing to walk. They climbed the flight of stone steps and emerged into the sunlight of the Ministry courtyard. Harry berated the young guard for awhile, and after he had nearly reduced him to tears, apologized profusely for being mean. Diana smirked.
"Are you Apparating home, then?" Potter asked casually. The Ministry was also one of the places one could not Apparate into or out of, but one could Apparate freely in the courtyard.
"I think I'll walk," Diana shrugged lightly.
Harry looked at her short-sleeved black shirt dubiously. "You don't have a cloak on."
"I feel like walking."
"It's December."
"So it is."
"Well, then take mine," Harry said with a grunt as he dropped his bag and shrugged off his cloak. Diana began to argue, but Potter waved her off, standing with his heavy, winter cloak in hand. He draped it around her shoulders and suddenly blushed. Diana blinked, but to her own surprise, drew the grey cloak closer around her.
"Thanks," she said shortly.
"Not a problem," Potter said with a smile. It was strange how at one second he could be abrupt and forceful, and the next he was basking her with a smile. Diana was of the opinion that he had handled Merriton well, unlike her. It was true that Potter often rushed into things, and was sometimes headstrong, but her partner really was a great Auror.
Something suddenly occurred to her. "Potter," she said abruptly. "How did you get caught in Egypt?"
Harry blinked and looked taken aback. That obviously hadn't been what he was expecting her to say. "What do you mean?" he asked lightly. "I was just…careless, and I got caught. You're always saying I'm too reckless."
It didn't seem right. Even he would never get caught. "What did they know?" Diana asked, folding her arms under her partner's cloak. Harry began to look a bit nervous, and he wasn't looking her in the eye. Diana fixed him with a steady glare.
"They knew that a stranger was lurking around and spying on them, that's what," Harry replied with a strained laugh. Diana sighed; she wouldn't get it out of him today. But he'd eventually crack.
"See you Monday?" Potter asked, changing the subject and smiling again. "Or…maybe tomorrow? I'm not really doing anything…want to go to the gym again?"
Diana nodded, and he took a step away from her, disappearing with a pop after a final grin and a wave. Diana glanced at the heavy cloak around her shoulders. She could have just conjured or transfigured something to keep her warm.
"Tomorrow," she echoed to herself. The raven-haired Auror spun on her heel and started walking briskly out of the courtyard.
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