Norwegian Wood

Summery/Disclaimer/Author's Note: This fic was created purely as a shameless plea for reviews, no more no less. How very immoral.

Chapter One: White Collar Man

Part One: At Home

It was some years after I had graduated from Hogwarts and had begun to establish myself in the Wizarding community that I decided I needed something more. Most surprisingly I had fallen into the mundane existence of adult life with a sense of relief. Youthful fame does not last nor does it cover the utilities, you can't eat old glory, and you definitely can't pay the bills with it. This revelation had hit me repeatedly and with Bludger-like force in my first year out of Hogwarts. Outwardly I never expected it to be easy, all my friends and in fact all who knew me will tell you, that I hadn't let Who I Was go to my head. But that's not strictly true. Somewhere inside me, maybe that side that the sorting hat found as Slytherin cried out that I deserved an easy ride from here.

I don't know how many of these feelings showed, I hated being a hero. Ron and Hermione can testify to that, not that the world at large believed it. There were times, especially after the death of Sirius that I wanted to give up altogether, just go back to being a normal boy under the stairs. Still somehow I carried this image of myself defeating Voldemort and then just going off and retiring, poof! A fantasy of a job well done. Salutes in all papers, vindication for what I had suffered, getting my dues, call it what you will. When I dreamt that, I was to young to understand that society is like a child, something one must protect without thought of reward.

I may not have been the arrogant snot Malfoy was, but I still had my secret hidden conceit and the gnawing guilt that accompanied it, when it suggested that perhaps, just perhaps, I deserved something more; recognition, gratitude, good marks, the head boy's badge, or a cushy job at the end for all I had done. I hated that part of my mind, those wholly un-Gryffindor feelings.

Paradoxically it was Malfoy that kept the most corrosive of my thoughts at bay. His whining and complaining, the jibes and the hateful superiority that I had endured all those years at Hogwarts struck me. It was his behavior that slapped me into awareness of my own hypocrisy that hit me when he fancied that I was favored and he complained, while he himself walked around in a proactive cloud of nepotism, enraging as it was I had no choice but to hid my resentment when the benefits that never materialized. If only to prove that I was the better man.

Nonetheless you can't live your life as a hero and still not be somewhat affected. Now that years have passed and I can see back more clearly than perhaps I could at the time; I can admit that I was a self-involved prat, but I was fourteen and fighting lord Voldemort, can you really blame me? When you are thrust into the limelight as the savior of an entire people you start to believe that society owes you something for all you have suffered.

Voldemort's death threw me into the same situation as all the young wizards my age; out of work, positions clogged with boomers still yet to retire and a market far from its peak I found myself floundering like a fish out of water. Needless to say it came as a shock. Everyone seemed to be pestering me about whether I would be 'demanding compensation'.

Talk of settlements annoyed me, I saw my life everywhere, my finances, my personal relations every facet of my life in one rag or another or being whispered about as I passed in the street. It was probably mostly my own imagination, after all one always wants to think that they are more the center of attention than they actually are. Even so it was probably truer in my case then in many others, whether to the degree I imagined it or not. Inflated sense of self-importance and all that pop-psychology business.

I might have gone loopy had the Weasleys not whisked me off on a camping trip that summer after graduation. I remember Hermione, Ron and myself sitting on the seashore, the ocean rough and choppy, a single sailboat floating aimlessly out on the uncertain water, and her telling me that 'I mustn't expect too much'. To hear Hermione taking down to me like a spoilt child hurt my Gryffindor pride. But looking back it was then that I determined to make it on my own.

I found a job, nothing glamorous, in fact nothing interesting at all, an office job, paper pushing at the ministry. I suppose I could have been an Auror and gone on to fight the good fight against more of the threats that cropped up in the uncertain aftermath of the Post-Voldemort Wizarding World. They had offered, but I had refused.

When I consulted Hermione and Ron, they both told me it was probably for the best. No need for more excitement, I had had enough right? Why put myself further in the way of the public eye? They were right of course, but that was not really why I refused taking up the offer. Personally I thought that my presence as an Auror might have brought up other copycats or malicious wannabes intent on testing their skill against the legendary Harry Potter. It was ridiculous I know, but as I said before, I did have my secret sense of self-importance. I also didn't think I could stand many more snide remarks on the favoritism that lay at the root of what could possibly been my great success.

For the next few years following my employment as Paper-pusher Extraordinaire at my desk in the Ministry's Department of Muggle Co-operation, I lived a rather subdued let down of a life. I had my flat and my biweekly check piped into my bank account in Gringotts, I had my Muggle telly, my occasional nights out with Ron and dinners at his and Hermione's shared house in the suburbs. Then there was the occasional visit by Remus or Tonks to look forward to. To tell the truth it was heaven, a wonderfully ordered rest after a chaotic, stress-filled youth.

Things fell easily into a routine, and for all the lack of adventure I felt safe, happy and content. The papers backed off after a couple of months of my doing nothing more interesting than Apparating to work. Somehow headlines like 'Harry Stays at Office 'til Five-fifteen' or 'Potter Scrubs his Tub' didn't interest the vast majority of the reading public. I can't think why.

For these first three years I remember coming home tired after a long day to the empty flat and feeling wonderful knowing I could just plop myself down on the divan and be alone. I had never had a space that was strictly my own before moving to my flat and I relished my independence. It felt great to be alone and free at last. I could get angry and scream when things annoyed me, I could cook my own dinner when I wanted and eat it where I wanted, it was the autonomy I had longed for during those long summers with the Dursleys.

I had the most typical of typical lives and I loved it. I remember once back when I was living with the Dursleys', Dudley had been watching one of those educational programs, before we had satellite and only had a few channels. It had been a program on Japanese workers. I think it was called something along the lines of "The Corporate Samurai" or "Cookie Cutter Men" I can't remember now. The only image that stuck with me was a sea of white collared, black-crowned bodies going through normal daily lives, the same thing everyday. It had stuck me as paradise. Maybe the fact that Dudley thought it was the worst place on earth contributed somewhat to this impression, but I couldn't help feeling that to be one of the masses, just for a while was the best I could ever hope for. I had gotten that wish and I was happy. But like all things this had to change eventually.

If there was one positive thing I can say about the Dursleys, it was that they taught me to be clean. Not that Dudley or uncle Vernon ever were particularly clean themselves; to put it mildly Dudley was a pig, the tail had merely clinched it. Nevertheless for all my time with them cleaning up after Dudley, doing the dishes, moping, polishing and hanging out the laundry, I learnt to appreciate cleanliness and order.

My flat was never a mess; I took pride in that, a secret guilty kind of pride, especially when I compare it to Ron and Hermione's house. Or even Remus' secluded cottage. Hermione is truly brilliant academically but she has no time for such things as cleaning. And Ron, well I have never seen Ron doing more than a few dishes, traditional family values, gender roles and all that, he really lives by them. Remus by all accounts is an immaculate person, and I would believe anyone who tells you this, his classes in Hogwarts were always organized. Then again, with first Sirius and now Tonks living with him, things seem to happen.

I visited them last summer. It is beautiful up in the moors, in the open spaces away from the smog of the city, but their house… Remus must try, but having Tonks around all the time, things get broken, lost, misplaced, everything becoming the general clutter of her life.

In general I was content with my flat. It was plain, just as a bachelor's flat should be. Bed, kitchenette, washroom, small den come library, come sitting room, come dining room with a few bookshelves and the big telly, the only decoration. I hate clutter. There was always too much of it at the Dursleys. Victorian bric-a-brac collecting dust along side gruesomely framed family pictures and various drill models that uncle Vernon could not bare to have anyone throw away. 'This one is the one that Makita's Vice-President of Foreign Interests gave to me on the signing of our one-year contract, and this one was given to be by Royal tool's…' and on and on. Hogwarts too, had its share of decorative memorabilia but somehow it had fit there, more so than back at the Dursleys. Maybe I just liked it more because I didn't have to clean it.

But after four years of this self-satisfied lifestyle I was becoming rapidly discontent. I didn't have the feeling that something was missing, but I wasn't sure I wanted it anymore. Coming home every night to the same old boring routine of cooking, washing up, interchangeably doing laundry, dusting or scrubbing out the bathroom had lost its charm. I was a man and I didn't what to spend my time playing house all by myself. One day I brought up the subject to Ron over lunch.

"You need to get a girlfriend."

It came out remarkably clearly despite him having shoveled half the plate of chips into his mouth the moment before. Practice I guessed. I merely stared at him blankly.

"You may be a little pansyish sometimes but I know you aren't some fairy, you need a woman."

I choked a bit on that one, Sirius had been homosexual and ever since I had found out, mention of it in such a derogatory fashion had rubbed me the wrong way.

We like to eat lunch in a little pub off Parselton road; it's close to both his and my offices. The food is decent and the price is reasonable, the clientele however is most likely to be coworkers and I didn't much appreciate the thought of having my feelings or any other aspect of my personal life publicized around the office. But we're regulars, despite the new Wizdey's burger joint right around the coroner.

"Ron, can you keep it down a little." I said frowning.

"Sorry." He grinned sheepishly looking apologetic.

"Don't you have some one at the office you like?" I shook my head.

"Then why not go out a bit more, heck I have more social life then you do even with a girlfriend to tie me down, and I don't have your name."

"That's exactly the problem." I said.

Yet another half-truth, people seem to think I retreated on account of over publicity, yes it's true, but that wasn't my primary motivation. I just had to get away from everything, the years I had fought Voldemort had, well, hurt me and I needed time to pull myself back into the normal world. It had been fun at first, when I was in school, being in tournaments and winning at Quidditch, but in the outside world there are more Malfoys and Snapes than Dumbledores and you are more likely to be disliked for you popularity than worshiped, even if they get to know you. Society should learn to keep their heroes at arms length if they don't want to spoil their illusions.

Ron had been silent on that topic for the rest of lunch. We talked of other things; I can't remember exactly what any more but I do remember they were not particularly important, even at the time. I had almost forgoten the whole conversation until a few nights later. I was sitting at home comfortably sipping a butter beer as I lounged on the couch reading the latest Quidditch scores, with Pinkum gone the Americans didn't stand a chance, when the fire which had been glowing sleepily burst up with renewed vigor.

"Harry, you there?" Ron's voice broke in to my perusal of the charts.

"Yes I'm right here by the couch."

"Can you come to the fire, I can hardly here you, your mantel has no range." I discarded the newspaper and got up.

"What?" I asked once I stood beside the fire.

I really should look into getting a portable, I hear they have new ones that do double duty as toasters. I still haven't got one, wonder if I ever will get round to it.

"We are going out, you know that new place around the corner, bit of a pub type setup, they have some live music tonight. One of the groups plays on the radio some times. We were wondering if you wanted to join?"

He looked as if he were already flustered, something about the fall of his hair, had a slightly combative look; in the background I could here Hermione's shrill voice though only faintly.

"I guess." I said not wanting to commit myself.

Ron and Hermione's fights are not something I care to get in the middle of.

"Come. Please tell me you'll come. Hermione won't leave me alone unless you do, she says I have to do right by you as your best friend and all that, bloody hell come or she'll eat me." Ron looked desperate.

I guessed I had no choice I was his skin or mine, and I had always had a 'thing for saving people'. I nodded and smiled at him. He let out a sigh of what I could only assume was relief. They love each other, but they do tend to drive one another up the wall.

"See you at seven-thirty then. The Bubbling Pit, you know it right? We'll try to get a table in the back."

"Alright, that's the one just off Cronesroost?"

"Yes that's it, see you there. Is that the newest issue of Quidditch World?" I herd a thunk from the fire and Ron turned away rolling his eyes emphatically, "Yes, okay Hermione I'm coming! Harry I have to go, duty calls,"

"Don't worry I'll bring the mag."

We exchanged conspiratorial grins and within a moment his head had popped back out of sight and the flames sank back into glowing embers and flakes of white ash.

Reviewing Made Easy

For all of you who never know what to say here is what you've been waiting for, (and just didn't know it!) Now you can just cut and past your way to a successful review! (yes this is how low I will sink to get your feedback!)

( ) Hey! I just read this, I think it's great please write more!
( ) Hey! I didn't bother to read this, but I think it's crap anyway so don't bother continuing!
( ) I thought this was a song fic.
( ) May the Stones rock on forever!
( ) But isn't Norwegian wood a Beatles song?
( ) The Stones are here, the Beatles are gone!
( ) Then why didn't you write a fic about a Stones song. Are you Torontonian by any chance?
( ) I think you're getting a bit carried away.
( ) I thought the words you used were cool! Love nepotism, such a Draco-ish word!
( ) Too many big words and what the heck is nepotism? (And no I don't have dictionaries where I live so stop staring at me like that!)
( ) That felt kind'a OOC…
( ) Wow that was so in character and it's your first time writing Harry. Good for you!
( ) This isn't going to be another one of those fics were it takes you forever to get to the point is it?
( ) I want raunchiness!
( ) Doesn't everybody? roles eyes
( ) I noticed you had a few errors can I fix them for you and send this back?
( ) I loved the part when (enter part here)
( ) Let me know when you update.
( ) This is not such a great fic (I regret reading it/it was a pointless waste of time) don't bother contacting me.
( ) Wow! This fic fits in with your other work the House on the Moor, is this going to be a series?