The Later Years
Note: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters (though I wish I did;) ) Also, this is my first fic, so if you read it and it sucks, tell me, but nicely.
Chapter One
It was raining. Again. 21-year-old Harry Potter shook his wet black hair out of his eyes as he entered the Three Broomsticks. He cast his gaze about the noisy pub as if he were looking for some one. In fact, he was looking for someone, but they were not here. He sighed and sank down on a barstool. Of all the times he desperately needed to see Lupin, he was not there to meet him. Out of all of Harry's years of working for the Order of the Phoenix, Lupin had never once been late for a meeting. Harry was drowsy. He stared absentmindedly at the crowds of chatting Hogwarts' students enjoying butterbeers on their Hogsmeade weekend. Harry remembered how he had sneaked into Hogsmeade in his third year and secretly had a butterbeer with Ron and Hermione. How he missed them! As soon as he had left Hogwarts, Harry had begun auror training, leaving his best friends behind completely. He had had no regrets at the time, still being in shock from his battle with Voldemort. He still could not believe he had killed a man, if Voldemort could have been considered a man at all. But the prophecy had to be fulfilled, and Harry had no desire to be dead, even if it had meant seeing Sirius again. As he thought about his late Godfather, Harry pulled an old, tarnished silver mirror from the inside of his moleskin overcoat. He rubbed his thumb over its surface. This had been Sirius' last gift to him before he.before that dog Beatrix Lestrange had killed him. It was a two-way mirror that Sirius and Harry's father James had used when they were at school and in different detentions. Harry had given Ron the second mirror as a parting gift from Hogwarts, but he supposed Ron had broken or lost it. He considered saying his friend's name into the mirror, as he had done in a desperate attempt to contact Sirius, but just then a witch with a wrinkled face and long red fingernails asked him
"Fancy a cuppa, Mr. Potter?" She held a chipped porcelain teapot in one hand and a mug in the other.
"No, Rosemerta, I'll have a--a butterbeer, thanks." Madam Rosemerta nodded and took the strong hot tea back behind the bar. She pulled out a bottle, opened it, and set it down in front of Harry. He took a swig of the amber-colored liquid and felt almost instantly better. At the same moment, Lupin walked in.
"Harry!" he called. "Sorry I'm late. Got held up over at the ministry. Arthur wanted me to look at something for him." Harry nodded.
"'S ok, Remus." He said. It still felt odd to call Lupin by his first name when for so long he had called him "Professor Lupin" though he had taught Harry defense against the dark arts for only one year. "So, what was it the Arthur held you up with?" Harry asked, referring to the Minister of Magic himself, Arthur Weasly, and the comment Remus had previously made.
"Oh, nothing terribly important, really. Some Death Eaters causing trouble over in Liverpool." Remus replied. Harry nodded. "So, what was it that you so urgently needed to see me about?" the aging werewolf asked Harry.
"Well, I haven't heard from Hagrid in about two months. He said he would owl me as soon as he got back from seeing Grawp, but so far, I haven't heard from him. Have you any idea where he is?" Harry gnawed his lip nervously. He knew how badly Grawp could beat up his half brother, and he was afraid for Hagrid.
"As far as I know, he's still with the giants. They were all confused after You-Know-Who-I mean, after your battle and all-" his sentence died on his lips as Harry nodded once more. There was a distracted look in the auror's eyes. He looked worried, and tired. "Listen, Harry," said Remus. "Why don't you go over to Diagon Alley and see Fred and George. I hear the shop is doing splendid."
"Yeah, I think I will." Harry said, still looking troubled. He laid a coin down for his butterbeer, gulped down the last swallow, and strode out of the pub. Then, with a crack, he was gone.
Note: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters (though I wish I did;) ) Also, this is my first fic, so if you read it and it sucks, tell me, but nicely.
Chapter One
It was raining. Again. 21-year-old Harry Potter shook his wet black hair out of his eyes as he entered the Three Broomsticks. He cast his gaze about the noisy pub as if he were looking for some one. In fact, he was looking for someone, but they were not here. He sighed and sank down on a barstool. Of all the times he desperately needed to see Lupin, he was not there to meet him. Out of all of Harry's years of working for the Order of the Phoenix, Lupin had never once been late for a meeting. Harry was drowsy. He stared absentmindedly at the crowds of chatting Hogwarts' students enjoying butterbeers on their Hogsmeade weekend. Harry remembered how he had sneaked into Hogsmeade in his third year and secretly had a butterbeer with Ron and Hermione. How he missed them! As soon as he had left Hogwarts, Harry had begun auror training, leaving his best friends behind completely. He had had no regrets at the time, still being in shock from his battle with Voldemort. He still could not believe he had killed a man, if Voldemort could have been considered a man at all. But the prophecy had to be fulfilled, and Harry had no desire to be dead, even if it had meant seeing Sirius again. As he thought about his late Godfather, Harry pulled an old, tarnished silver mirror from the inside of his moleskin overcoat. He rubbed his thumb over its surface. This had been Sirius' last gift to him before he.before that dog Beatrix Lestrange had killed him. It was a two-way mirror that Sirius and Harry's father James had used when they were at school and in different detentions. Harry had given Ron the second mirror as a parting gift from Hogwarts, but he supposed Ron had broken or lost it. He considered saying his friend's name into the mirror, as he had done in a desperate attempt to contact Sirius, but just then a witch with a wrinkled face and long red fingernails asked him
"Fancy a cuppa, Mr. Potter?" She held a chipped porcelain teapot in one hand and a mug in the other.
"No, Rosemerta, I'll have a--a butterbeer, thanks." Madam Rosemerta nodded and took the strong hot tea back behind the bar. She pulled out a bottle, opened it, and set it down in front of Harry. He took a swig of the amber-colored liquid and felt almost instantly better. At the same moment, Lupin walked in.
"Harry!" he called. "Sorry I'm late. Got held up over at the ministry. Arthur wanted me to look at something for him." Harry nodded.
"'S ok, Remus." He said. It still felt odd to call Lupin by his first name when for so long he had called him "Professor Lupin" though he had taught Harry defense against the dark arts for only one year. "So, what was it the Arthur held you up with?" Harry asked, referring to the Minister of Magic himself, Arthur Weasly, and the comment Remus had previously made.
"Oh, nothing terribly important, really. Some Death Eaters causing trouble over in Liverpool." Remus replied. Harry nodded. "So, what was it that you so urgently needed to see me about?" the aging werewolf asked Harry.
"Well, I haven't heard from Hagrid in about two months. He said he would owl me as soon as he got back from seeing Grawp, but so far, I haven't heard from him. Have you any idea where he is?" Harry gnawed his lip nervously. He knew how badly Grawp could beat up his half brother, and he was afraid for Hagrid.
"As far as I know, he's still with the giants. They were all confused after You-Know-Who-I mean, after your battle and all-" his sentence died on his lips as Harry nodded once more. There was a distracted look in the auror's eyes. He looked worried, and tired. "Listen, Harry," said Remus. "Why don't you go over to Diagon Alley and see Fred and George. I hear the shop is doing splendid."
"Yeah, I think I will." Harry said, still looking troubled. He laid a coin down for his butterbeer, gulped down the last swallow, and strode out of the pub. Then, with a crack, he was gone.