21st of December, 2006

Minerva sat with her glass of warm brandy at a table near the bar, feeling miserable. She had felt bad all day. From the pains in her elbows to the pressure at her temple, every facet of her body reminded her that this was not to be a fine day. She drank from her glass, the spicy aroma and alcohol temporarily dulling the creaking pains.

The dark interior of the empty Hog's Head Inn seemed to fit well with her mood. A fire was crackling in the hearth, keeping away the biting wet cold. Abe was in the back, having only come by to offer her a drink. He wasn't being impolite, but isolation was his own way of handling things. Soon enough he'd be joining them and weigh in with his practised, acerbic wit. The door frame gave a woody crack as it was pried open, a gust of snowy dust flowing in before the hooded figure closed up the door.

Looking around, the broad man pointed his wand to lock the door and threw back his hood. Kingsley smiled at her, but the weariness was evident on his face. Not too long ago, he'd told her that he would not be Minister any more. Clearly, those plans had been spoken too hastily. There they were, two years later, and still he held the office.

"Hello, Minerva," he said bending down to greet her. "Abe being unsociable again?"

"Can't blame him. I had a similar thought of just rolling over when I got up this morning."

Minerva finished her brandy as Kingsley dusted himself off and sat down with a sigh, running a hand over his face. Every pore in his skin screamed 'weathered', whereas not long ago he had a youthful look about him. The wood from the staircase creaked and Aberforth appeared with a bottle of whisky in his hand. He took three smoky glasses from a shelf and dropped them on the table, uncorking the bottle.

"Made it to the pity party. How is the Minister these days?"

"Could be worse," Kingsley answered, taking a sniff from the whisky.

"I knew we could count on you for a politician's optimism," said Aberforth, taking a seat across from him. "Has it really been two years?"

"Feels like a hundred years ago," Kingsley said, taking a drink. "I wonder if it wouldn't be best for me to give up on my office, let some other puppet take over."

"You've been keeping us safe, King," Minerva said. "God knows what would have happened if you hadn't been there to prevent them from taking over everything."

"I hear people are getting restless. That they won't take this new rule much longer. People meeting in the dark, plotting and thinking of taking action. Like that will end well. How about you, Aberforth? Did you hear anything?"

Aberforth grumbled and ran a hand through his beard. "Well, you're right about unrest. All I hear is voices whispering about their misery. Half of them are simply complaining, talking big words about brandishing their wands. The other half… a bunch of deluded fools. 'Potter! Potter will save us!' they say. Just shows you how desperate things are. Hopefully I won't be around to find out what happens."

"And whatever would I do without my Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?" Minerva smiled. "You stay well and healthy and share our suffering."

She thought over the events of two years ago as they drank in silence. It had all happened so quickly. Greyback, the foreigners coming in, and the disaster of the trial and the takeover. She'd turned the events over many times in her head, wondered if there had been a way for things to turn out better. In this day of mourning, her heart was heavy with doubt.

"Do you think we made a mistake?" she asked.

"It's what I keep asking myself," Kingsley said, "if there wasn't a way to end this peacefully. We made our bargain with the devil, I don't know if it would have been worse otherwise."

"You're torturing yourself for nothing," Aberforth grumbled. "Don't you remember the prophecy? It was always supposed to end this way. It was always supposed to be them. Yes, I wonder sometimes too, if I couldn't have done more to stop it. But in the end no matter how you spin it, Harry and Hermione Potter were always going to end up dead. Mourn them, but we did what was right."

"You know," Minerva sadly laughed, "Neville still believes they'll come back."

"Neville is a fool then, just like those deluded hopemongers," Aberforth said.

"Abe's right," Kingsley said. "Their bodies were found. They didn't escape that magical blast." He lifted his glass and sniffed away a few tears. "Let's drink to them. To the Hermione and Harry we knew, and who we miss dearly today."

#

25th of October, 2004

The meeting he had called meant they were once again assembled in the old Potter basement. The room Ignotus Peverell was overlooking from his picture frame had been furnished with seats and a table. The atmosphere, however, seemed tense in a very different way than he was used to. Ginny was biting her lip, taking in the news. From the corner, arms crossed, Mathilda looked at him intently, wanting to say something that she didn't want to say in front of the others. Alfred, standing by Ginny, was waiting for her reaction.

Hermione next to him seemed oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation, but then again she'd never been too good at reading the room.

"You swear you're not lying about this?" Ginny said, taking a step towards him. "I never noticed anything about her that showed she…"

"It's like I said," Harry answered. "She came to me looking for trouble. I think she just didn't want to be left alone. I want you to tell me this isn't a problem. You were close."

"Sure… I don't know," she said, turning away.

Alfred put a hand on her shoulder in worry and turned to Harry. "Sounds like you did the right thing."

There was a moment of silence, nobody knowing what to say. It seemed like such a straightforward decision. Mathilda pushed herself up from the wall and stepped forward, arms still crossed. "How about Frengis? You said she approached you, that she admitted to being a plant?"

"She admitted she was spying on me, but she hasn't made much of an effort. It felt like I was talking to Trelawney for a while."

"And you're not worried?"

"I don't think her spouting nonsense is that much of a threat. I've been keeping an eye on her with my enchanted map. She hasn't followed me or tried anything else. It's only a few months until the term ends."

"Right," Hermione butted in, "and we have a lot of things on our plate now at the Ministry—"

"Have we?" Mathilda interrupted. "Doesn't feel like we're doing much of anything."

"The plans for the new prison," Hermione listed out, "replacing Fuller, the Azkaban investigation, the repurposing of the Azkaban Guard and Ministry properties. You call that nothing?"

"It's busywork that we've created."

"Things are quiet now," Ginny said. "Quidditch season is over until Januari and it's not like I've got much on my plate."

"The AD has been pretty boring since Azkaban," Alfred shrugged.

"I guess a lot is on hold until I finish my work at Hogwarts," Harry said. "The Council needs us to establish ourselves in Britain if we want their help. Getting their help means dealing with the UAD—"

"UAD?" Ginny asked.

"American Aurors," Alfred explained.

"Right," Harry continued. "Even if only the rumours are true, we can't go up against a force of 1000 Aurors, and they'll definitely make a play if we involve the Council."

She nodded, and things seemed quiet again. Harry knew something was out of sync, he just couldn't put his finger on it. He decided to dismiss the meeting and told Hermione he would be just behind her. Mathilda lingered, looking at him through the corner of her eye.

"Well?" he said, once the others had left.

She sniffed and looked away, like she was telling him he should know already.

"I'm not in the mood for games," Harry said harshly. "Spit it out."

She brought the tip of her tongue near her nose and inhaled sharply, a sign of irritation. "This was a mistake," she said. "You, teaching at Hogwarts, getting away from the job." She stepped closer, facing off with him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's making you weak."

Harry's eyebrow twitched. He felt a cool anger rise up in him at the words, no small part of it being because of who said them. "What the hell are you on about?" he growled.

"Lovegood's not like us," she continued unblinkingly. "If she even knew a fraction of what we're responsible for, it won't matter what vow she's under, she won't sit still. Dozens of ways you could have handled that and you chose one that puts you at risk. You said it yourself, Frengis is watching you. And if it were only that…"

She fished a roll of parchment out of her cloak and pushed it against his chest. "Remember the Borgin girl you told me about? I got her checked out. Turns out she might have taken some lessons with a certain Alecto Carrow before she got to Hogwarts. Now you tell me you wouldn't have figured out what was going on with her in an instant, even in the early days."

Harry took the parchment, not needing to check to know she was telling the truth. Had he really overlooked something so obvious, that Mary Borgin was — in a way — like him? He felt his anger give way to embarrassment. Now he was really doubting his handling of Luna. What else was he missing, and why was he missing it?

Mathilda sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know why you're in a slump, but you need to pull yourself together. We can't afford to be screwing around at this point."

As she left, Harry let out a deep sigh. He unfurled the parchment. Mary Borgin, born July 2nd, 1986, daughter of Anthony and Clarissa Borgin. Niece to Lester Borgin and student of Alecto Carrow ages nine through ten. If he couldn't solve this small bit of investigating, then he was really in trouble, and Mathilda's reproaches were valid. The lack of confidence from his confidant already gnawed at him. He was going to need to sharpen up, and prove he still was a first class Auror.

#

The sixteen balls of brass and wood lifted and the bell sounded. Instantly, they dispersed in an attack pattern. Two bladed ones came towards him at full speed. With a double reductor curse, he dispatched them—behind him, a disabling one—he dodged and twisted, apparating twenty feet to the north-east. A stunner for the lone automaton in the corner. He dodged a flock of six by rolling to his right, letting loose two more hexes, downing one of the priority targets.

Running on, he dislodged a stone from one of the pillars and sent it flying into a swarm following him. He didn't have time to look back, having to flip to the side to avoid the sharp blades speeding in his direction. With a flick of his wrist, it exploded in a shower of shrapnel and splinters. All converged on him. He let out another flurry of spells towards the larger pack, destroying another and waited for the opportune moment.

One. Two. Twist. He reappeared in the east end of the room, and two of the constructs collided, falling to the floor. One on his right, a bladed one. He fired a stunner at it and it whizzed inches from his face. Something behind him—one he hadn't noticed until—too late. It connected with his back, sending a jolt through his body, making him drop to the floor.

The gong sounded again and the leftover flying weapons returned to their slots, new ones filling the place of those destroyed. Panting, he collected himself. He already felt much better, much sharper. His mind was clear and his wand work fluid. It was silly he hadn't thought of it before, to visit the Room of Requirement. It was still there, still functional. After some trial and error, it was easy enough to conjure something akin to the Auror Department practice cages, with some modifications.

He had trouble at first, spotting the lifeless enchanted balls, but he was already getting better. He was looking at the past months differently now. Perhaps he had been slacking since the wedding. It was all too easy to get lost in the domestic life, at least partially. He'd been running on a daily dose of adrenaline for so long, the comfort of Hogwarts and Hermione at home had been very seductive. But it wasn't the essence of who he was, and he was much too young to be falling into retirement.

Honing his mind, he remembered that he had seen Mary Borgin on his visit last year, when he visited Neville in the greenhouses. So that was an avenue he could explore. It might be a good idea to visit anyway. He needed every bit of goodwill he could get with Neville.

He blasted a cooling charm down his shirt and drank from his water bottle on the way there. They would be breaking for lunch soon anyway. He wove between the students filtering out of their herbology class and saw Neville, jotting something down in a notebook, standing in the back corner of the main greenhouse. Harry smiled when he was spotted and Neville waved back at him, moving to a different bed of plants.

"Still very busy?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "Professor Sprout is giving me more classes now." He cursed as he moved to a corner. "It's much too crowded in here with my graduate project. I've been putting my gyrocacti wherever I can, but they seem to like the light here better."

Harry moved closer, inspecting the rotating bulbs of the curious succulents. It was hypnotising watching them.

"Anything you need?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," he quickly answered. "I mean, maybe. I was wondering if you could tell me more about one of the students. Mary Borgin, 6th year. She's good with a wand."

Neville chuckled, still not looking up from his notebook. "She's not a bad student, but she really hates sticking to the books. It's one thing to be able to do advanced charms, but herbology is another matter. She got her Acceptable, but probably wanted to get a NEWT. Sprout agreed she'd be wasting her time."

"How is she with the other students?"

"She gets along. I think there's a boy in her House who fancies her." He closed his notebook with a sigh and finally looked up. "She's not giving you trouble, is she?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I thought she might be getting picked on, but maybe I was wrong."

"I don't think so," Neville said dismissively. "Want to grab lunch? I'm starving."

"Sure."

Harry looked back before following Neville out. His eyes widened and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth seeing the grove's arrangement.. There it was, staring him in the face the whole time. Right between the gyrocacti in the packed greenhouse, a precariously positioned bubotuber, its pustules dangerously engorged.

#

She'd gotten the message from a 5th year prefect. Judging by her look as she handed over the folded piece of parchment, she was jealous. The reason why had been obvious as soon as she read it. Professor Potter had called her to his office after class 'to discuss some school business'. She had no idea what that meant, but considering the rumours that went around the professor, she dreaded what would be told in the Ravenclaw tower.

Of course, she was also intrigued, and more than a little bit surprised. The man was a mystery. Dragon slayer, saviour, Auror, womaniser, Dark Wizard, crooked polititian, paragon of virtue, killer, clueless celebrity… Everyone had their opinion on Harry Potter. And a sickening amount of girls had a crush on him. There was even a rumour the new Divination Professor was trying to seduce him. But more importantly, he apparently never called someone to his office, save for that one time Leonard Jones had misfired a jinx at Susie Peltry and sent her to the hospital wing.

She put her things away in her trunk under her bed and passed through the Common Room.

"Where're you going?"

Rupert Fell stopped her on her way out. He had been hounding her since last year, finding any excuse to strike up a conversation. By now she knew he had a crush on her, as the girls had repeatedly pointed out to her. Usually she'd indulge him, but she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

"I'm busy now," she answered.

"Doing what?"

"Rupert…"

He continued to follow her, and probably would continue to do so unless she said something.

"I'm going to see Professor Potter," she whispered.

"Oh… what about?"

She fought the urge to punch him in the throat. She had dark thoughts about what she would do to him for months now, and he wasn't even the person she hated the most at Hogwarts.

"I don't know, Rupert," she snapped.

"You should watch yourself around him," Rupert said seriously. "I heard from Evan that Haley told him he has his eyes on Anna Breaker. A third year!"

"That's ridiculous and I don't care. Now leave me alone."

"Be careful!" he called out after her.

With a sigh, she made her way to the offices. Jealousy or admiration, it was always one or the other when boys talked about Harry Potter. As for Mary, she was instead interested. Not in the colour of his eyes, that he had married and divorced a Harpy, but that he had been responsible or involved in the capture of no less than seventy war criminals. A lot of them were dangerous people, the kind of people who wouldn't blink at throwing a killing curse your way.

Alecto Carrow was one of them. Mary had been taught by her before she came to Hogwarts, and ever since, she had found the study of the Dark Arts a difficult challenge. She had to go to the less known places in Knockturn Alley to get her reading material, and even then, she barely found the odd book on unconventional duelling techniques. Things would be so much easier if she could get access to the restricted section of Hogwarts' library. But there was little chance of that.

Entering the hallway leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office, she felt her cap being snatched from on top of her head.

"Tit for tat, got your hat!" Peeves cackled as he flew to the ceiling with his prize.

"Peeves!" she shouted. "Give it back!"

"Only if you say the magic word," he chanted, his beady eyes twinkling through his incorporeal figure. "Three guesses, don't ask why. Aren't I nice?" He dangled the hat lower and lower until it was in jumping range. "Come on now, Claw, jump for it. Jump for a treat!"

She looked at Peeves coldly. There was no way in hell she was going to jump for that. She took her wand out of her robes, wondering if she knew any spells to hurt a spirit. The door swung open, Professor Potter standing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow. Great, now she was being made a fool of in front of a professor.

"What's this, now?" he asked Peeves.

The spirit laughed awkwardly and hid the hat behind his back, failing to do so because of his still transparent form. "Nothing on here, Perforator Potter. Nothing at all! We were just playing, you see?"

"And what did I tell you?"

Peeves' eyes dimmed and something passed between the professor and the spirit. Once the moment passed, Peeves gave a nervous squeal and dropped the hat above Mary. He turned invisible and his voice grew more quiet as he sped down the hallway. "Leaving! Leaving! Not here! Not near! Gone now! Bye gone…"

"I told him not to linger in my hallway," Potter said. "Please come in."

She dusted off her hat and went inside. The tank with the grindylow was sitting in a corner, bubbles rising from the bottom periodically. The beast followed her with its black eyes, like some impish guardian.

"Take a seat," Potter said, taking a teapot from a small stove. "Do you want some tea?"

"Thanks," she found herself saying, even though she wasn't all that thirsty.

Professor Potter sat down and thumbed through a pile of parchment on his desk, slowly sipping from his tea in silence. A minute passed; nothing was said. Nervously, she took a sip of tea as well.

"Professor Flitwick told me you have interest in being an Auror?"

The question surprised her, though in hindsight it shouldn't. Potter was an Auror, it made sense that Flitwick would ask him to talk to her.

"Um, yes," she answered. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Not sure?" Potter asked with a frown. "I wouldn't expect someone who's not sure to take an interest in Fabres' advanced duelling manuals."

She wondered how he knew about this. She'd found the books on a trip to Geneva with her mum. "How did you know?"

Professor Potter picked up his wand and sent two hexes at the dummy in the corner, more fluidly than the books ever described. "I noticed your form during class. You're already starting to learn things you'd learn as a Trainee Auror. So?"

"I am interested… in becoming an Auror. But I'm worried my grades won't be good enough."

"You shouldn't worry about your grades," Professor Potter said with a smile. "We have our own recruitment process now, although it doesn't hurt to have some good marks, especially in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Do you know what kind of people tend to take the Auror Exam?"

She shifted in her seat, feeling like this was supposed to be a test of some kind. "Smart people?"

Professor Potter laughed. "Well, we don't take idiots. I was thinking more what kind of person, why they join. I'll tell you. You have the altruistic kind, who want to protect people. You have the glory hounds, who want recognition, or status. You have the adrenaline junkies — people who like getting into trouble. There's one more type of person who is attracted to the job. Can you guess what kind that is?"

She furrowed her brow for a moment, but shook her head.

"Killers," Potter said. "It's not a requirement, but it certainly helps if you can face a deadly encounter and be right back at work the day after." Harry leaned back and flicked through the stack of parchment on his desk.

"I was at the greenhouses the other day. To be honest, I should have noticed sooner, but I guess I haven't been too perceptive lately. I had my suspicions, but I wanted to know for certain." He took a small vial out of his pocket, filled with earth. "If Professor Longbottom still was as paranoid as in his Auror days, he probably would have figured it out himself."

Mary's heart was beating thunderously in her chest. He knew. She was screwed, completely finished. She'd get thrown out of Hogwarts at least.

"Lethifold saliva?" he asked. "I had to ask for help figuring that one out. I knew it was something rare, or it would have been noticed already. It's clever, prevents healing, and coincidentally prevents plant growth or nutrition. What I'm wondering about is why go through so much trouble? You couldn't get that stuff on the open market."

"I didn't!" she protested. "I would never —"

"I talked to the dealer who sold you the stuff," Potter interrupted. He looked her in the eye, twirling the vial between his fingers. "Black market trading in illegal substances carries a sentence of up to six months in Azkaban. Tell me why you did it."

There were tears in her eyes. Tears! She got pinched and now she was crying. But it was over. Done. Out in the open. She wondered if she could go for her wand, a quick obliviation spell — no. Professor Potter was smiling, seeing her arm move in the direction of her wand.

She let out a deep breath, ready to confess. "I — I…" she stammered. "Professor Longbottom was just so mean to me. He failed me for his class and told me I couldn't take NEWT's! Even though I knew the subject. I thought I needed every bit of help to get into the Auror Department. I know how hard it is to get in today… Professor, please, please don't turn me in!"

Professor Potter sighed and placed the vial on the table, and slid it in her direction. He nodded towards it. "I just wanted you to know the stakes you were playing with. I won't turn you in, but you have to heed my advice."

"Yes, I will!" she said quickly, drying her tears with her sleeve. "Thank you for not telling."

"First off, I want you to join the Slug Club."

"The Slug Club?" she asked in confusion. "I thought they just had lame parties."

"Lame parties that will let you meet important people. I'll put in a good word for you with Slughorn. Just accept his next invitation."

She nodded, still unsure what direction this was going in.

"Secondly, I want you to stop poisoning Professor Longbottom's gyrocacti. You get caught again by someone else, and you can say goodbye to Hogwarts. Neville isn't as forgiving as I am. Neither is the Headmistress."

"Yes," she sniffled.

"And finally, I want you to keep an eye out for me. Anything unusual happening at Hogwarts, anything I should know about, especially concerning the new Divination Professor. You contact me."

"What kind of unusual?"

"You'll know when you see it," Potter said with a smile. "I think you have what it takes to follow a path in the Auror Department. What you did with those plants… it was meticulous. You went through great trouble to make it happen. That bodes well for your selection. Don't worry too much about grades, it really doesn't play as much of a part as you think. An Auror named Mathilda Greshaw does initial sorting of recruits, and she's good at spotting those worth the time."

She was speechless. She never expected Professor Potter to be like that, to be this different to what she had heard and seen in class. There was something about him she really liked, like they could get along outside school. "Professor," she asked, "why are you doing all this for me? You don't even know me."

"Because, Miss Borgin, Aurors stick together. And if we help each other now and learn to trust each other, that will make things much easier once you decide to join the Department. Before you go, this conversation stays between us, yes?"

"Yes. Um… Thank you," she said, feeling a bit intimidated realising how personal this exchange had been. "Should I go now?"

Potter stood up and nodded, extending a hand. She shook it, feeling starstruck in a much different way than her classmates. "Goodbye, Professor. Er, and… thank you again."

"You're welcome," he said.

Somewhat discombobulated, she walked towards the door.

"Oh, and Miss Borgin?"

She turned back.

"Lethifold saliva is now free to trade since the Anti-Voldemort Bill passed the Wizengamot. It pays to stay informed of the law, even if your intent is to break it."

Blushing, she nodded and left the office.

#

"So you do buy regular books still?" Harry said, fastening the clasp on his winter robes.

"Of course I do! There's this series about a Vampire Lord I've been hankering to read. The new one just came out."

"Really? What's it about?"

"He meets this mortal woman who he falls for and tries to regain his humanity to be with her."

Harry chuckled. "And you enjoy that. It sounds kind of… sappy?"

"It is," she said, turning to him, "but I like it."

"Want to hear some good news?" he asked, waiting to catch her attention. "McGonagall might have found a replacement. So after Christmas break, I'm going back to full time Auror work."

Hermione smiled and grabbed the hem of his shirt. "I had fun playing schoolgirl… But it will be nice to see you back in Auror robes. I did fall for you because you were such a reckless idiot, after all."

"You look really good in your winter robes," Harry remarked with a smirk on his face. "Cosy… kind of cute, I'd say."

Hermione suppressed a laugh and soundly kissed him. "Harry, I've been thinking and… maybe we should think about finding a new place to live? Grimmauld, it's nice now, but it's a bit cramped and now we have the means we might start looking for something different."

"Somewhere in the countryside? Lots of place to… fly and raise a dozen children?"

"A dozen! Who do you take me for? Molly Weasley?"

Harry laughed. "Well, somewhere nice. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Harry looked back further into the manor. "I guess we'll donate Kreacher or something. Andromeda could use the help, and it wouldn't take much to convince the elf."

"I'm glad you agree," she said, looking him straight into the eyes. "If we're going to do this," she said, rubbing his chest, "then I want to do it right."

Harry nodded, feeling breathless at how right all of this felt. But they had an outing, Diagon Alley, to Knockturn, and a lot to visit. "So, first, Flourish and Blotts?"

"After that, the Wheezes," Hermione nodded. "And then we get lunch, at that place you told me so much about."

"Their lunch menu is really good too," Harry told her.

"Fortescue's… then onto the Owlery."

Harry nodded solemnly. Hemrione had convinced him to finally get a new owl. It was time, even though every bone in his body hurt at the thought of replacing Hedwig.

"Then, we'll check up on the Flying Aces."

"Mathilda will be happy to see you," Hermione said.

"And that makes an outing," Harry said.

"All ready then!"

Together, they stepped into the floo and with an incantation and a pinch of floo powder, they found themselves in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry put a hand around her hip as they stepped out. Several witches and wizards watched and gawked as they stepped out.

Hannah waved to Harry. "Professor Potter!" she shouted. "Come in for a drink?"

They stepped up to the counter to greet her. "Not right now," Harry said. "We're going for a bit of shopping."

"Well, I have a free drink with your names on it," Hannah said. "Nev's been in a sunny mood lately and I can't help but think you had something to do with it."

"Not quite," Harry laughed.

"Well I can see why you married a Professor," Hermione said, patting Harry on the chest, "but Harry will be going back to hunting villains next term."

"Who would have thought?" Hannah replied cheekily. "Enjoy your shopping. Come by for a drink later. Saturday's busy but I'll make some time for the newlywed couple."

With a thanks, they left for Diagon Alley. The streets were moderately packed. Many adults and younger children, out and about. Their first stop was Flourish and Blotts. Harry looked around while Hermione did her shopping. He wasn't really looking for anything, having spent too much time in books lately and not enough time practising his craft.

"Hello, Harry," a small voice beckoned him from afar.

He turned to see Pansy Parkinson accompanied by Astoria Greengrass. Harry was slightly surprised to see the younger sister without Daphne. "Hello," he said, "how are things with the charity?"

"With the new funds we can buy some books," Astoria said. "It keeps the guests occupied. The houses we manage didn't have much reading to speak of."

"And you, Pansy?" Harry asked. "How are things on your end?"

"A little better, now that things are safer."

Harry nodded appreciatively. Lately there hadn't been much reason to keep the women sequestered. They wouldn't talk, they made sure of that, and it was time for their endeavour to become a true charity rather than a means to an end.

"Julie has found a job," she continued, "waitress at one of the new restaurants that opened near the Owlery."

"Good for her. I heard it's decent pay, with owners looking for witches for that kind of job."

The problem of unemployment, or misemployment, had solved itself rather nicely. With the lifting of the import restrictions, business owners were a lot more willing to hire real personnel rather than use magic or hire an elf. Getting served by an actual person had its own appeal, especially for higher-end establishments. There was the rise of a nouveau-riche caste that wasn't so worked up about preconceptions. The Ministry too, was going to see its first income of the taxes that came with the imports and businesses.

"I'm done," Hermione said, joining him. "Oh, Pansy, Astoria, fancy seeing you out and about."

"Well, come on, Pansy, we don't have all day," Astoria complained. "Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"They were lively," Hermione noted once they had left.

"Seems like they're doing well," Harry agreed, "I'm glad I put the Greengrass sisters in charge. Between them and Pansy we haven't had many complaints."

"What do-gooders we are," she answered jokingly.

They continued towards the Wheezes. The plan was to meet up with George, since after all, he was the reason they were so flush they could consider moving at the moment. Ginny had helped with that and would be there too. Really, Ginny had been incredibly useful. Whether it was proving herself in Azkaban, or garnering so much popular adoration, having her on their side was a huge benefit.

As they arrived at the street corner, it was clear that even in less busy times, something (Ginny obviously) had attracted the attention of a crowd of excited fans piling into the entrance of the shop.

"She's really in there?" a man in his thirties asked.

"Yes, she is. Ginny and Lea, the stars of the Harpies!"

"Not the only stars."

"That's not what I was saying! Bloody hell, do you want an autograph or not?"

The fan turned backwards and saw the Potters approach, his eyes widening for a moment, before he jabbed his mate in the ribs. "Hey, make some space!"

"What the — Auror Potter?" He turned and shouted towards the crowd. "All right, make room, Mr. And Mrs. Potter are coming through!"

Harry paused for a second wondering if he'd ever seen the man before. Dark hair and grey eyes, probably in his early 30's. "Sorry, do I know you? You seem familiar."

The man straightened and did a quick v-sign on his chest. "Azkaban Guard, sir. Peter Vancamp."

"Right. I haven't been much around the Ministry lately. Thanks."

"No problem," he smiled, turning to Hermione. "Mrs. Potter."

They were let inside, some bewildered faces turning to them as they did, and a few people were initially furious about someone cutting in line.

Further into the shop, next to the quidditch paraphernalia there was a space cleared out. Ginny and Lea were framing a pair of very dumbstruck fans. George was standing a few feet away with a polaroid type camera. "Get ready lads. High point of your life here," he said, before a flash came out of the camera. Ginny and Lea signed the picture and the two men thanked them profusely, still looking completely shell-shocked.

George, spotting them, waved and turned to the line of people. "The stars are going to take a quick break, yeah? Feel free to shop around in the meantime."

Nobody moved, afraid of losing their spot in the line.

"Hey there," George said with a smile. "Come to the back for a drink, I'll tell Alex to mind the counter," he said waving to the man dealing with the customers.

Once into the back room, George plopped down into a recliner. "Beer?"

"Sure," Harry answered.

"Tea if you can," Hermione said.

Ginny and Lea joined the daytime drinking.

"There's going to be a new one for sale," Ginny said, pointing to the Harpies poster above the fireplace. "We had a shoot with the enchanted wings before the match."

"What do you think," Harry said, "should we get one above the fireplace too?"

Hermione frowned, knowing he was joking, and whispered back: "Which fireplace?"

"Is Al coming by?" Lea asked Ginny. "He should be here. It's hilarious how awkward he gets around us."

"He's working," she shrugged.

"He's in Diagon, actually," Harry said. "He's running security with some of the Azkaban Guard today, if I remember. Saw it on the schedule from Mathilda."

"Aurors, always so busy," Ginny complained, taking a sip of her beer.

"Speaking of, they found a replacement for the DADA professorship."

"Really?" George asked. "Do you know who it is?"

Harry shook his head. "McGonagall is going to postpone as long as she can. I think she's still hoping I'll at least finish the year."

"You don't want to?" said George.

Harry laughed. "No, one semester is already turning me into a slacker. I might turn into Slughorn — or an actual slug. Besides, I can't keep missing Wizengamot sessions. I don't want Hermione to play my proxy forever."

"I don't mind, but thank you," Hermione answered, shuffling closer.

"Keep the political jargon to a minimum," Ginny sighed, "I think I might hurl."

"Say, Harry," Lea called with a sad expression, "could you tell Mathilda that Gwen is sorry? I think she might have scared her away. You know how she gets when she drinks."

"Don't worry," Harry chuckled. "She enjoyed herself, just sometimes she likes to do her own thing on her days off."

He didn't want to spill the beans. It was enough he'd visit her later without inviting others to go bother her.

"Hey, you know what?" George said excitedly, grabbing the camera from the coffee table. "Let's take a picture."

Harry looked towards Hermione and smiled. They stood up.

"Great," George laughed. "Feels like everyone's so busy lately. Too bad Angie isn't here."

George flicked his wand and the camera hovered above the fireplace. He put one arm around Ginny and one around Harry. With a 'smile' and click of the shutter, they took the picture. They all looked normal on it, happy. None of the blemishes of their eventful lives could be gleaned from the moment, their scars hidden by thick winter clothes.

"This was nice," Harry said, "but we should be going: lunch date."

The fans cheered as the two Harpies stepped back into the store and barely any of them paid Harry or Hermione any attention.

Pleiades Kitchen had a good lunch menu, something light and savoury. The waiter greeted them with a 'Good to see you again, Mr. Potter', and they enjoyed an extravagant salad. Hermione had a good appetite and Harry promised they would come back for a full menu some time.

Their next stop was the Owlery and then the Knockturn merchant district. They walked along, peering at the few stalls outside and the new stores that had appeared or changed appearance. A fancily dressed brown-haired witch stood proudly behind the counter of a new beauty shop. There were new ingredient stores and a pie shop six doors down from Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

"No, Webley, you're in the sixth quadrant. It was in your briefing."

"Yes, sir!" the young witch in a black Guard uniform answered.

"Get going."

Alfred turned from the woman to them and raised his eyebrows. "Hey."

"Hey," Harry said with a wave, "Ginny was asking about you."

"Diagon duty is a pain," Alfred said with an awkward laugh. "I know I'm instructing all these people, but it feels like a demotion. Where are you headed?"

"Fortescue's and then Knockturn," said Hermione.

"And the Owlery, but in hindsight we'll go on the way back."

Alfred nodded and shot a glance over his shoulder. "Can't wait until you're back with us. Take some of the burden, aye? Let me have a day off next time?"

"Will do," Harry said.

They stopped at Fortescue's on the way. One ice cream sundae for Harry, and for Hermione two scoops of chocolate with one scoop of mint, which he thought was the height of folly. They passed the Owlery and Harry felt a twinge of dread at having to pick out a new owl. Would Hedwig have reacted like Buckbeak if she was still alive? It was a stupid thought, since she was long dead and would never find out what had happened to him.

They veered to the busy passageway into Knockturn Alley. Its entrance had been widened magically some years back, when demands for investment pointed out the stigma was half the reason it was a home for questionable dealings. The windows of Sutterby's Emporium on the corner sported an assortment of exotic winter goods. White dragonscale coats and furs of all kinds.

The left bend down the main alley led to the Merchant District. Shops with long lists of goods on chalk boards being changed at the whim of demand. The prospective buyers would come up to an establishment and argue about prices. The salesmen made quick calculations on slate boards, haggling until a deal was struck, or the customer would leave with an insult or two.

Down a quiet side street, they came to a green door marked with a black heart sign. Harry knocked twice and the door unlocked. Inside, muggle jazz was playing softly and a number of tables were arranged, ending in a counter at the back. It smelled of tobacco and other smoking weeds. Four people were seated at the table in the back left, shuffling square chips around with cards in front of them. Among them was Mathilda, eyes fixed on the open cards, chewing on a liquorice stick.

Lester Borgin, reading a newspaper behind the counter, looked to them over his reading glasses. Walking in, Harry guided Hermione to the back, knowing his colleague would come over when she took a break. Mathilda waved absentmindedly as they walked by. They took a seat at the furthest table in the back. Borgin came over with a sigh, putting down his glasses and extended a hand. Harry shook it.

"Good to have you visit, Mr. Potter, welcome to the Flying Aces. Here to play a few hands?" he asked with a smirk.

"Just saying hello to Mathilda," Harry said. "You know Hermione?"

"Of course, of course," he said, shaking her hand as well. "Read about it in the papers, congratulations, Mrs. Potter."

"Thank you."

"Tea?"

Hermione nodded and he went to put on a cup.

"So he's the one who pointed us in Burke's direction?" Hermione whispered.

Harry slowly nodded. "Less competition, even though Les doesn't dabble in prostitution. I heard he's doing well since we opened the markets. He must have had the right connections."

"Sink or swim?"

"Something like that."

Lester brought back three cups of black tea and took a seat. "On the house."

"Thanks. Has she been here long?" said Harry, nodding towards the lone card table.

"About ten, yesterday."

"How's she doing? She doesn't seem too tilted."

"She was down about one-twenty, made it back to fifty in the black in the early morning. But she's flush anyway? I heard one of the bookies lost six hundred to her. She hunted him down, of course, made him cough up every knut," he said with a chuckle. "Never bet with an Auror, aye?"

"Harry, do you mind if I go ahead to the Owlery?" Hermione said a little too quickly.

He nodded and with a pat on his shoulder she left. Mathilda lazily waved her goodbye. It occurred to him that while they were perfectly friendly with him around, Hermione and Mathilda hadn't really spent much time with each other. Their connection was mostly existent through him. It was a strange thing, and in the hazy air of the Flying Aces, Harry wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

"Feeling like a lucky man?" Lester asked. "Your second marriage working out for you? Mine didn't."

"I got to know your niece," Harry said, changing the subject. "Smart girl, might even make it into the AD."

"Really?" Lester said with minimal surprise. "Good thing I'm above board now, I wouldn't like to start a family feud."

"Really," Harry said plainly. There was every chance that Borgin had caught wind of what his niece was doing on the black market, especially since Harry had been able to find out so easily. But Lester remained cool as a cucumber. It was no wonder he was the last man standing, being so slippery.

A shuffling of chairs alerted him to the break in the game. Mathilda picked up her chips from the table and muttered a goodbye to her five-card-hex adversaries. She came to the counter and dumped the box of iron chips there. "Cash me out, Les," she said.

Lester got up with a huff and started counting out galleons on the counter. He passed a pouch to Mathilda and she tucked away her winnings inside her robe, raising an eyebrow towards Harry. "Can we use the back room?" she asked Lester. "And get me one of those sandwiches."

They were lead into the back room, a cushy room filled with couches and a table. This was one of the perks of being an Auror, and having a working relationship with such a prime back-alley businessman. She lounged into a long couch and tucked into her ham sandwich, drinking from a glass of water she'd taken inside. "Good news?" she said.

"Am I that easy to read?"

"You have that smug look on your face," she said, scarfing down her food in record time. "Like that one time when you figured out how to chain disarming spells."

"Well you're right," Harry sighed. "McGonagall has found a replacement. I'm staying until winter break, but after that, I'll be back at the AD."

"Who?"

"Who… Who's replacing me? I didn't push; she didn't say."

"Well," she said, brushing the crumbs off her lap, "it'll be good to have you back."

"Yeah… Yeah. That advice you gave me," he mused, "it helped."

"Of course it did," she smiled. "I'm bloody amazing."

Harry was unable to stop a grin. It was good, going back to being an Auror. Back to being himself. But he wasn't entirely soothed. He was still pondering what he was doing. He'd been directionless for months. Things just… were plodding along without a true end in sight, without a clear goal except to help the Council and gain their aid in the trials to come.

"You're still doubting yourself," she said in an accusatory tone. "I thought you would have figured yourself out by now."

"Figured myself out?" he scoffed. "We've been trying to figure out this curse for a year and we're not a step closer to what it means. I know what I'm doing, making sure the sky doesn't come crashing down on us, but… What?"

Mathilda jumped up from her spot and sat next to him, a glittering knowing in her eyes, like she had it all figured out. She put a hand on his chest where his scar was, a gesture all too intimate for them, for him.

"You've been running in circles with this curse, somehow thinking that you're a whole different person." Her hand went up to squeeze his shoulder. "I wouldn't be here if that were the case. You're the same stubborn idiot I've always known, going around, saving people. Luna, Ginny, even Ron — you spared him, and me. It's just this small thing everyone is expecting of you, Harry: save the world."

Harry looked at her questingly. It sounded like she was making a joke, but she was dead serious, ringed blue eyes waiting for his response. Was she right, that he was in the end, still looking to be a saviour? It felt like a natural impulse, a reflex, something that even the darkest curse couldn't suppress. He took a deep breath, feeling the tips of his fingers tingle. "Save the world?"

She shrugged.

"From whom?"

She got up and tied her now shoulder length curls into a ponytail. "Take your pick."

#

Harry finally did buy an owl. A coal black bird with tufts of white speckled across his plumage, which he promptly named Grimes. He was a phlegmatic beast, but had strong wings and carried Harry's notice to the DMLE saying he would be returning in a matter of weeks.

Professor Potter finished his stint at Hogwarts with a flourish, wishing all his students well, and catching a curious look from Mary Borgin, her frigid blue eyes blinking at him from the Ravenclaw table. McGonagall thanked him and finally announced his replacement, none other than the aged proprietor of the Hog's Head Inn: Aberforth Dumbledore. It seemed the Headmistress wasn't lacking in bringing strange people into her school compared to her predecessor, even if it were only for a semester.

On December 19th, Harry Potter returned home. No doubt it was a twist of fate that the timing would be such, that he wouldn't be there to stop the sword of Damocles hanging above him from striking. That evening, in a disused hidden room in a lost hallway in the East Wing and beyond any charted nooks, a man now less human than he had even been in life, stirred. Murderous green eyes fluttered open to a world of pain, his mangled body remembering the touch of Fiendfyre as if it were still licking at his skin. With a hellish scream, Fenrir Greyback awoke.