A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my new canon-compliant multichap featuring Harry and our favourite crew. Massive thanks to the brilliant writers on the Ginny Lovers and Jily Discords - you're all an inspiration to me.

Happy reading! Xx


The Daily Prophet - Monday 19th March 2001

This morning, after a trial lasting sixteen weeks, the Wizengamot voted unanimously to convict the notorious potioneer and prolific smuggler Ulrich Yew. Mr Yew, 94, was the head of an international smuggling ring that imported everything from unicorns and sphinxes to the highly dangerous plant Water Hemlock. An avid potioneer, Mr Yew evaded capture by Aurors for several years, after it was discovered that he had invented a potion that could make the drinker magically undetectable. Aurors reportedly had to resort to Muggle methods of detection leading up to his arrest last October.

A spokesman for the Department for Magical Law Enforcement gave a statement regarding the verdict today: 'This landmark trial has ensured a dangerous criminal and Dark Arts enthusiast is no longer on our streets. The DMLE will launch a full inquiry into the delay in capturing Yew, so that future criminals will be brought to justice swiftly and safely. We would like to remind the public of their obligation to report suspicious activities or, indeed, sightings of rare or non-native magical creatures.'

Yew was found guilty of 38 separate crimes, including importing a protected magical species, brewing potions prohibited under the Potions Act 1904, planning and committing acts of Dark Arts terrorism, and importing and distributing prohibited potion ingredients. He will be sentenced tomorrow.


Auror Office Memo - Thursday 29th April 2001

Dear Auror,

I want to thank you again for your hard work in the last 18 months with Operation Quicksilver. Your collective dedication and bravery ensured the capture and subsequent conviction of Ulrich Yew. Last month, the Wizengamot sentenced Mr Yew to 28 years' imprisonment; a result of which all of you should be you are aware, Operation Quicksilver was a highly complex investigation, involving Muggle intelligence services and crossing the jurisdictions of multiple Ministry departments. Due to the unusual nature of this case, unfortunately, 20 staff in the Auror Office and DMLE were seriously injured as a result of this investigation. As such, it is likely that the independent inquiry will recommend we implicate more rigorous health and safety procedures when dealing with large-scale cases.

Therefore, upon discussion with the Minister for Magic and the Director of Healing at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the Auror Office will be funding a small number of Aurors to specialise in Healing. The specially designed course will enable qualified Aurors to train as Healers, to reduce the pressure on our Battlefield Healers, and to oversee and facilitate investigations involving the expertise of Aurors, Healers and the wider DMLE.

If you are interested in embarking on this course, or would like more information, please come and see me in my office before the 1st July 2001.

Sincerely,

Gawain Robards
Head of Auror Office


Harry and Ron sat in their regular tucked-away booth in their regular pub, drinking their regular beer on a regular May evening. To an outsider, it would appear to be a normal night for the two friends, who could be found in this very pub, The Dancing Hippogriff, almost once a week. But it was far from an ordinary night, Harry felt, as he sat across from his best friend. Tonight, it seemed they were teetering on the precipice of something big.

'What do you think?' asked Ron.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. He knew full well that Ron was the sort of friend that needed to talk a difficult subject to death over a couple (or more) pints, before coming to any sort of decision. It was a routine they had rehearsed well over these last few years.

'I'm just not sure I can stand it anymore, mate,' said Ron for possibly the hundredth time that night. He was becoming flustered, evidenced by his flushed cheeks and exaggerated arm gestures. (Of course, it had nothing to do with the 3 pints they had already consumed…)

'What is it about it that you can't stand?' replied Harry evenly, trying to be a voice of reason without influencing him too strongly.

'I dunno. Just all of it. I joined the Aurors for two reasons. One,' he said, ticking it off on his fingers, 'Because I wanted to catch all those last Death Eaters who fucked up our lives for the past 10 years–'

'Yep, there is that…' Harry said lightly.

'Two.' Another finger ticked. 'Because who the hell else was going to hire me with no NEWTs?'

'True.'

There was a beat of silence while they both pondered the question.

'And three… the money is pretty good.'

'Also true. But you said there were only two reasons,' Harry teased. Ron was very much a chatty drunk, which Harry was sure he was creeping towards now. Ron ignored him.

'And now that we've caught all the Death Eaters of any worth, there just seems to be no point in it anymore. I never really thought about what would happen afterwards, you know?'

'What, after we'd caught everyone?'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah, I know what you mean.'

Agitation rolled in waves off Ron now that the conversation had turned, once again, serious. He was picking at the soggy paper of the beer mat, leaving little chunks of it all over the table. The gesture screamed of an uncharacteristic nervousness that he'd not seen in quite some time. It was slightly jarring to see him like this, to have his brain forcefully tugged back into unpleasant times.

Thankfully, Ron interrupted him. 'Plus, it's hardly like we chose this career is it?'

'No, I suppose not. Voldemort didn't give any of us much of a choice, did he?'

'Arsehole.'

Silent agreement passed between them over another sip of beer.

'Do you want to know what I think?' Harry said finally. Ron's eyes met his over the table and he nodded seriously. 'It sounds to me like you're already one foot out the door.' Indignation flashed across Ron's face at the words, so he rushed to add, 'And don't take that the wrong way.'

Their eye contact remained steady, and Harry could practically hear the cogs shifting and creaking in Ron's brain, weighing up all the pros and cons of the countless avenues his life could take if he left the Aurors.

Although Harry agreed with all of Ron's reasoning over the last few hours, he didn't feel at all like leaving was the answer to his own problems. Yes, he'd been disappointed with the level of involvement he'd had in the Auror office so far, but then he'd only been qualified two years, and he was hardly under the illusion that he was going to be fighting Dark wizards all day every day, intricately involved in every complex case… It just would be nice to do something half interesting once in a while.

Either way, he was glad he wasn't the one trying to make this decision.

Ron took a deep breath, and exhaled in defeat.

'Yeah, maybe you're right.' He put his head in his hands. 'Fuck. Hermione's gonna kill me.'

The road to this point had been a whirlwind, leaving neither of them any time to think their decisions through. After the war, Ron and Hermione had immediately set out to Australia to find Hermione's parents. Their long-overdue relationship had blossomed and they had returned to England in a carefree, blissful, brand-new-relationship state, in time for Hermione to return to Hogwarts with Ginny for their final year.

Harry himself had struggled. His life had done almost a complete 180o, and the grief, long suppressed over many years, had inevitably hit him, leaving him feeling bewildered and utterly lost. A seemingly endless stream of offers for jobs, sponsorship deals, press interviews and opinion pieces flew his way in that first month, and it had left him craving a privacy that even becoming a recluse couldn't satisfy. And he had become a recluse, not leaving Grimmauld Place for almost 3 straight months.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had not long become Minister for Magic, had visited him one night shortly after the war, presumably after a worried owl from someone (probably Arthur), and asked him to join the Aurors on a fast-tracked training programme. According to Kingsley, Ron had already signed up, and it would be 'stupid of him not to follow suit with such an opportunity'. After much deliberation (and pointless moping), Harry had reluctantly agreed, albeit in a half-arsed attempt to get people to leave him be.

Of course, people hadn't left him be, and so he'd fled, travelling to countless Muggle tourist spots around the world to ground himself, to experience adult life, and to come to terms with his new-found freedom. Or that's what he had told himself, anyway… in reality it had been a rather lonely and alcohol-tinged attempt to delay the inevitable: starting the long life that he'd never dared fantasise about.

However, he had returned in late September, refreshed and relatively happy, just in time to start the new chapter of their lives. It had been pretty damn exciting. Auror training itself had been exceptionally hard work, as he had expected, but actually had turned out to be surprisingly good fun. He and Ron got to spend their days physically and mentally pushing themselves to their limits, learning magic Harry had never even imagined was possible. It was exhausting, for sure, and there had been pretty shitty days where they'd ended up injured or woefully frustrated. But certainly for Harry, it finally felt like he belonged; he was doing something worthwhile, something he'd been born to do… something he was good at.

'What do you think you're going to do when you leave the Aurors?' asked Harry.

'If I leave the Aurors…' said Ron. Harry snorted into his pint. '… I'll probably work with George in the shop. Got some cracking ideas for products.' He slowly drank the rest of his beer and smacked his lips as he finished. 'Plus I can't be arsed doing nights anymore. I'm way too old for that shit.'

Harry burst out laughing. It was true – Ron really was not a night-shift kind of person. Or a morning person. Or really any kind of person that had to get out of bed before they were ready.

'If it makes your decision any easier, I've been thinking of something new, too,' said Harry quietly.

'Wait… what?!' Ron exclaimed.

'Not leaving, just… specialising.'

Ron snorted. 'Stop being so fucking mysterious! What do you mean 'specialising'?' he demanded.

Harry took a deep breath.

'I've been thinking of doing the Healer course that Robards wrote to us about.'

There was a moment of silence before Ron broke out in a face-splitting grin.

'Really?!'

He nodded. Ron leaned forwards over the table between them and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

'Yes, Harry! I knew it! I swear you were the only one of us that was even the slightest bit interested in those emergency healing classes we had to do in training. And you're the only one calm enough not to panic and remember what to do when someone's guts are hanging out!'

They were both laughing, and it felt good. He hadn't told anyone that he was remotely interested in Healing, let alone that he was seriously considering it. As soon as he'd read the letter from Robards, it had infiltrated his thoughts with nagging 'what ifs'. He'd obviously thought long and hard about it in the month since the letter, even having spoken to numerous Healers about the ins and outs of their job. The prospect had genuinely excited him, more so than he'd ever expected it to, filling his stomach with a nervous anticipation that he couldn't quite characterise.

But he was plagued with indecision: he hated the thought of leaving Ron and the friends he'd made, even if only for a year or two – they were like family to him, having experienced the unique ups and downs of training and gruelling missions together. But, as these things always went, the 'ifs' had slowly turned into 'whens' in his mind, and his day-to-day work transformed from mundane means-to-an-end tasks to actual goals, with deeper meaning, more purpose. Maybe it was soppy or self-indulgent, but he wantedthis – not for anybody else, but for him.

Now that he'd confessed to Ron (and it did feel like confessing), it was like an invisible cloud that had been imperceptibly growing, fogging his mind, had instantly dissipated leaving nothing but the most clarifying relief.

'Well, I've spoken to Orian Joseph – you know, the Battlefield Healer from the Tritan arrest a few months back?' Ron nodded, '… and he's been telling me a lot about what they do, what the training is like and stuff, and it just looks really interesting. Plus it's an accelerated and funded course, which is pretty much a once-in-a-career opportunity. I dunno, just seems like the right thing to do. For me.'

'Definitely. It's about time you started making decisions for you rather than for every other fucker. I think it's a brilliant idea,' Ron said sincerely.

'Yeah, although I think Dawlish will be entirely too happy about me leaving, seems as I'm such an "entitled school boy",' he mimicked Dawlish's drawling voice, adorning the jibe with angry air quotes.

'Merlin, that guy is such a knob. I hope he gets sacked.'

Dawlish-bashing had become a particular favourite sport of theirs over the last two years. Dawlish, an older Junior Auror, had taken umbrage to Harry and Ron's admittance to the Auror training programme because they didn't have NEWTs. Rather than accepting the dire situation for what it was – a decimated Auror Department with a significant war cleanup operation and a substantial outstanding threat – Dawlish had taken it upon himself to become the self-appointed advocate for 'those of us who worked hard to get to where we are, and haven't been promoted out of sheer nepotism'. Of course, Dawlish hadn't liked it one bit when Ron had pointed out that Dawlish himself had never actually been promoted, having remained at Junior Auror level for many years despite all of his colleagues steadily rising through the ranks. He'd apparently caused poor Kingsley no end of headaches.

Harry suspected that Dawlish would become completely unbearable if Harry got on the Healer course without the 'necessary' qualifications. But who gave a fuck about Dawlish, anyway?

'I might stay just to spite him, the gormless twat.'

'Worth it,' said Ron, grinning. 'Well, I'm proud of you, mate,' he announced, smacking his hands on the table. 'Witches everywhere will be so pleased you're moving away from the moody brooding type.'

'Well… you know,' Harry grinned. 'Nice to show them some new material every now and again to keep them on their toes.'

They playfully bantered as Harry got up to order in another round.


Harry sipped his fourth (fifth?) beer as Ron excused himself to the bathroom. Now that the weight of indecision had left his mind, it struck him how much he'd had to drink. It was definitely not the first time he and Ron had gone out after work for a 'quiet drink' and ended up trashed. Whatever. Neither of them was working tomorrow, and they had important decisions to make, after all!

Ron slid himself clumsily back into the booth, grabbing and spilling some of his beer before he'd even sat down – yeah, they were definitely leaning towards the drunk end of the spectrum now.

'How are things with Emma?' His voice had a careful quality and his eyebrows were raised, as if he could sense that this was a delicate topic. He was right, of course.

Harry felt his stomach plummet as he considered the question. He exhaled through puffed cheeks. 'Ugh, I don't know.'

Emma was Harry's girlfriend. She was a Muggle accountant that worked down the street from the Ministry. Their relationship had started in much the same way as in the mindless rom-coms that Hermione watched. They both went to the same coffee shop near to where they worked, there had been some rather shameless flirting, and after a couple of weeks, Harry had asked her to join him for his lunch break. The rest was predictable history.

He had resolutely only dated Muggles since breaking up with Ginny at school. With the media storm that followed him everywhere, he had craved the anonymity that dating witches could not afford. Plus, if he was going to make embarrassing mistakes in his love life, which were apparently inevitable, he'd rather make them as far away from the press as possible. Damage limitation and all that.

As with all the (albeit limited) relationships he'd had in the past, it had been fun and exhilarating at first. Emma was kind, interesting and funny, and the sex was pretty good – miles better than any of the fumbling experimentations he'd had while on his travels. After six weeks of doing the typical new relationship thing – intimate dinners in Muggle restaurants, movie nights on the sofa at her flat, meeting her friends at her work's Christmas do – they had 'made it official'. However, calling Emma his girlfriend, which he supposed she was, had always left a bad taste in his mouth, and he wasn't quite sure why.

'Things are still… rocky?' Ron asked delicately.

'Yeah. I'm not really sure what's going on. She's being kind of weird. It's just not the same. I dunno.'

'Hmmm. The press still haven't found out?'

'No, thank fuck. That really would be the nail in the coffin.'

They sat in silence for a short while, while he was lost in his thoughts. He and Ron had never been particularly good at talking about this relationship stuff, and Harry always got the feeling that Ron had never really warmed to Emma. They'd only met a couple of times but, although Ron had only ever been friendly with her, their interactions always felt… off. He couldn't define it.

Despite Ron's instance that he was over it, Harry suspected Ron's hesitance had something to do with the way he'd left things with Ginny. Why, he had no idea – it had been almost 5 years since their break up, but whenever Harry brought the subject of girls up with Ron, he was always uncharacteristically vague. (He wondered if he'd learnt this particular trick from Hermione.)

Because of this, Harry had never brought Emma round to his and Ron's shared flat, and they'd learnt to generally avoid the subject, which appeared to suit them both.

But tonight, Ron had brought it up, and he'd been desperate to talk about it, so fuck it, they were going to talk about it.

'Hermione and I had this conversation last week. About Emma.'

'Oh?' said Ron, raising his eyebrows, 'And what did she say?' His blank tone was accompanied by a sort of contemplative expression that immediately reminded Harry of Remus. Remus was always very good at staying neutral on things, at keeping his own opinions hidden – a quality that Ron did not share in the slightest. It was impressive that he was pulling it off in such a drunken state.

'She said I shouldn't string her along.'

Ron looked confused. 'But, you like her don't you? Why would you be stringing her along?'

'Ugh, I don't know. I do like her, obviously, but…' He couldn't find the words.

'You don't fancy her anymore?'

'I mean, I'd be stupid not to fancy her… she is fit.'

'She is,' Ron said, nodding fairly.

'She's funny and interesting…'

'Mm-hmm.'

'And the sex is really good,' he added, almost desperately. The excuse sounded pathetic even to his ears.

In a manner most unlike him, Ron didn't smile, he just looked plainly back at Harry, as if trying to figure him out. Their roles in this conversation had entirely reversed. Now, it was Ron was waiting for Harry to come to the conclusion on his own, deliberately saying very little.

But what conclusion he was supposed to draw, he had no fucking idea.

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Harry swore, dropping his head to his hands in frustration. He took a deep breath. The feel of his cool fingers against his face grounded him slightly. It wasn't as if he didn't fancy Emma, or that she wasn't a lovely person. Bloody hell, she said all the right things and made him feel wanted, and didn't bring up any war stories that plunged him straight back into the nightmare of his teenage years. It was all he'd ever hoped for, when he really thought about it. It was easy with her. Simple.

But it wasn't enough.

'I like her, but I'm not in love with her,' he admitted quietly after what seemed like an age of silence. 'And after almost 6 months, I probably should be.'

There it was. Now that the admission had left his tongue, he knew it was the truth. He wasn't in love with her, and he wasn't ever going to be.

'So what are you going to do?' said Ron simply, as if he'd known this all along. He probably had, the bastard.

'I've got to break up with her.'

Ron gave him a solemn look. 'Yep.'

'You know that's what Hermione said, right?'

'Yeah, I know… she gets all her best ideas from me, you see.'


Several hours later, after the pub had turned dark and decidedly rowdy, the waitress brought over two more beers, lifting them from an overly large black tray that was hovering beside her.

'You celebrating something?' she asked, one eyebrow raised amusedly. She handed them their beers and began collecting the glasses scattering their table.

'Just making life-changing decisions. You know us, Mandy. Nothing new for a Tuesday evening,' slurred Ron cheerfully, a little too loudly.

'Pretty sure it's Wednesday, guys.'

'Yeah, well… Happy Wednesday!' he cheered, enthusiastically raising his pint and sloshing it over the side and onto the table.

'Happy Wednesday indeed' she laughed. She flicked her wand and two small shot glasses and a bottle whizzed their way over the punters' heads and into her waiting hands. She poured them both a shot and winked at Harry.

'Have a nice night, gents.' She turned and walked away, taking the embarrassingly large number of glasses with her.

Ron shouted his thanks at her retreating back. 'That's why I love this pub. They don't bat an eyelid at binge drinking, and accept our gracious decline into alcoholism without judgement. I love them for that,' he said wistfully, watching the waitress walk away.

'They're the real heroes here. Anyway…' Harry pushed one shot towards Ron and picked up his own, '…To life-changing decisions!'

'To life-changing decisions!' they shouted together.

They clinked and downed their shots, celebrating yet another set of life-changing decisions made on a regular Wednesday, in their regular booth, in their regular pub.


A/N: Thanks for reading! This is my first fic, so any kudos, comments, theories, criticism, emojis or anything would be incredible 3 Come and say hello on tumblr!: sedge64

I'll try to update every other weekend.