The sound of faint buzzing woke him up on the bright August morning. Completely disorientated, Harry looked up at his bedside table and saw a blurry 8:25 flashing on his alarm clock. Fuck.

His back protested slightly as he shot himself upright, desperately fumbling for his glasses so he could work out where the bloody buzzing was coming from. The culprit was his mobile phone, long forgotten in his bedside table.

Without thinking, he answered it, voice croaking through lack of use. 'Hello?'

'Harry?' His heart sank through his arse at the voice he immediately recognised.

'Emma, hey.'

'Hey. Listen, are you around this lunch time?'

Oh god, oh god. No, he didn't want to see her. There wasn't a single situation in which seeing her would improve things, no situation that wouldn't end up in him feeling equal parts angry, guilty and confused – all emotions he could, frankly, do without right now.

'Err… why?'

'I have some news.'

Double fuck.

'What kind of news?' His eyes screwed up and hand flew to his hair to cling on tightly, pulling the strands as if they'd somehow shield him from the bad news the pit of his stomach knew was coming. Because there was no way she'd be calling him up out of the blue after they'd broken up to deliver anything but bad news. Right?

'Oh… err… I kind of wanted to say it face to face. You deserve to know in person.'

Frustration shot through his chest, but he swallowed the angry retort that immediately rose to his lips. He exhaled through his nose to try and steady himself.

'Are you… okay?'

'Yes, I'm fine. Just…' she huffed, the noise loud down the telephone. 'Look, are you free this lunch or not?'

Despite his brain's frantic searching, an excuse was not forthcoming. 'Yes,' he said, trying not to give away the resignation in his tone.

'Great. 1 o'clock at our normal place?'

'Sure. See you then.' She hung up without another word.

What the bloody hell did she want to tell him, and why did it need to be face to face? Seeing her again had really not been on the agenda, not least because of the uncomfortable swirling of guilt and shame he felt whenever he thought of her.

Most of the shame stemmed from the way in which they'd broken up. Even he had to admit that the way he'd left her after saying 'I love you' was nothing short of callous – Ron had practically guffawed when Harry had told him, saying that it was 'fucking brutal'. That had definitely induced some guilt.

But when he really thought about it (which up to this point he'd tried very hard not to), a lot of the guilt was rooted in… the Ginny situation.

In addition to the million other reasons why he probably shouldn't have slept with Ginny, there was the small fact of his very recent breakup with Emma, his longest and most meaningful relationship to date. Thinking about it made his stomach squirm uncomfortably, and he couldn't help but get the feeling he'd disrespected Emma somehow, though he couldn't put his finger on why.

In hindsight, their breakup was probably part of the reason he did sleep with Ginny — as Ron had so eloquently put it 'getting over someone by getting under someone' — but the timings did pile onto the guilt somewhat.

Nevertheless, he'd chastised himself enough over that particular mess; he'd drunk too much, slept with Ginny, (probably) very much enjoyed it, and that was that. Done. Move on.

His alarm clock scared the living daylights out of him as he sat on the edge of his bed, cringing at the failure of his love life over the past few months. Slamming his hand on the top of the clock (8:33, shit), he hastily pulled on his work clothes and cast a breath-freshening charm on himself – there was no time to brush his teeth.

As quickly as he could, he flung himself down the stairs and sprinted to the Apparation point, praying to Merlin that no one would notice him being almost 40 minutes late.

A mere 4 minutes later, he snuck into the main Auror Office, out of breath and sweaty. His eyes scanned the busy room looking for any sign that he'd been noticed, when Ron ducked right in front of him, startling his already frayed nerves.

Ron laughed loudly. 'Are you late?' he almost shouted and Harry shushed him, pulling them both towards his cubicle.

'Yes, I'm bloody late. Why didn't you wake me up?!' He really hoped his furious whispers would go unnoticed by anyone else – being late was the last thing he needed on his record when he was under consideration for a very competitive promotion…

Ron, thankfully, stopped laughing but his eyes still shone brightly with barely suppressed laughter. 'I didn't realise you were on days, idiot, otherwise I would have.' He shot Ron a glare as Ron sniggered, 'This is brilliant.'

Groaning in defeat, Harry plonked himself in his uncomfortable desk chair, the old thing creaking in protest. 'This has been a really shitty day already.'

'Why, what's happened? Besides being late for the first time in your professional career…'

'Fuck off.' His hands found his face and dragged over it in frustration. 'Emma called me and wants to meet up.'

Without having to open his eyes, he could see the look on Ron's face — hell, he could practically hear Ron's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

'What?! Why?'

'Says she's got some news that she has to tell me in person.'

When it came to their friendship, nine times out of ten, Ron would say the first thing that came into his head, not often caring about rounding the edges or softening the blow. On the tenth time, he would hold back, presumably when he knew that even Harry (who mostly appreciated the bluntness) wouldn't be able to take it. To Harry's great surprise, this was one of the tenth times.

There was an aching pause as Harry braced himself for Ron's verbal blow, only to be met with silence. He dragged his hands off his face and looked at Ron, whose face had an uncharacteristic hesitant expression.

Like he knew something Harry didn't.

'What?' Harry asked, half suspicion, half nerves. What did Ron know that he didn't?

'Maybe she's pregnant.'

Time stopped.

When he thought his heart sunk earlier, it was nothing on what it did just then. It felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his mouth, stuck it in a catapult, and flung it half way to China.

'What?' he choked, for it was the only word that his brain could reasonably formulate.

'Oh no, I don't know she's pregnant, but what else would she tell you that she needed to tell you face to face?' he added hastily, presumably at the look on Harry's face.

A tsunami of relief washed over him at Ron's words, though it was short lived as he processed the second half of Ron's sentence. What else could it be? What else would be so important that she refused to do it over the phone?

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Ron clearly saw the panic or sheer fucking terror that ripped through him, because he knelt down in front of his chair and put his hands on Harry's knees in an act of reassurance. The motion was a lot more touchy feely than usual, but in that moment, Harry was incredibly grateful for it.

Because fuck. There was no way she could be pregnant. Right? She'd been on the pill, and she'd not mentioned anything about it after they'd started sleeping together. He just assumed it was fine, that she had it all under control – because she'd told him he had.

No. There was no way this was happening. It must be something else.

He told Ron as much.

'Yeah, mate,' he agreed wholeheartedly, as if saying it with 100% conviction would convince them both it was true. 'She's probably just gonna say she's got the clap or something from that Mark dude and you have to go to a Muggle Healer. It'll be alright.'

They both snorted, though the humour felt to Harry like a tiny plaster trying to cover the gaping chasm left by his heart.

Bless Ron and his optimistic loyalty, though. This is why Ron was his best friend… he could always count on Ron's unwavering and outspoken support regardless of the lack of evidence either way. And if ever there was a time to fully and completely trust Ron's blind faith, it was now. Hermione would have made him feel absolutely terrible if she was stood in front of him now.

(But then again, Hermione probably wouldn't have said the 'p' word and freak him out in the first place…)

He took in a deep, cleansing breath.

'It's fine. I'm going to make a cup of tea, and then I'm not going to think about it.'

Ron replied with typical cheer. 'Good idea, mate. No point worrying about it twice, eh?'

On their way to the kitchen, Ron took it upon himself to change the subject to something less… life-changing? Earth shattering? Soul destroying.

'So the Harpies won again last night. Did you hear?'

'No, I didn't,' he replied, momentarily brought away from his thoughts of babies with blonde hair and green eyes... 'That's great news.'

'Yeah, Ginny popped home after the match to tell us before she left for the party.' At Ginny's name, his heart (which was, for now, back in his chest) fluttered a little in a confused, hopeful sort of way, though what that meant he had truly no idea anymore. 'I didn't see her this morning, but I expect she didn't go too hard last night… She's off to Mum and Dad's for dinner tonight for her birthday.'

The offhand comment brought Harry up short. 'Shite. It's the 11th today?'

'Yeah, why?'

Harry slammed the fridge a little too hard at the realisation, the clink of milk bottles echoing from the force of it. His hand returned to his hair in frustration, the pull of his fingers tight enough to feel like a punishment. 'I forgot to send her an owl for her birthday.'

Ron gawked at him like he'd lost his marbles. 'It's only like 9.30, there's still loads of time.'

'I don't finish work until 8 and she'll be at The Burrow by then, won't she?' He sighed again. This day was turning out to be complete shit and he desperately wanted it to be over. No awkward conversations, no pregnancies, no missed birthdays, no lateness, no fucking more. Please.

'Just use one of the Ministry owls,' Ron said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'Go up to the 3rd floor and ask to borrow one of the owls. No big deal.'

He let out a heavy breath, the sound coming out somewhere between defeat and apathy. He was over it today. 'Okay, thanks. I'll do that.'

'Chin up, mate!' Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Almost home time… sort of.' And with that, he left.

Begrudgingly, Harry walked back to his desk with his cup of tea and pulled out some parchment and started writing, trying desperately not to think too hard about what to say. It didn't escape his memory that this was the first time he'd talked to her since That Day.

Dear Ginny,

Happy Birthday! So sorry I can't be at The Burrow to see you today, but I promise I'll make it up to you the next time I see you.

Congratulations on your win last night. So proud of you!

Love,

Harry x

His hand hesitated over the word 'love'. Was it weird to write that?

No, it was probably fine. Anyway, it would look even weirder if he crossed it out and replaced it with 'from'. Fuck it, it was staying there.

P.S. Hope you had a nice time at the party last night and you're not feeling like roadkill this morning!

Quickly, before he could overthink it, he folded up the letter and set off upstairs to the 3rd floor.


An hour or so later, he was back at his desk, trying to finish off the surveillance report that had been hanging around for over a week.

'What's the craic, chap?' Ozzy said cheerily, plonking himself down in the chair next to Harry.

He could only murmur in reply. Despite the brief reprieve in managing to get an owl to Ginny, the day hadn't got any better, aided by him spilling dragon's blood all down himself and losing three pages of the bloody report. Predictably, his mood had returned to the depths of the pit it had been in this morning.

Today could go fuck itself, in his opinion, and it was only – he looked at his watch – 10.49.

Bloody hell.

Ozzy whistled slowly. 'Merlin, what's got your wand in a knot?' he chirped, tone entirely too sarcastic.

Another sigh escaped Harry's lips, not that it did any good — none of the many sighs he'd sighed today had even remotely cleared his head. 'Ugh. I'm sorry. Just having the day from fucking hell.'

A voice from above them interrupted Harry's rant before it had started, which was probably a good thing. Their supervisor Arwen Davies' head appeared over the top of the cubicle, wearing the same expression she usually wore when giving them work to do: stern but with a touch of discomfort at telling them what to do.

'Both of you follow me, please.'

They exchanged rather confused glances as they made to follow after her. It was fairly unusual that they would have such formal chats with Arwen, let alone ones that weren't in her office or just sat in their cubicle.

Following her through the cubicles and open desks of the whole Auror Office, their destination became obvious – Robards' office.

The heart in his chest sped up with the familiar rush of adrenaline. Silently they both entered Robards' office and diligently sat down.

'Tea?' asked Arwen with a very slight air of forced politeness. Her face, usually adorned with a cheerful smile, was entirely inscrutable – a formidable poker face crafted and perfected through years of being a Senior Auror. Despite being probably a good 30 years younger, she reminded Harry of McGonagall.

He declined with a shake of his head, not trusting himself to speak — the adrenaline starting to make him feel twitchy and nauseous. Why the bloody hell was he so nervous? It wasn't like he was going to be fired, right? He'd performed well over the last year or so, and all of his appraisals had gone better than expected, all exams passed. As far as he knew, there hadn't been any civilian complaints or professional fuck ups that could have landed him in trouble, nor any reports of indecent behaviour that could have found their way back to his boss. Unless…

No.

There was no way they could possibly know about him getting a little too drunk at a party and making out with his ex-girlfriend.

(Then not remembering it…)

Suddenly he felt very warm, the collar of his robe just that little bit too tight around his neck. He squirmed to adjust it, trying to shift some of the suffocating awkwardness that he was feeling.

How would they even know about that? Would they even care? Was it in the Auror Handbook that he wasn't allowed to do things like that? It was definitely in the Handbook of Life that you didn't accidentally shag your ex, but surely it wasn't professionally prohibited?

Thankfully, his spiral was interrupted by the gruff bluntness of his boss.

'You both got on the course.'

It was simple. To the point. And Harry had never been more grateful for it.

A relived, shaky breath left him as he felt Ozzy's hand clap him on the shoulder.

'Congratulations, mate.' Ozzy beamed at him and Harry couldn't help but beam back. Suddenly all four of them were smiling and exchanging muted congratulations, all nervous tension now dissipated… even old Robards was grinning.

He'd got on the course.

Arwen shook his hand happily, smiling at him much more widely than she perhaps ever had, which was saying something. 'Well done, Auror Potter. I knew you could do it.'

'Thanks Arwen.'

After a few more moments of congratulations, Robards cleared his throat, a clear call to attention, and they all sat back down.

'Now for the specifics,' he barked. 'The course starts on the 1st September. Healer Herbert Gerard will oversee the course and I'm sure he will write to you in due course. As I said to you both before, you will be seconded to the Healer Department, but you will still be on active cases within the Auror Office, assigned especially by me. I expect to you to work hard and to remain, at all times, ambassadors for the Auror Office.'

The threat was implicit: don't fuck this up.

'Message received, sir,' said Ozzy, with an almost forced lightness.

'Very well. Until then, Auror Davies and I will be re-assigning you.'

There was a heavy silence. Robards and Arwen shared a look.

'The pair of you will be joining me and Auror Forsythe on the Yew case,' said Arwen in a posh voice quite unlike her own. 'We believe it will be invaluable experience for you both to experience more high-profile cases, as well as those that span multiple departments, such as this one.'

Harry's heartbeat, which had not really calmed since hearing entering the office, spiked again, and he could feel it thumping hard in his throat. This was the sort of case he'd been longing for.

She continued. 'I have read your reports on the surveillance of Edward Fontaris in the past months. As you may know, Mr Fontaris was an active and high up member of Yew's smuggling ring, and we believe he has taken up the role of leader in Yew's absence. Intelligence suggests that this is a rather temporary move. Mr Fontaris is, err…'

'Thick as two short planks,' muttered Robards, who was stroking his forehead.

'A whisker short of the full Kneazle, shall we say,' said Arwen brightly, as if she'd not heard Robards. 'Operation Quicksilver took out quite a few of Yew's more suitable replacements, so needs must, it seems. Either way, we believe that the ring is quite possibly starting to resurface.'

Information had started to click into place in Harry's mind, whirling around like puzzle pieces waiting to be placed. Solving cases up until now had been like solving child-like, 200-piece puzzles, where one or two pieces of information slotting into place would reveal the whole picture, leaving the rest of the puzzle a relatively easy evidence-gathering mission. However, this felt like a whole new kettle of fish, a 3000-piece puzzle with half the pieces missing and the other half seeming entirely unconnected. Already it was thrilling.

'What's the intelligence behind Fontaris's Dark Market activities?' he asked.

'Well, at the moment, there is nothing connecting him to the Dark Market. We know that several apothecaries have been approached about obtaining obscure ingredients over the last few months. Nothing illegal, but enough that a couple of come to us with concerns about suspicious brewing.'

'Ingredients such as…' said Ozzy.

'Boomslang skin. Fluxweed. Fairy blood. Angel's Trumpet. Jobberknoll feathers. Other stuff like that. We've handed the information to the potioneers at St Mungo's to see if they can figure out what they're brewing, but they haven't come back with anything yet.'

'And no recipes have been sold, as far as we know?'

'No, not yet. We've got a couple of undercovers on it, but they are in very deep and communication is scarce.'

There was a beat of silence while Harry and, presumably, Ozzy digested the new information.

'I will put the case files we have so far on your desk and you will work through them together. I think a fresh pair of eyes might do us some good at this point,' said Arwen, muttering the last part more to herself than to anyone else. Robards hummed in agreement.

For the first time in Harry's career, he actually felt like he was doing more than legwork, more than just evidence gathering for someone else's case. From the way Ozzy was sitting — taut from head to toe and practically buzzing with energy — Harry could tell he felt the same way.

'This is an ongoing and very high profile case, and I must impress the importance of secrecy. It is highly confidential and we require your utmost discretion. It must not be discussed with your colleagues, your family or your friends. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Thank you. You may go.'

In stunned silence he and Ozzy left the office, followed shortly after by Arwen.

'Congratulations, gents. I'll put those files on your desk.' She winked as they beamed back at her, the tension of their boss's office melting quickly into an elated giddiness shared between the three of them.

Watching Arwen walk away, he took in the office around him. The dull buzz was the same as it was when he'd first arrived at work this morning, but somehow it felt like the entire atmosphere had shifted in the 30 minutes he was out of it. Before, he'd been completely at the mercy of the Auror Office, his career essentially at the whim of Robards'. But now… now he was standing on the precipice of a whole new career… a whole new vocation. One that excited him beyond words. One that finally promised purpose in his life.

Right now, a thousand galleons couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Frankly, he couldn't care less that it was 11.30 in the morning, or that he'd had the day from hell, or that he was meeting Emma later, or any of the other shit that was trying to dampen his mood — he just wanted to celebrate.

'Fancy a beer?'

Ozzy's answering smile was devious. 'Why the hell not?'


'So why were you in a piss this morning?' asked Ozzy before he took a huge mouthful of burger.

At Ozzy's words, Harry thought back to that morning. After a pint and such game-changing news about the course that morning, it was difficult to emulate the level of irritation at the world that he'd felt earlier, but his looming meeting with Emma did still fill his stomach with burning hot dread.

'I was late'

'Okay. And…?'

Harry sighed. 'Then I got a call from my ex asking to meet up.'

Ozzy smirked, the bastard. 'Whatever does she want to meet up for?' The mocking inflection of his tone implying exactly what Ozzy thought she wanted.

He shot Ozzy a disparaging look, 'It's not like that and you know it.' Harry sighed, trying to find the answer to Ozzy's question, despite its insincerity. 'I have no idea. She just says she has something to tell me.' He drained the last of his pint but grimaced as if it was Firewhiskey, the next words burning just as much on their way out of his throat. 'Says she has to say it face to face.'

To his great surprise, Ozzy said nothing, perhaps put off by the discomfort that was no doubt written all over Harry's face. Now that the words were out of his mouth though, he was powerless to stop them.

'Ron thinks she's pregnant. And—' he put his head in his hands, feeling almost unable to say the words that terrified him the most. 'And I genuinely don't know what I'll do if she is.'

He'd not dared to entertain the idea since Ron had blurted it out earlier. The thought that he could be a… a father was just absurd. First and foremost, his and Emma's relationship was hardly in a healthy place to bring up a baby… not to mention the fact that their whole relationship was based on a huge, life-changing omission... an omission that, if she was pregnant, he would be duty bound to tell her — and telling her he was a wizard had never beenpart of the plan.

None of this was part of the plan, for crying out loud. The plan was simple: get an interesting job, find a nice girl, settle down in the country with a couple of dogs and a child or two maybe, and live happily ever after. Cliched but perfect.

Christ, when was the universe going to give him a fucking break?

Ozzy let out a large sigh, air escaping noisily through puffed cheeks. The action oozed sympathy — which, given a normal day, Harry would have been grateful for — but Harry didn't need sympathy right now, he needed answers and solutions. Right then he felt like he would take any advice that Ozzy were to offer him.

'Not much you can do 'til you find out,' said Ozzy bluntly. The truth of it was both infuriating and exactly what he needed to hear.

Defeat washed over him and elicited another long sigh. All of the previous carefree elation had vanished under the weight of Emma's fucking news. 'I know.'

'What made you break up in the first place?' asked Ozzy in yet another question Harry wasn't sure he could answer.

Testament to the power of Ozzy's superhuman power to get anyone, friend or foe, to reveal their secrets, Harry found himself telling Ozzy everything. All about Emma, their relationship, how it was good while it lasted, though ended in confusing exchange of never-said things. Things you couldn't take back.

Ever the excellent listener, Ozzy patiently sat through Harry's tale, not offering anything more than an occasional raised eyebrow or small nod. After Harry had come to the end of the whole sorry affair, Ozzy fixed him with a curious, almost amused expression.

'Something else happened though…' Ozzy said simply.

A beat of shocked silence passed before Harry rolled his eyes. 'How the fuck do you do that?'

Ozzy laughed, the sound immediately breaking the sombre mood that had settled over them. The innocent tone with which he said, 'Do what?' fooled absolutely no one.

'You're a mind reader, aren't you?' cried Harry. 'You're a secret legilimens or… or a fucking Veela or something!'

'Ha! I know I'm good with the ladies, but even I'm not as good as a Veela,' he winked, draining his own pint and signalling to the waiter for another, early afternoon be damned. 'So, fess up. What else happened?'

Despite his reluctance to think about it, especially after making the decision to 'accept it and move on', Harry's thoughts circled back to Ginny, the Quaffle in his chest making a dramatic comeback. Even after almost two weeks, he'd still not managed to talk to Hermione about it, but then he still wasn't sure what her reaction would be…

Really it would probably do him some good to tell someone. And if it couldn't be Ron — because he was fucked if he was talking to Ron about sleeping with Ginny — then why couldn't that person be Ozzy, the one gloriously objective person that reminded him most of Ron.

'I err…' He cleared his throat awkwardly. 'I slept with someone else… At the Holyhead Harpies party a couple of weeks ago.'

Ozzy's lips twitched in an almost-smirk, but he again stayed silent, patiently waiting for Harry to continue. 'And I—' Another sigh. 'I can't quite work out if it was a mistake or not.'

'Why would you think it was a mistake? You weren't still with Emma then, were you?'

Harry answered quickly, 'No, of course not.' Answering that question was easy. But answering the first would mean he'd have to venture dangerously close to admitting something to himself. Something that utterly terrified him. 'It was a mistake because…'

because I don't want to hurt her.

because I can't make her happy.

because, no matter how hard I try I can't convince myself it was a mistake.

What he settled on was a cowardly half-truth.

'—because things are complicated between us.'

'Why?'

'I've known her a long time and there's history there. I… I just worry I've fucked it up.'

Again, another half-truth given in default. After all, 'I don't want to fuck up our friendship' was a thought-circle he'd walked thousands of times in the last few weeks, one with which he was comfortable and familiar. And it was the familiarity with the old ground that soothed the terrifying realisation he'd taken 10 days to get to. That it wasn't a mistake.

For a long moment, they sat in a quiet contemplation.

'And what does Ron say about all this?'

Harry's eyes screwed up involuntarily at the question. 'Well, I haven't really told him.' Ozzy's eyes widened at the probably quite surprising fact, though he didn't respond, again waiting for the explanation that would inevitably come. 'Okay, he knows about the party but not who it was.'

'Because…?'

'Because it's Ron's sister.'

Ozzy's laugh rang out loud and clear, the volume of it startling several nearby diners. Harry groaned in response, although Ozzy's laugh was infectious, and soon his lips turned up in a traitorous, somewhat begrudging smile.

'What the fuck?! You slept with Ginny Weasley?' Ozzy hissed quietly once he'd regained his composure, his whole body leaning towards Harry like he was somehow miraculous. His face was the absolute picture of joy because of course it was, the arse.

Harry shushed him and rolled his eyes, but answered him nonetheless. 'Yes. But please shut the hell up,' he pleaded, 'I cannot let anyone hear about this.'

Ozzy, drew an imaginary zip across his mouth and leaned back in his chair, his face falling into seriousness.

'Look,' he said quietly, 'You two clearly have history, and it's not the easiest situation to be in, I have to admit. But it's clearly playing on your mind, much more than a normal one-night-stand.' At this, he gestured at himself, as if to say 'Trust me'. Harry snorted, though it lacked humour. 'Work out what you want, and talk to her.'

Harry grimaced. 'Simple as that.'

'Simple as that,' echoed Ozzy as the next round arrived, turning their conversation to lighter topics.


The celebratory beers had lightened his mood more than almost anything else had that day, besides getting on the course, that was. Ozzy had the most spectacular ability to cheer you up — Harry was convinced he would be the perfect house guest on that infernal show Emma used to watch, Big Brother.

Speaking of Emma, over his insanely good burger and chips and a long lunch talking and celebrating with Ozzy, he'd almost managed to forget about the upcoming meeting with her… That was until he was less than a minute from the café. As he walked down the gum-covered pavement towards their meeting place, the dread in his stomach became so overwhelming there was the distinct possibility he was going to be sick.

As he approached the door to the shabby café, he could see the back of Emma's head, blonde hair spilling over the back of the chair she was sat in. She was facing away from the window, which was probably a good thing, for it gave him one last second to take a deep breath and say goodbye to his life as he knew it.

He pushed open the door and a familiar smell of coffee and sweet incense hit him. It was strange how a smell, once so inviting and cheerful, could turn sickly and nauseating without his having been there in weeks. Bypassing the drinks counter, (he wasn't sure he'd even be able to keep a drink down, anyway) his feet carried him on autopilot straight to where Emma was sat fidgeting nervously.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hey,' she repeated weakly, a half-smile pulling her lips. She made no move to stand up or physically greet him, for which he was thankful – there was no way he would be able to cope with touching her right now.

Awkwardly, he sat down across from her and looked at her properly for the first time in almost 6 weeks. Her hair and makeup was impossibly neat, despite the fact that she'd clearly not come from work. Vaguely, he wondered why. Her face was much the same – round and pretty, with almost impossibly blue eyes. To someone that didn't know her, she looked carefree and put-together, her dimples displaying a happy bubbliness that was difficult to ignore.

But he did know her, and the creases in her brow and the slightly chapped lips told an entirely different story.

If only to break the silence, he asked, 'How are you?'

Her eyes betrayed a flicker of something he couldn't recognise before she sighed.

'I'm alright. Been better.' Her actions screamed nervousness, but in a different way to the last time he'd seen her. This nervousness had a sort of resigned quality to it, like she wasn't afraid of the conversation, but more of the bigger situation.

Suddenly he regretted not buying a drink – he desperately wanted to give his fingers something to do, even if it were just feeling the warmth of the cup. Watching the way her own fingers pulled at the cardboard of her coffee cup stirred a vague sort of jealously. He swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.

'Look, Harry, I'm sorry about what happened. I–'

The abrupt halt in her sentence drew his eyes away from her fingers to meet her eyes, which he immediately knew was a mistake. Tears were starting to form there – a strange sort of longing in her face that he couldn't even begin to understand.

The dread in his throat was so strong that he wasn't convinced he could say anything even if he tried. Clearing his throat did not dampen the feeling whatsoever.

'It doesn't matter,' he croaked out anyway, though his voice sounded rough and so very unlike his own.

She was silent again and his eyes retreated to the relative safety of watching her fingers. Deep inside him, his gut was aching with the desperate need for her to put him out of his misery, to stop this poxy small talk and just tell him. He almost didn't care what the news was at this point, he just needed to know.

'Em–'

'I'm moving to Canada,' she blurted. 'Mike dumped me.'

Of all the things he expected her to say, all the confusing scenarios and horrible situations his imagination had conjured up throughout the day, that didn't even crack the top 100 list. But he'd never felt more relieved than he did in that moment.

In fact, for a few long seconds the relief was so strong it almost overwhelmed him. In that moment, the earth itself seemed to right itself, placing itself back on its axis and turning once again. She was moving away. She wasn't pregnant, she wasn't dying.

She was moving away.

He shut his eyes and let out an unsteady breath, trying with all his might to keep the relieved smile from his face. 'That's exciting news. When?'

As Emma dived into the intricate details of her move to Canada, Harry couldn't bring himself to do anything but nod at the appropriate places and feign casual interest. His mind was elsewhere – mainly on the huge and blissful relief. Things with Emma were over for good.


It wasn't until much later, way after the sun had set that he got back from work. He was fatigued beyond belief and hunger and tiredness were warring inside him, both fighting for dominance. A wave of dizziness washed over him, like he'd been clonked over the head like in the cartoons: clearly tiredness had won. As he slipped his jacket off and trudged towards his room, he barely noticed Ron's call from the kitchen.

'So? What's the verdict?'

He sighed a deep cleansing breath, once again struck by how light he felt now he no longer was carrying the weight of her news. 'Not pregnant.'

Ron's noise of relief was loud in the quiet room. Well, he assumed it was relief, anyway — he was so tired and emotionally drained he wasn't sure he cared anymore.

'How you feeling?' Ron said as he buttered Harry a slice of bread.

'Relieved,' he sighed, closing his eyes. 'Relieved beyond my wildest dreams.'

Ron chuckled quietly, handing Harry the slice of bread before tucking into his own. They both stood there side by side leaned against the kitchen counter, content in the silence.

'What was her news then?'

'Mike dumped her so she's moving to Canada.'

Ron outright laughed at that, with a snort that sounded remarkably like 'karma'. Harry couldn't help but laugh too, the emotions of the day finally rendering his brain delirious. It felt good to laugh.

'I got on the course, too. Just so as you know,' he stated quietly, though he couldn't stifle the grin that saying those words out loud elicited. Beside him, Ron's head turned to look at him so quickly it was a wonder he didn't crick his neck. His smile was nothing short of blinding as he took in Harry's words.

'Mate, I'm so fucking happy for you.' It wasn't a fanfare, it wasn't over the top, it wasn't outpourings of pride and emotion. It was simply Ron, reacting in the best way Harry could have hoped for on a day like today.

Silently they 'cheers'ed, not caring that they didn't have any drinks and tapped their half-eaten slices of bread together instead. The ridiculous gesture — mixed with a healthy dose of tired delirium — had them both giggling like 14-year-olds, before a tapping on the window caught their attention.

Harry wandered over and opened the window, surprised to see the Ministry's owl from earlier, brandishing a piece of parchment tied on its outstretched leg.

Ron handed Harry the letter and the owl flew away in a flurry of flapping.

Dear Harry,

Thank you for your letter. I'm having a lovely birthday so far – Hermione is spoiling me with tea and cake now, and Mum and Dad will spoil me with more cake later!

See you soon, hopefully.

Gin xx

P.S. The party was great, but it had nothing on last time.


A/N: Sorry for the delay! Hope the chapter was worth the wait :)

Thank you for your wonderful reviews - every single one makes my day! Come and share your thoughts with me on Tumblr sedge64