Harry squirmed uncomfortably, still trying to subtly shake off the after-effects of Side-Along Apparition. Dear Merlin, he hated Wizard Transport, especially when he wasn't even allowed to bloody apparate on his own. He shook Hermione off of his arm, the two exchanging a brief glare before Hermione's face melted back into a glittering smile. She glanced over Harry's shoulder, tugging a disoriented Ron forward as she did so. Her megawatt smile never faltered for a second, even when Harry's narrowed eyes met her own.

"Harry? Hey, you alright, mate?" Harry's face shifted seamlessly into an expression of happy contentment, pushing down the urge to snarl at Hermione before turning to Ron and practically beaming while gesturing with one arm for them to leave the alley they had appeared in.

"Rigth then," Hermionie said, all business, "Let's go." Her engagement ring glinted on her left hand as she stepped into the morning sunlight. Ron's pale hand sought out her own, and their hands slid together, two pieces of the simplest, most exquisite puzzle known to man. Harry watched with shadowed eyes as Ron ran his thumb over the gleaming surface of Hermione's simple silver ring. Harry's eyes shifted to the slightly thicker gold band on Ron's other hand, as it swung at his side. Harry gave a sigh and sent one last, longing glance towards the dark mouth of the alley that they had popped into before trudging reluctantly after the happy couple. A frown marred his face with the sudden reminder of his own 'love interest'. He tugged his eyes away the happy, soon-to-be-married couple and glared at the cracked asphalt passing under his shoes.

No, he wouldn't, couldn't, think of her here, not now, not ever, just...never. And it wasn't, hadn't been, his fault.

He shot another hard stare at the back of Hermione's head. The girl twitched, but continued to stride confidently down the street. They walked by muggle men in business suits, a teenager dressed in a striped apron setting up her wares on a roller cart, all kinds of people just going about their day. Harry wanted that, he decided. He had always wanted it really, had always craved that far-fetched ideal of 'normality'. First to please the Dursley's impossible standards, and then to inject peace and quiet into his chaotic life. There was no use pretending–he was pretty much the antithesis of "Normal". His thoughts slurred and stopped as they halted in front of the firetruck-red MIM phone booth. Smiling and laughing, the Golden Trio jammed themselves into the cramped booth amidst flying elbows and waving hair. I remember this being bigger in Fifth Year, Harry thought, smiling. Oh well. Both Hermione and Ron took up a lot of space. Harry had never really been any sort of substantial.

They listened with detached interest as the pleasantly cool voice, which hadn't changed a bit, even after all of these years, led them through the process of getting name badges. Ron pinned his "Strategy Head In Training" badge to his robes with pride, and shot Harry a concerned and confused glance when he started gasping for breath. He perked up again at the sight of one of Harry's rare, genuine smiles. Harry shook his head and motioned for Hermione to take her own gilded badge, the emblem of the SHUT/UPs prominently displayed across the crest. Hermionie stilled Harry's outstretched arm with her own hand, and spoke sharply for him, ignoring his sharp look.

"And Harry Potter," she said, "For Unspeakable treatments and Political Machinations." Ron glanced at Harry and gave a fondly exasperated eye-roll. Harry took one more look at him and burst into his silent laughter, much to Hermione's displeasure. Harry snuck one more amused glance at Ron's S.H.I.T. badge before the secret lift began transporting them to the inner depths of the MIM.

The interior had definitely changed from the first time that he had entered the subterranean atrium. The giant fountain statues had (fortunately, at least in Harry's eyes) been utterly destroyed in the fight against Voldemort. In their place stood a gargantuan statue of three Magi*, with a silver witch and a bronze wizard flanking a golden wizard in their center. Harry looked up at his visage with a curled lip. He hadn't been a hero–why the bloody hell did he need a statue in the bloody ministry?

The statues were, he had to grudgingly admit, pretty spectacular. His eyes had been made of emeralds, his hair carved from Obsidian, his infamous scar a vein of brilliant diamond set forever in its slightly off-kilter spot in his forehead. His statue was standing, arm outstretched, clutching a giant topaz-and-ruby replica of his faithful Holly wand in what Harry thought was supposed to be a triumphant, defiant pose. The robes that fluttered around the large form seemed to sparkle in the false sunlight of the Ministry. Ron, cast from bronze, was on his left, and seemed like he was about to leap from Harry's side and attack enemies at any time. Hermione, plated in silver, stood to his right, wand held cautiously in the basic way they had been taught to in the DA. The large mass of tiger's eye that formed her hair somehow made it seem just as frizzy as it had always been, much to Hermione's consternation. Ron's own hair was created from Siam. The same stones dotted his bronze cheeks, solid depictions of Ron's infamous freckles, his eyes no more than two round Lapis stones. Hermione's eyes glittered with hidden knowledge, seemingly entrapped in the light smoked topaz. All of the statues twinkled in the sun, almost blinding in their splendor.

Harry hated it.

They continued towards the check-in desk, which no one had ever bothered removing after the war, and exchanged small talk with Edgar Point, a muggleborn Hufflepuff that had graduated before them. He cheerfully checked each of their wands, insisted on shaking their hands, and wished them all pleasant days before finally checking the next group's wands and moving on with his job.

"Alright, mates," Ron gave a lopsided grin and loped off to the entrance of the lifts, "Well, I'm off to that bloody," he ignored Hermione's half-hearted "Ron, language!" and ploughed on, "Auror's training. I swear to Merlin's scraggled beard, if it's Ellis teaching again, I'm going to rip her bloody––" Harry never found out just what anatomy the unfortunate Ellis was about to lose. The lift doors shut on Ron, whisking him away to the Auror training levels. Harry sighed at his best mate's abrupt departure. Now it was just him and Hermione left.

Hermione.

Shit.

"Well, Harry," Hermione's lips pursed in a rather pathetic imitation of a smile, "Let's go take care of some business, shall we?"

Harry gulped, but there was nothing he could do. Not in such a crowded area, pretty much unable to use his magic in the best way he knew how. He would have to follow Hermione.

Merlin Damnit.

*Magi=my own sorta-nerdy, gender-neutral term for witches and wizards

Word count: 1157

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