September 2002
Harry passed Hermione the letter and waited as she scanned it.
"Is there any way around this?" he asked.
She set the paper down and thought. He could tell she was thinking, she was making her thinking face. He'd seen it enough to recognise it.
"I don't think so," she said slowly. "I mean, you could try to argue against it… I suppose it depends on how much it means to you."
"I want to go back to work," Harry said emphatically. "I'm sick of doing nothing. I'm doing better. They know that."
"And they're completely within their rights to make sure you're completely fit for work," she countered. "Your job isn't a walk in the park, Harry. You need to be on top of your game if you're going to do it properly."
"I'm never off my game." His words were more than confident, they were edging into cocky. But that edge was what made him such a good Auror. He knew it, the department knew it, and he knew what this was all about, really.
"They want to see what I can do," Harry said.
Hermione looked at him, then nodded warily. "Probably. Yes."
When he first took the tests to assess his capabilities, to see if he had what it took to become an Auror, the wizarding world was still reeling from the aftermath of the War. He was put through his paces, for sure, but it wasn't until he was a few years into the job that senior members of the Ministry expressed a desire to really push Harry's magical abilities. It was widely known that he was capable of great things, extraordinary things. And, in any normal circumstances, when he joined the Auror department, they would have dug those extraordinary things out from the very beginning.
But with their numbers so greatly depleted from battles, the Ministry was ready to welcome Harry Potter into their ranks without risking upsetting him.
When he was approached and asked to spend time in the test environment, he turned them down. Much to Hermione's displeasure. Harry got the impression that she was as eager to see what he really could do as anyone else. They'd poked, and prodded, and asked, and wheedled and once, Kingsley had begged. And Harry had continued to say no.
For too many years he'd been looked on as a freak, or some wonder boy. He didn't want to go through that again.
Or worse, have it proven that he wasn't actually as good as they all thought he was. The illusion was far greater than the reality. Of that he was sure. Only now they were taking that illusion away from him. They were going to get what they wanted all along. And, what was grating the worst, they were going to do it on their own terms, not his.
That night, Will came over.
"Work are putting me through some tests before I'm allowed to go back."
It was surprising, really, how easy it was for Harry to moderate the truth in order to share details of his life with Will.
"That's understandable, I suppose," Will said. He'd brought dinner round with him, Chinese food that was spread out over Harry's coffee table. They were sat on the floor to eat, leaning back against the sofa watching Saturday night TV. "When do you have to go in?"
"Next week sometime," Harry said. "I'm waiting to hear from my boss."
"Well, don't stress. Do your best – you can't do any more than that."
The reassurance was nice, but better than that was having someone there to give it to him.
They weren't sleeping together yet, which was a surprise to both Harry and Harry's dick. Although a fair amount of time was spent snogging and groping, things just hadn't progressed to the next level yet. Harry, for his part, was trying not to think about why.
After serious consideration, Harry decided that there was no other way about it, he'd asked the department not to put him through the testing and they'd insisted it was necessary. So he had to man up and do it.
And the date was scheduled.
An owl was sent telling him he needed to present himself at the Ministry for 8 a.m., too early for his liking, but the actual testing didn't start until ten. Before that was briefings, too many briefings, paperwork, checking his wand for any faults, checking his body for any signs of physical damage. That was fun – standing bare ass naked in front of a Healer being poked and prodded in some rather tender areas. The bastard also insisted on checking his scar, and his eyesight, which just served to piss Harry off even more.
Finally, they were ready, and he was led into an arena sized room which he was sure he hadn't seen before. Dressed in jeans, trainers and a loose t-shirt – no robes, at his insistence – he was, at least, comfortable.
The testing was mostly made up of simulated environments where he'd be forced to put his Auror training to use. So he was thrust into hostage situations, massacres, explosions, raids, battles. Each designed to test his skill, cunning, resourcefulness, reactions, speed and concentration.
There was no backup, no chance to breathe or ask anyone for their assistance, or opinion; each moment was his to make those snap decisions which could mean life or death for himself or someone else.
By the time the first hour was done, he was exhausted, sweating, aching.
The wizard running the tests came in from wherever they'd been watching to hand him a bottle of water.
"Thanks," Harry said gratefully, wiping the sweat from his forehead and drinking deeply.
"Not quite done yet," he was told. "A few more rounds to go."
Harry nodded, resigned.
He was somewhat surprised, when he returned, to learn that his next opponent was a person, rather than a situation. Harry was sure he knew the Auror, although they'd never worked closely together. Rosewarne was part of the training team, a tall, broad man who'd retired from active service many years before. Still, he was a formidable opponent.
The paperwork he'd signed dictated that no Unforgivables would be used during the testing; those aside, anything was fair game.
"Come on, old man," Harry taunted. "Show me what you've got."
Rosewarne sneered. He was an ugly bastard, Harry thought, as he sent his first hex flying.
It didn't take long for Harry to start blowing things up. He was feeling pissed off and self-righteous, which was bad news for the Ministry. Really, it was Rosewarne's fault – he kept ducking behind things for cover and what was Harry supposed to do but blow them up? And was it really his fault if some of his blowing-things-up spells were slightly off target?
Problem was, it wasn't just Rosewarne he was fighting. Within a few minutes it became clear that the one opponent wasn't making much of a dent in Harry's defence, and they started sending in reinforcements. For the other side.
These reinforcements had been given Polyjuice, or else some seriously good Glamours, because they looked like his friends.
First Ron, then Neville and Hermione, Ginny, Luna… he knew it wasn't really them, he was too familiar with their fighting style to be fooled. But it still hurt to throw hexes at the faces of people he loved.
He was six-to-one down, but still holding fairly strong and wishing he had access to his invisibility cloak.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself. "Are you a wizard or not?"
He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, pretty sure that this wasn't against the rules. He hadn't been paying all that much attention earlier in the day. They hadn't given him coffee at that point.
The next lot of adversaries that were sent in were worse. Dressed as Death Eaters, they were clearly designed to test his emotional stability. As he took a deep breath and started to fire off spells on instinct rather than from any solid plan, he hoped, hoped to god that they weren't planning on sending a Voldemort lookalike in after him.
That thought alone had him securing the Death Eaters with little real resistance on their part. And a call was made again to halt the testing.
Another bottle of water. But this time handed to him by someone far more familiar.
"Kingsley," Harry said genially, attempting to catch his breath. "You fucking bastard. How the fuck are you?"
Clearly unoffended, Kingsley chuckled, a rumble that seemed to start in his belly. "Not at all bad, my friend. Would you care to do one last round?"
"Not really," Harry said. "I'm a bit knackered, to be honest."
"I can't force you to…" Kingsley said. "But you'd only have one opponent this time."
Harry's heart sank.
Kingsley smiled. "Me."
"Oh," Harry said with a laugh.
"You'd be doing me a favour…"
"Yeah, why not," Harry said, pushing sweaty hair back from his face. "You'll owe me one, though."
"I don't forget them."
Tired, and hot, and uncomfortable due to this, Harry stripped off his t-shirt and walked into the centre of the test room, right out in the open, jeans falling dangerously low on his hips. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck to either side. There wasn't going to be any hiding or explosions this time, just one wizard against another.
Kingsley, in deep purple robes, seemed to be the complete opposite to Harry. Calm, collected, clean. Clothed.
For some reason Harry was reminded of an ill-fated duelling club from his second year of school – those rules of conduct suddenly seemed to apply once again. After all, Kingsley was a gentleman, a man of honour.
Harry cast the first spell.