Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

by Thundercracker-TC

The survivors of the second wizarding war suffer the scars of Voldemort's reign as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Harry is spread thin across multiple responsibilities as he and Ron join the Aurors, where new challenges and mysteries await. Not all is as it seems though, and powerful forces lurk in the darkness, biding their time... Cover art by a.heesher

25. Chapter 25

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Trigger warnings listed at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 25

Harry appeared in a burst of green flames and felt a surge of pride as he only swayed slightly as he exited the fireplace. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he moved away from the floo. The room he'd entered had been completely wrecked; overturned and damaged furniture lay strewn about, and anything glass or breakable had been shattered. Painting frames that had once resided on the walls had been torn down, some taking chunks out of the walls with them. The fallen frame nearest to Harry sported long slashes through the canvas and was currently empty; whomever had resided within had fled. Across from the entrance of the floo, in large blood red letters, several glowing words and phrases had been charmed onto the wall. 'Death Eater' and 'Bigot' stood out to Harry, among others. In front of him stood a thin man of average height, perhaps in his late 30's, with combed-over dark hair and a large prominent nose, dressed in rich dark green robes with silver trim. Edmund Macnair was the eldest nephew of Walden Macnair, one of Voldemort's inner circle who currently resided in Azkaban. Although he'd worked in politics since graduating, he'd only inherited his uncle's Wizengamot seat and remaining property when Walden Macnair was handed a life sentence. If he was surprised at all that Harry Potter was the Auror who responded to his emergency floo call to the DMLE, it didn't show on his expression.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Macnair said, with his hands clasped in front of him, "and welcome to my home. As you can see, it has been vandalised."

"Certainly seems that way," Harry deadpanned as he looked around the destroyed room, "any idea who might have done it?"

Macnair raised his hands in a helpless gesture as the floo roared again and Elizabeth Moore stepped through.

"Whoa," she said as she exited and saw the state of the room.

"There's no shortage of individuals hurt by my uncle's actions," Macnair replied, "what I do know is they were able to gain access while the wards were down during a doxy fumigation."

Harry nodded as Liz waved her wand in wide arcs and cast a few diagnostic spells.

"Did you touch anything?" she asked.

"No," Macnair replied, "except to scrape some floo powder off the ground to make the call."

Liz nodded. Harry knew she was excellent with charms, including detection charms, which is why he'd asked her to join him on this call. He knew the basics of Detection from his training; whatever magical signatures or residue remaining could be disturbed by additional magic being cast in the vicinity. The muggleborn Auror turned slowly in a full circle, then stepped over to the glowing letters crudely emblazoned on the wall. She waved her wand a few times in sweeping motions and murmured a few incantations.

"How long were the wards down?" Harry asked, "I don't suppose any of the portraits saw anything?"

"Overnight, two nights ago," Macnair replied, "between sunset and sunrise, and no, unfortunately they were the first thing to be vandalised and none saw the intruder."

Harry nodded. It was typical for portraits to be destroyed first, nothing special there; the information about when the wards were down would help narrow down the time frame of when the vandalization happened.

"We'll want to interview the fumigators, have you notified them yet?" Harry asked, "which company was it?"

Macnair shook his head.

"The Pest Banishers. I haven't informed them; I thought it best if I went straight to law enforcement first," he replied, "if one of their employees is responsible, I'm sure the Ministry will take appropriate actions."

Harry nodded, more to show understanding than anything else.

"These were all done with the same wand," Liz said as she ran her wand over the graffiti, "I'd like to take a section of the wall back to try and narrow down the core."

"Not too large, if you please," Macnair replied, "and I'll need it returned when the Ministry is done, miss."

"Moore, Auror Moore," Liz replied.

Harry and Liz worked in unison and used their wands to chisel a section of wall a foot long and a third of a foot wide, upon which a glowing exclamation point was charmed. Harry produced a specially made evidence jar from an extendable pouch at his waist and enlarged it until the section of stone could fit inside. Liz dropped it in and the stone stopped at about the midpoint of the jar, held in place by its charms. Harry twisted the overlarge lid closed with both hands. The two performed another sweep of the property while Macnair watched closely, but nothing else turned up.

"All done?" Harry asked Elizabeth, "I'm going to try a tracker."

She nodded.

"Appare vestigium," Harry said, and golden flecks sprayed out all around, showing the footsteps of everyone who had recently set foot in the room. His own steps appeared, as well as those of Macnair and Liz, and a half-dozen footsteps of the fumigation crew, but a single set of footprints, separate from the others, led out the front door. Harry, trailed closely by the others, followed them to just beyond the threshold of the front door, on the front porch, where they abruptly vanished.

"Whoever it was apparated from here," Harry said the footprints from the fumigation crew entered and wandered about the house all around them, "they waited until the fumigators had left and then entered the property."

Unfortunately, there was no known way to track someone through apparition, short of physically grabbing them before they departed and hanging on through the journey.

"I think we have everything we need for now," Harry said, "if you can think of anything, anyone specific who made any kind of threats, or if you discover any missing valuables, please contact us."

Macnair nodded.

"After You-Know-Who, this must be child's play to you, Mr. Potter," Macnair said.

Harry pursed his lips into a line.

"We'll do everything we can to bring the perpetrator to justice," he said.

Macnair held out a hand to shake.

"I know you will. Should I look forward to seeing you at a Wizengamot meeting anytime soon?" Macnair asked as he shook Harry's hand firmly.

This time Harry did grimace.

"It's on my to-do list," Harry replied.

"I understand," Macnair said, "good luck, Auror Potter, Auror Moore."

They took the floo back to the Ministry and Harry trudged to the lifts with the enlarged evidence jar in both hands. While the press had been there for his first few days to snap photos of him and Ron in their Auror robes, they had become less of a fixture after the first intense week. Now, nobody even really glanced up as he crossed in front of the reflecting pool towards the lifts.

"I had my first Azkaban shift yesterday," he said once the doors closed.

Elizabeth winced.

"My first one was late last week," she said, "took me three days to feel right again."

He nodded.

"What do you think the odds are on this one?" he asked as he held up the enormous jar with its cargo suspended in the centre.

"Oh, it's our bandit, I'm sure," Liz replied.

In the past three weeks, a rash of vandalizations had been reported at homes and businesses across Britain, targeting former Snatchers, and more recently, the family members of Death Eaters who were in prison. The method was always the same: an unoccupied, unwarded home or business would be targeted, the perpetrator burglarised and wrecked the furniture, vandalised the walls, and apparated away. Edmund Macnair was the highest profile target to be hit so far, and it wouldn't be long before extra pressure started to be applied to Dawlish to catch whoever was doing it.

"Assuming it hasn't started already," Harry thought. He led the way to the Auror offices, past the cubicles, down a hallway and through another door marked Tracer Department.

The Tracers were part of the DMLE and specialised in inspecting evidence gathered from crime scenes to hopefully find some clues that could lead to an arrest. They often called upon Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries for assistance, but their primary focus was criminal forensics. The curtesy was returned by the Auror office but Harry had not been involved in any of those operations yet. Harry pushed through the door to find most of the desks empty; that meant the Tracers were on a job.

"Not surprising," Harry thought as he deposited the enlarged jar next to a half-dozen regular sized ones on a counter placed near the entrance, each with some bit of evidence collected from a crime scene hovering in the centre.

"Hello?" he asked.

A bloke in his mid-twenties with wavy brown hair poked his head around a corner, Robert Parkin, who was relatively new with the Tracers.

"Potter? Another one from the bandit?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"Looks like the same wand core, and the same style lettering," Liz replied as Parkin rounded the corner and picked up the enlarged jar.

"Who was the target this time?" Parkin asked as he inspected the section of wall.

"Edmund Macnair," Liz replied.

The Tracer let out a low whistle.

"Getting bold, hmm?" he said, "I'll let you know if I find anything different about this one."

"Thanks Bob, appreciate it," Harry said.

He and Liz returned to their desks. Liz had charmed some scintillating multicoloured lights about her cube and they bobbed and swirled in an unseen breeze as Harry passed by on the way to his. Unlike Liz and most of the other Aurors, Harry's cube remained bare except for the stacks of parchments he'd yet to go through; he hadn't taken the time to decorate yet. He'd known the DMLE was understaffed, but he hadn't appreciated exactly what that meant. Crimes ranging from squatting to mugging were up everywhere, and not just in London, but all across Great Britain and Ireland. Magical law enforcement was barely hanging on. He now understood why they hadn't made much progress in finding any of the Death Eaters still at large; everyone was completely overwhelmed, and every spare minute was spent either filling out incident reports or trying to catch up on sleep. Even as he sat down, another paper airplane zoomed to his desk.

Harry unfolded it to find a list of stolen items from Edmund Macnair's house: gem encrusted rings and brooches, a jar filled with knuts and sickles, an enchanted vanity, a silver timepiece… the list went on. Many of them, especially the coins, wouldn't help at all, but the timepiece and mirror were distinct enough that they might turn up somewhere.

He sighed. He hadn't even finished filling out his incident reports from the day before yesterday, and it looked like it was going to be another late night.

"First things first," he thought as he picked up the list and knocked on Ron's cube, then stood up to look over the top of the wall. The redhead dropped his chair back down to all four legs from where he'd been leaning back to get at the last drops of coffee from his mug. Harry noted Ron's desk was just as cluttered as his, if not more so.

"Fancy taking a walk?" Harry asked, "need to let some of the eyes and ears know what to look for."

Ron glanced at the stacks on his desk, then wordlessly grabbed his heavy outer robes from the peg on the inside of his cube.

Harry and Ron made the rounds through Diagon and Knockturn, visiting every pawn shop and a number of seedy pubs nestled along the rows of shops and tucked into dark nooks. When he'd done his first patrol back in January, he'd been glad the rest of the team was there. After months of staying out of public sight as much as he possible for more than half a year, walking right down the middle of Diagon Alley was a bit of a shock. At first, Harry felt like he had a target on his back, especially after the New Years' club attack. He'd been afraid some people might blame him for the catastrophe that'd fallen over the country the year before, but most just wanted an autograph or a picture, all of which he had to refuse.

It took a few weeks for the well-wishers and autograph seekers to leave him alone while he was working.

"Not while we're on patrol, I hope you understand," he said to a young, rosy-cheeked redheaded witch, likely just out of school, as he declined her request for an autograph. She deflated but nodded in understanding.

By the time they finished with the last pawn shop and its owner, who for some reason had his trousers pulled up nearly to his ribs, it was fully dark outside.

He inwardly groaned as he recalled the incident reports he still needed to file.

"And we're meeting Ginny and Hermione tomorrow in Hogsmeade, I have to do them tonight," he thought. Coffee was becoming his best friend.

---

Harry sat bolt upright and blearily checked the time; he'd overslept but he could still make it to Hogsmeade for brunch. Twenty minutes later, he and Ron sat in their now favourite booth at the Three Broomsticks and waited for the girls and Neville to arrive.

They were introduced to Neville's date and Harry picked at his food while they made small talk, but all his thoughts were focused on finally getting some alone time with Ginny. Neville toasted everyone who'd fallen during the war, and Harry raised his glass. Then Ginny leaned close to his ear.

"I'm not wearing knickers," she whispered.

All other priorities were immediately relegated to the back of the queue as Harry stood up.

"Right, we're going to make a move first," he said.

"Us too," Ron added.

Harry was sure he said something to Ron and Hermione outside the pub, but when they didn't respond he decided he wasn't going to wait for them to figure it out, and apparated straight to Grimmauld. Ginny appeared at the same time as Kreacher.

"Master Harry returns," the house elf said.

"Not now Kreacher," Harry said, his eyes on Ginny. The ancient house elf vanished again with a small pop, and Ginny was in his arms in under a second, crashing her lips into his.

Harry's existence became a whirlwind of desire and trying to fill all of his senses up with his girlfriend. Clothing littered the floor as they all but ran to the bedroom. He lost track of how many times they made love that afternoon, but after having been apart for so long, they finally, finally had hour upon hour together to indulge, and Harry was intent on making use of every second. Eventually they had to pause for dinner, and Harry wondered whether they would be able to go for more afterwards, but one look at Ginny's lust filled eyes after a glass of wine and they were back at it, this time on the couch first before they found themselves back in the bedroom.

Afterwards, they lay together under the covers with Harry relishing the warmth of her pressed against him, the smell of her hair, the sensation of her soft breast cupped in his hand.

"I never want to leave," she said quietly.

"We could always run away. Everyone else will just have to figure out how to get on without us," Harry replied, "or we could, you know, found our own country."

Ginny chuckled.

"I think most of the available land is already spoken for," she said.

"You could kill them all and take it for yourself," a little voice whispered to Harry.

He glanced at Ginny to see her gazing back at him, and then the two of them burst into laughter at having the same absurdly morbid thought at the same time. It ended with him kissing her deeply again. Harry started wondering if they might be able to go another round, but then Ginny's wand made a loud *ding* sound from her robes, somewhere outside the room, and she broke away.

"Bollocks, I've got to go, it's curfew soon," she said, but she didn't move.

"Only a few more months you'll have graduated and we won't need to wait for Hogsmeade," Harry said.

Ginny groaned.

"Three and a half months, I'm counting down the days," she said, "how am I supposed to focus on NEWTs with you in my head?"

With a huff, she threw off the covers and unabashedly walked to the door. Harry, completely spent and feeling nothing but utter contentment, lay back and folded his hands behind his head to admire the view. Ginny returned a moment later, fully dressed.

"How do I look?" she asked as she deposited his clothes in a pile on the bureau.

"Like you've been rolling around in bed for the last eight hours," Harry replied.

"Prat," she replied.

She turned to leave but Harry leapt from the covers and, still fully nude, embraced her from behind. She turned around and he pulled her close, feeling her slim frame pressed against his body through her robes. They came together in a long and unhurried goodbye kiss, and Harry tried to commit it to memory as much as possible to tide him over until the next time they could meet. As they finally came apart, Harry ran his fingers through her hair a few times.

"There, now you look better," he said.

"I swear, if McGonagall wouldn't owl my mum," she muttered.

"Patience," Harry said, "I'll see you next Hogsmeade. I love you."

"I love you too. Come for the match against Ravenclaw," she said, "it's before Hogsmeade."

"I'll try," Harry replied, "now go, or McGonagall really will send an owl."

Ginny kissed him one more time on the lips, then pulled herself away and walked to the door, only to give him a long, lingering look before she turned on the spot and vanished with a loud pop.

---

The following morning, Harry felt sore in all the right places, and he smiled into his breakfast as he recalled the previous day's activities. Far too early, it was back to work. Less than a year removed from the war, people were still picking up the pieces of their lives, some were in prison, some had fled and had yet to return, and still others had had their homes repossessed by Gringotts. What this meant was a number of wizarding dwellings were currently not in use, scattered among the dozen or so wizarding villages across the country, they themselves nestled and hidden among muggle towns. With the sheer number of Snatchers who hadn't turned themselves in during the amnesty period, most likely because they'd committed some kind of serious crime as opposed to kidnapping, it meant the vacant wizarding homes were ripe targets for looting or squatting. They were after the latter today, and he was team lead for the assignment.

Harry checked his reflection in the mirror to make sure he was dressed decently enough to blend in with muggles: jeans, and a light winter jacket to ward off the chill and still let him move freely. Then he flooed to the Ministry. Harry stepped out into the Atrium to find the rest of the team already waiting. Ron seemed completely out of sorts with a blank expression and dark circles under his eyes; it looked like he hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Hope it was a good Valentine's Day for him as well, Merlin knows they need it," Harry thought.

"Morning Potter, had a good day off?" Wilson asked.

"Was it an entire day?" Harry asked, "felt more like half."

"Definitely closer to a quarter," Tammy said.

"No rest for the wicked," Harry said, "those Snatchers aren't going to catch themselves. Everybody ready? Who has the ward stones?"

"Here," Wilson said, unslinging a black knapsack that was two sizes too small for him.

"Right, let's go," Harry said.

Harry led them to the floo, where they took turns stepping through the fireplace. Harry found himself inside a small, windowless room with nothing but the fireplace and a single door opposite. The Ministry had installed these floo links in unassuming buildings to allow wizarding folk to get around without risking a Statute breach through apparition. Once they were all through, Harry looked through the peephole in the door to make sure the next room was empty, then led them out into a small abandoned bakery.

"Alright, Matt, Tammy, Liz, you're on ward duty, first address is 14 ½ Paul Lane, disillusion yourselves," Harry said as he peered out into the street. There were usually muggle repelling charms on the floo buildings, but Harry didn't want to take any chances. He twirled his wand about himself to cast the disillusionment, double checked to make sure the street was deserted, then opened the door to step into the raw February air. The sun shone off the asphalt, wet from an overnight drizzle, but thankfully it wasn't currently raining, and there was no snow on the ground. He hiked up the small road towards the empty wizarding house, trusting the others to follow along. Some of the buildings were simple brick with sharply slanted roofs, and others were larger and set back from the road on driveways. On the way, he passed power lines, white picket fences, and hedgerows lining the road, but not a single car drove by. A dog out for a walk with an elderly couple barked at where he was but was quickly pulled along the road by the white-haired man. Harry approached the folded space between 14 and 16 Paul Lane, where a little two-story cottage sat about fifty feet back from the road, up a narrow cobblestone path. He gave the others a moment to get into place, then walked up to the front door.

"Ron, you here?" Harry whispered.

"Yeh," Ron said from his right.

"Alright, get ready," Harry said.

He knocked loudly on the front door.

"Aurors, anybody home?" Harry asked.

He waited a moment then rapped his knuckles on the door again.

"Invenies felis," he muttered as he waved his wand back and forth in front of the door to check for wards and magical traps.

"Clear," he said, "Alohomora."

The door clicked open and Harry turned the knob with one hand and brought up a wordless protego shield with his wand to push the door open. His invisibility fizzled off first him, then Ron as they moved.

"Homenum Revelio," Ron whispered, "upstairs, there."

He pointed with his wand at the far-left corner of the second story.

"Aurors, come out and throw down your wand," Harry called loudly as he crossed the threshold.

The inside of the cottage was neat and tidy, but a single place setting on the small dining table on the far side of the room gave away that it was lived in. Harry passed the coffee table near the front door and moved to the steps, but as he started to climb them, he heard a crash of breaking glass from upstairs, followed by sounds of a struggle from outside. Harry charged up the steps with Ron right on his heels. He had to use alohomora again to get into the bedroom where the squatter was hiding, and crossed quickly to where a window had been broken. In the garden below, he saw Matt Wilson standing over an unconscious young man with shoulder length black hair.

"It's Felix Nathaniel," Wilson said as he conjured ropes to tie him up, "he didn't have a wand."

"Nathaniel is one of the Snatchers still at large, right?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

"Imperius curse," he replied, "and some other things, but the Unforgivable is a life sentence anyway."

"Take him to HQ, we'll do a search in here for it," Harry called down to Matt.

Elizabeth came walking around the corner of the cottage, wand drawn.

"Alright Matt? Harry? Ron?" she asked.

"Liz, think you can levitate those broken pieces of glass up here?" Harry asked.

The muggleborn Auror waved her wand about and the broken shards lifted out of the grass and deposited themselves at Harry's feet with a tinkle of clinking glass.

"Ron, get ready with a reparo," Harry said.

It took a little bit of teamwork, but eventually Harry got enough of the glass close enough to the window frame that Ron could use the repairing spell.

"Right," Harry said as he tapped on the glass to make sure it wouldn't easily break again, "let's see if we can find that wand."

"Maybe we'll get lucky. Accio wand," Ron said, to no effect.

"Might be inside a drawer or a jacket pocket," Harry said, "we need to sweep the house anyway in case Felix left any nasty surprises, come on."

They started with the room they were in while Liz and Tammy kept watch outside. They worked in silence for a moment as they cast a few detection charms and looked for anything out of place. Harry glanced at Ron out of the corner of his eye and caught him practically glowering at a drawer as he ran his wand over a bureau. Harry only needed one guess as to what was wrong.

"So, how did it go yesterday?" Harry asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"We broke up," Ron replied with a bitter expression on his face.

"They broke up?" Harry thought as his jaw dropped. He'd expected a fight, maybe a vicious one, but not a breakup.

"What happened?" Harry asked once he'd found his voice.

"She found out I was using that book, the one I lent you," Ron replied, "and things just blew up from there."

"So, that's really it then, or is it just a row?" Harry asked.

"That's it for me," Ron replied, "I mean, I had plenty of time to think about it yesterday, you know, instead of sleeping, trying to figure out how I was going to apologise and all. But then I thought… why bother?"

Harry stared at Ron while the redhead checked under the bed.

"Why bother," Harry repeated, "Ron, it's Hermione, you fancied her for years."

"Yeah mate," Ron replied, "and I still care about her loads, but I don't really think she cares about me that much, at least not in.."

He stopped and put his hands on his hips, looked down at the corner of the room, and blew out a long breath that puffed out his cheeks.

"Well, I dunno, but it's not like I'm going to wait around forever," Ron said.

Harry continued to stare at Ron.

"How exactly did you leave it?" Harry asked.

"Well, I might have said something I shouldn't have, and she said I should go date other people," Ron replied.

"What did you say?" Harry asked with a sense of foreboding in his chest.

"I… might have mentioned I was the number three most eligible bachelor in Britain, and that I could have my pick of girlfriends," Ron mumbled.

Harry's jaw went slack.

"You're number one, by the way," Ron added unhelpfully.

"Ron, that… I'm trying to think of something worse you could've said," Harry said when he'd found his voice, "How'd you think she'd react?"

Ron let out a decidedly resigned sigh.

"I know, I know," Ron said, as he checked under a mattress, "and I didn't just spring that on her, it sort of went back and forth for a bit leading up to it, but you know what mate…"

He trailed off, and Harry let him gather his thoughts. Sometimes Ron had to get his words in order before he spoke, otherwise it would come out all discombobulated.

"This thing, between me and Hermione, it wasn't really a relationship anyway," Ron said, "we never see each other, and then when we do, she wants to talk about goblin rights or some other thing. I mean, it's been nearly a year, and we've been on what, one proper date? Two, maybe."

He closed a dresser drawer hard enough to rattle the picture frames on top of it.

"Anyway, maybe some time properly apart will do us both a bit of good," he added.

Ron went back to quiet despondency, and Harry let him be. It stung that his two closest friends were going through this, and he wondered how Hermione was taking it.

"I'll have to write to Ginny later," he thought.

They finished the rest of their sweep in silence, but when they exited the cottage, they ran into Tammy, who now held the pack with the wardstones.

"Hey, Miller," Ron said as he reached into a pocket. He withdrew a pair of tickets and held them up.

"No Ron, don't do it," Harry thought, but he kept quiet.

"Got a couple of tickets I can't use, want them?" Ron asked.

"Good man," Harry thought. He silently berated himself for even imagining Ron might use the tickets Hermione gave him to take someone else.

The blonde Auror looked at the tickets, then back at Ron.

"Cannons home opener next week? You sure you don't want to go?" she asked.

Ron struggled with the answer for a few seconds.

"Yeah," he finally forced out, "you go, take someone, have fun."

"Wow, thank you," she said as she looked down at the tickets, "I'll have to pay you back."

"No no, it's okay, I-," he said, "just enjoy."

She nodded and departed to retrieve the last ward stone.

"I can't believe I gave away tickets to the Cannons' home opener," Ron said quietly as he watched her go, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"You can always buy tickets and see another match later on," Harry said, "who knows, maybe it'll be a playoff."

Ron snorted.

"I suppose," Ron said, "would have been better if… ah fuck it."

He set off for the next house and motioned Liz to join him, and Harry watched them go, then pulled out his Christmas present from Ginny.

"Ron and Hermione broke up. He's fine. Check on her and make sure she's okay?" he wrote.

"What? What happened?" Ginny replied, her neat cursive appearing as she wrote.

Harry wrote to her what he knew while waited for Wilson and Miller to return, then they hustled to catch up with Ron and Tammy. The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, one sweep after another, in four separate villages; apparently, they'd gotten lucky finding a Snatcher in the first house in the first village.

"Or the rest had somehow been tipped off," Harry thought.

He spent the next hour filling out the endless forms detailing where they'd gone and what they didn't find, and cataloguing how they'd captured Nathaniel. By then it was well past dinner, but Ron was so exhausted from his all-nighter that he'd already gone straight home to sleep. Harry returned to Grimmauld by himself and ate alone, then spared a glance for the small scrap of paper with Dudley's phone number on it sitting on the night table, before he collapsed into bed.

"Azkaban patrol again tomorrow," he thought.

---

Harry's first Azkaban shift had exhausted him, but ahead of the second stint he felt more mentally prepared as he knew what was coming and had managed a full eight hours of sleep the night before. With each round of patrol to the top of the metal prison where the dementors roamed though, he felt the energy sapping from his limbs and his resolve weakening, despite the light of his patronus. By the end of his eight-hour shift, it was difficult to feel anything except hopelessness. He wanted to get out and shake it off, but without being bothered for autographs or his attention, and that meant muggle London. Harry forced his arms to stow his robe in an extendable pouch, his legs to take him out of the Ministry via the public toilet exit. He stepped onto the streets where it was not quite cold enough for snow showers, but plenty cold enough for a miserable London drizzle. He turned up his collar, pulled out a small bar of Hershey's chocolate to munch on, and walked a few hundred feet until he found a boisterous restaurant. The clatter of plates and utensils and chatter of several dozen voices spilled into the street as he opened the door.

Searing hot fish and chips fresh out of the fryer helped his mood, though Harry suspected it had more to do with the concentrated sugar and caffeine in the Coke than the battered, fried, and slightly too salty meal. He glanced around as he ate, at the mates out after work or school, or at the few couples out on a date.

"I'm the only one here by myself," he thought as he frowned.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Dudley's phone number, scrawled on the torn off notepad page, and then he sighed at the realisation that if he didn't call soon, he might as well toss the number in the bin. He dropped a few quid on the table, enough to cover the meal and then some. Back out in the evening drizzle, Harry walked the wet pavement until he found a phone box, squeezed through the door, dropped ten pence in, and dialled the number on the scrap of paper. It rang several times, and then Harry heard Dudley's voice through the receiver.

"You've reached the big D," Dudley said.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Dudley?" he said.

"Yeh, who's this," Dudley replied, "wait… Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said as he switched the receiver to his other ear.

"Hang on," Dudley said.

There was some movement on the other end and a bit of static interference, and then the sound of a door closing.

"What took you so long, it's only been six weeks," Dudley said.

"Six weeks?" Harry thought.

"Eh, been busy," Harry replied as he reflected on exactly how busy he'd been; until Sunday, he'd barely had any time to himself since New Year's. No wonder the weeks had flown by.

"Yeah, me too," Dudley said.

There was a moment of silence and Harry started to wonder if calling had been a mistake.

"Look, I wanted to apologise," Dudley said, "for, well for being a complete git for fifteen years or however long it was. I dunno what I was thinking."

"What?" Harry thought as he pressed the receiver into his ear and listened intently.

"I mean I was back at home for the hols, and I passed by the cupboard, and I just thought to myself, 'what the bloody hell'?" Dudley continued.

"Yeah," Harry said as the thought of his cupboard brought back a host of unpleasant memories.

"Mum and Dad seem to have, I don't know, mellowed out, too," Dudley continued, "I doubt they'd ever admit they felt bad about how they treated you but I know I do, so… yeah, that's what I wanted to say."

Harry's mind swam with the surrealness of having a conversation with his cousin over a pay phone, and he watched a drop of rainwater track its way down the outside of the box.

"Anyways, I read about Cathedral in the papers after," Dudley said, "they called it an accidental fire, nothing about your lot, sort of makes me wonder what else is actually going on right under peoples' noses. Was it a big deal over on your side?"

"Oh umm, yeah," Harry replied, "yeah it was. There's a bunch of people who are still trying to kill me, so.. we've got to find them all and lock them up before they do anything else like that."

There was a burst of static as a puff of breath hit the receiver on Dudley's side.

"Bloody hell, still? Is that what you're doing now? Done with that school?" Dudley asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, still off balance from having this conversation with his cousin, "I've joined the… sort of a wizarding police force. It's good, just erm, just a lot of work."

"Wicked," Dudley said, "do you get a gun?"

"Err, well we have wands, so…" Harry said, then paused for a moment as he shifted position to switch ears again, "what about you?"

"Ah yeah. I'm at uni now," Dudley replied, "this is my number here. I'm on the rugby team."

"Feel sorry for the other team," Harry said without really considering the words before they were out of his mouth.

Dudley chuckled, a real chuckle, not the fake chortles that used to precede a pounding.

"Your call will end in thirty seconds. If you'd like to extend your call, please deposit another ten pence."

"Hey listen, you should come out for a match one of these days," Dudley said, "it'd be good to catch up, in person, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, maybe I will," Harry replied, "what's the address?"

He scribbled it down as Dudley recited it.

"And get a bloody phone," Dudley said.

"I'll think about it," Harry replied, but the line had already gone dead. Harry hung up the receiver and stepped out of the box.

It was almost like his cousin was a different person. Maybe it was maturity, but it didn't seem like that was all. Harry's steps turned towards Grimmauld Place as he decided to take the long way to clear his thoughts.

"It really was ridiculous," he thought, "I mean, who makes a toddler sleep in a cupboard?"

The idea of anyone, no matter how cruel, doing that to a defenceless child, was difficult to fathom. He remembered how the locket, now shattered and given as a gift to Ragnor, had affected all three of them as they took turns wearing it in the Forest of Dean.

"Maybe it was me, being a horcrux and living with them all those years that turned them so bitter," Harry thought.

With that happy thought, he turned up the path home and Harry put it aside for the time being. As he opened the front door, he spotted a dozen letters that had been owled through the letter box and now sat in an unceremonious pile on the floor.

One of the letters bore a Ministry seal and another was from Dawlish, and the rest appeared to be from various witches. He opened his boss' letter first.

Auror Potter,

You should be receiving an invitation to the Renewal Festival on Sunday. Part of your role is to create positive visibility for the Aurors and the DMLE. Note the dress code and go shopping this week if need be. See me if there are questions.

John Dawlish, Head Auror
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

"Wonderful," Harry thought.

Harry tore open the second letter and two pieces of paper fell out, an invitation and a form of some kind.

Dear Lord Potter and Guest,

You are cordially invited to the Renewal Festival on Sunday, the twenty-first of February, 1999, at the Stone Towers Farm in Ilkley. Formal evening wear required. Hors D'Oeuvres will begin at 7:00pm. Portkeys will be available from the Ministry Portkey Office upon request.

Acknowledgement to Lady Augusta Longbottom for conferring the acreage for Ministry use for the evening.

Harry noted the 'and Guest' at the top of the invitation and his thoughts immediately turned to Ginny. He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a message to her, the ink fading into the page after he'd written his note.

'Invited to Renewal Festival on Sunday, Dawlish says I have to go. Be my date and smile for the cameras with me?'

He waited for her response. The words appeared on the page in her neat script as she wrote them.

'Would love to, but that's our last tune-up before Ravenclaw. Have fun!'

"Bollocks," he thought. Having Ginny with him would have definitely made the festival more bearable. He quickly glanced through the rest of the letters, all from witches he didn't know, asking him if he'd be willing to take them.

"Looks like I'll be going alone," Harry thought as he filled out the portkey request form, "hmm, perhaps I'll see Neville there, seeing as it's his family's farm."

---

The following morning, he arrived early at the Ministry for Floo Call duty. When someone made an emergency floo call to the DMLE, Dispatch would determine whether it warranted an Auror response, and if it did, it would be up to the Aurors on call to take care of whatever issue had cropped up. Ron stopped by his desk as Harry tried to catch up on paperwork and prayed no calls came in.

"Morning mate, did you receive this letter for Renewal?" Ron asked, waving the parchment over the top of Harry's cube wall.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "need to go shopping over lunch."

"Is Ginny going?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Quidditch," he replied, "are you going to bring anyone?"

"Probably not," Harry thought.

"Dunno, we'll see," Ron replied, "I had a date last night."

"No kidding. That was, err, fast," Harry replied as he put his quill down.

"Yep, we made the Prophet too, apparently," Ron said, and he deposited the paper on Harry's desk.

Harry glanced over the photo of Ron and a stunning young witch exiting a theatre and smiling for the cameras.

"She is cute," Harry said, as he looked over the caption, "you're sure about this? I mean, so soon?"

"Yeh, through waiting," Ron said, "so, maybe you'll get to meet her on Sunday."

"Can't wait," Harry replied as he did his best to keep a heavy sigh from escaping.

Ron picked up the copy of the Prophet and whistled an off-key tune as he rounded the corner, presumably to fill his coffee mug, while Harry scribbled a note to Ginny.

'Ron's dating a model, it's in the Prophet. Better let Hermione know before she sees it.'

"I really hope Hermione is okay," he thought, but he trusted Ginny to let him know if something was really amiss.

Luckily, Harry already owned a set of dress robes thanks to the numerous events he'd had to attend over the summer, but he had grown nearly an inch since then, so a trip to Madam Malkin's was necessary for a slight adjustment. He very nearly didn't have time; the quiet morning he prayed for didn't materialise and the calls for Auror investigation ranged from shoplifting to home burglaries to Snatcher sighting false alarms. Friday was a regular street patrol, and Saturday he spent catching up on paperwork, which he finally finished after 5pm. The following day he apparated to the Burrow to have Sunday brunch instead of dinner, owing to the evening event. After gorging himself on Mrs. Weasley's hash browns, eggs, bacon, and a half-dozen other dishes, Harry excused himself and apparated home to crash into bed, only to be woken by his wand vibrating itself off his bedside night table and clattering to the floor before he was fully aware.

He felt like he could have used another five hours of sleep, but with direct orders to appear at the Renewal gala, he forced himself out of bed and into his dress robes. They were very similar in style to the ones he'd worn to the Yule ball in fourth year, except these had a satin trim about the hem and seams of the outer robes that defined the cut and gave him a distinguished air. Harry adjusted the bowtie in the mirror and once again considered learning a charm well enough to get it to tie itself without strangling him, and once again put it off in favour of retying it manually a half-dozen times.

He gave himself a once over in the mirror and sighed as he pictured himself in his forties with peppered grey hair, still wearing dress robes to events where he forced himself to smile and shake hands.

"Is this going to be the rest of my life, attending these events and being the 'Boy-Who-Lived' for everyone?" he thought.

A second thought popped into his head.

"Only if you let it," he thought, "it's well past time I started figuring out who is who, and what I can do to change things for the better."

So resolved, he walked to the floo, shiny dress shoes clicking on the stone floor.

"Ministry of Magic," he said.

He appeared in a burst of green flame, then walked to the lifts to head to the Portkey Office. After he checked in, he was shown to a room where a cracked coffee mug sat on a table. As he picked it up, he felt the familiar tug from behind his navel, and appeared on a small wooden platform. Ahead of him, several large cream-coloured tents stood on what looked like wooden decking specifically built to keep the tents several feet off the ground. Magical lights strung up on both the inside and outside of the tents encouraged a festive air. Already he could see people in dress robes and brightly coloured gowns, jewellery sparkling as they enjoyed flutes of champagne and little snacks. Behind him was darkness and a light breeze carrying the scent of rich soil, and ahead of him the din of quiet conversation reached his ears. Harry left the coffee mug on a conveniently placed table and walked across a footbridge to the first tent. He noticed the wind died as he entered, but the temperature remained typical February cold.

Small enchanted silver platters floated about the guests and above their heads, some carrying hors d'oeuvres and others drinks in champagne flute glasses. A bright flash went off in his face.

"By yourself tonight, Mr. Potter?" a man's voice asked. Harry blinked a few times and spotted Graham Winfield, the photographer for the Prophet, a boxy wizard's camera clasped in both hands, and a press pass prominently displayed on the left breast pocket.

"Yes, unfortunately," Harry replied.

The photographer nodded.

"How is your friend, the one from the park?" he asked.

"Out of the hospital and recovered, thank you for foll-" Harry said, but he was interrupted by a witch slightly older than he, probably in her mid-twenties, with her curly brown hair pinned up to leave her neck bare except for a few ringlets. She stepped right between Harry and Winfield and smiled up at Harry, revealing perfectly white teeth.

"How is it possible that the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't have a date?" she asked with a suggestive smile.

"Good luck, Mr. Potter," Winfield said. Harry appreciated that he didn't snap another photograph.

The witch in front of Harry held up a white gloved hand for him to take, and he took it on reflex and bent forward. He followed the pureblood custom of taking her hand in his and dipping his face over it, not close enough to touch, before standing up straight again. She wore a sleeveless deep red dress, which was no doubt enchanted with liberal warming charms.

"Holly McCormick," she said, "but you can call me Holly. I also don't have a date, what do you say we keep each other company tonight, Lord Potter?"

"Oh look, is that the Minister?" Harry said as he spotted Kingsley's dark-skinned face above the small group of people near him, "apologies, Miss McCormick, the minister asked that I speak to him as soon as I arrive."

Harry brushed past her and made a beeline for the Minister of Magic in the next tent. This is how it always was at these events. No doubt Holly would only be the first of at least four or five witches who would try to get his attention. He knew how to get them to stop, of course, and that was to put a ring on Ginny's finger.

"One thing at a time," he thought as he put that particular commitment off for another day.

"Ah, Harry, come here," Kingsley said as he spotted him, "I'd like you to meet Edmund Macnair."

"Oh, we've met," Harry said as he shook Macnair's hand.

"Good to see you taking your duties seriously, Mr. Potter," Macnair said, "I was just telling the Minister how welcome it is that the Aurors are finally replenishing their ranks."

"I'm sure Dawlish is on top of the burglary," Kingsley said, "he has my full confidence."

"It's not just my father's old home," Macnair said, "it's the past three or four months. The trend is clear, and criminals are growing more brazen. We're supposed to be a society of law and order, Minister. If someone like myself can't feel safe and secure, what about the regular folk?"

"You're absolutely right, Edmund, I'll have word with Rebecca," Kingsley said.

That seemed to mollify Macnair, and he nodded.

"Thank you Minister," he replied, "Auror Potter."

The politician nodded again and departed in a swirl of dark blue robes.

"Sorry you had to hear that Harry," Kingsley said, "Macnair's becoming more outspoken as time goes on."

"Is it serious, sir?" Harry asked.

Kingsley glanced around as if to say 'not here'.

"There she is," he said as he motioned to a slim, middle-aged blonde witch wearing pristine white robes and what looked like diamond earrings.

"Good evening Minister," she said as she glided over to them.

"Harry, I'm sure you've met Rebecca Fawley," Kingsley said.

"Actually no, we haven't met yet," the head of the DMLE replied, "it's an honour to meet you, Mr. Potter."

"Err, the honour is mine ma'am," Harry said as they shook hands and he noted her firm grip, "pleasure to meet you."

"I hear you're making quite the splash already. Keep up the good work," Fawley said.

A low buzzing filled the air before Harry could respond. He almost went for his wand, but then he realized Kingsley had just cast a muffliato spell to exclude everyone but the three of them from the conversation.

"Rebecca, Macnair was just here complaining about the crime wave again, is there anything we can do that we aren't already doing?" he asked.

"You know we need a larger budget. Any movement on that front, or those WEA exceptions?" she asked as she turned to the Minister.

Harry wondered about 'WEA' for a moment, before he realized it was the Wizarding Equality Act, the one keeping Shawn Davis off the force.

"You know the answer to that," Kingsley replied.

"Then no," she said.

"That's what I thought," he replied with a nod.

"We could always return Azkaban to the dementors," Fawley said.

"That is not an option," Kingsley replied.

Fawley nodded as if she'd expected the response.

"Is it really that bad, Minister?" Harry asked as he figured he'd try again, now that they could speak privately.

Kingsley grimaced.

"Without getting into specifics, yes, budgets are always a contentious issue in politics," Kingsley replied, "leave it to us though Potter, this one isn't your fight and you have enough on your plate as it is."

Harry nodded.

"If you say something positive about your superior to his boss, word will get back to him and he will be more inclined to assist you in the future," a small voice whispered in Harry's head.

"Head Auror Dawlish has been absolutely brilliant ma'am. He really knows what he's doing. He's tough, but fair, and we, Ron and I, have learned a lot from him already," Harry said. All true.

"I'm glad to hear that Potter, he's definitely the best man for the job," Fawley replied.

A camera flash went off.

"How about one more, Graham?" Kingsley said to the photographer as the background buzzing vanished and was replaced by the murmur of dozens of mingling conversations. The Minister of Magic stepped between Harry and Fawley, and all three posed for the media as another two flashes went off. Kingsley held up a hand to signal that was enough, and Winfield nodded and moved a few feet away to seek out other quarry.

"Good evening Minister, Director," a male voice said. Harry glanced over to see a slim young man with slicked back brown hair, and vaguely recognized him as a fellow Auror.

"Evening Clark," Fawley replied, "have you met Mr. Potter?"

"Not yet," Harry said as he shook his colleague's hand. Clark smiled warmly at him.

"Pleasure to meet you finally, Mr. Potter," he said, "hasn't been a moment's rest has there?"

Harry grinned.

"An Auror's work is never done," he replied.

"Mr. Clark passed the Trials immediately after the war, despite having been in hiding the year before," Fawley said as she motioned to Winfield.

"Graham, why don't you take a photo of Mr. Potter with Mr. Clark," she said to Winfield, calling him back, "Brandon Clark is one of our muggleborn Aurors."

"Certainly, Director," the photographer replied.

Harry posed and plastered a smile on his face as he shook Clark's hand for the Prophet photo as Fawley looked on.

"This is what you're here for, Harry," he thought, "just smile through the night."

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," Fawley said as she moved off to speak with an elderly wizard Harry didn't recognize. He noticed Kingsley had also slipped away.

"Thank you for killing Avery, by the way," Clark said quietly, "no need to waste food feeding him at Azkaban, eh?"

Harry stayed silent and glanced around. The crowd had certainly grown, and there was no telling who was close enough to hear. Although he was glad Avery was dead, Winfield had only just stepped away and this wasn't exactly something Harry would want twisted by the papers. Plus, he didn't know Clark at all.

"Err," he said.

"Oh right, probably not appropriate company," Clark said, "anyway, thought I'd let you know, a lot of the younger Aurors are on your side: no mercy."

"Right well, honestly I was just trying to not die," Harry said.

Clark suppressed a snort.

"Yeah seems you're pretty good at that," he replied with a grin, "good thing for the rest of us too. Keep it up, yeah?"

Harry spied Neville speaking with his grandmother one tent over and decided to make his escape from the conversation.

"Hey, I've just spotted someone I want to talk to. It was nice meeting you," Harry said.

"Right, I'm sure we'll see each other on Azkaban patrol at some point. Cheers," Clark replied. They shook hands again and Harry made his way over to his old classmate. Neville looked slightly uncomfortable in his black and white dress robes. His grandmother wore an old-fashioned purple gown with lace and frills seemingly coming out at all angles, but somehow the entire ensemble worked and she made it look dignified. Standing near Neville was his date from Valentine's day, Daisy Vane, Harry thought her name was. The head girl wore a relatively conservative pastel green evening gown with full sleeves, which flowed down to her ankles. A complicated braid kept her hair up on top of her head, with one of the braids coming across the front in the semblance of a circlet.

"Should have paid more attention to her name," Harry thought, "then again, you did have other things on your mind."

"Hi Neville, Madam Longbottom," Harry said as he approached, to Neville's date he only gave a small wave as he didn't want to accidentally say the wrong name.

"Harry, good to see you mate," Neville said, obviously relieved to see him.

"Mr. Potter, always a pleasure," Mrs. Longbottom said as she held out a bony hand for Harry to dip his face close to.

"Hello Harry," Daisy said, and Harry repeated the motion with her.

"It's amazing what you've done, is this all farmland?" Harry asked as he gestured around the tents.

"Yes, it's been in our family since before I was born," Mrs. Longbottom replied, "and you have the caterers and Ministry event planners to thank for all this, I merely provided the space and a firm hand."

"Speaking of which, it's about time for dinner, I'd better see what's taking them," she added as she excused herself.

"Alright Harry?" Neville asked as he adjusted his bowtie slightly, "can't imagine how you've had to deal with this all last year. I feel like I can barely get through one night."

"You get used to it," Harry replied, "it never really gets fun, though some people enjoy it I hear."

"I think it could be exciting. Imagine how many interesting people you might meet at these events," Daisy said.

Harry nodded; she didn't understand.

"Harry, Neville, am I glad I found you," a female voice said. Harry looked over to see redheaded Susan Bones, her long hair plaited down her back. Rosy cheeked, she wore a black evening gown with a green jewel of some kind hanging from a simple gold necklace, and held a nearly empty champagne flute in one hand. She glanced around and lowered her voice.

"Merlin knows what I'm doing here, I think they only invited me because of my aunt," she whispered.

"There's a trick to getting through it if you're not usually involved in these sorts of events. You smile a bit and don't agree or disagree with anything, just sort of nod your head and act like you're thinking about whatever they say," Harry replied.

"Sounds like you've had a bit of experience there," Susan said.

"You have no idea," Harry replied with a small grin.

He spotted Ron's approach with that Witch Weekly Model, Miranda Appleton, on his arm. In person, she really was stunning, taller than Harry himself and nearly as tall as Ron in her heels. She wore a shimmering gold gown that left one shoulder exposed, along with matching jewellery, all sparkles and flawless skin, hair, and smiles, while Ron sported a new set of dress robes, his first major purchase now they were on the Ministry payroll.

"Evening everyone," Ron said as he joined the group, "This is Miranda, Miranda, these are my friends."

"Hi, so wonderful to meet all of you," the model said with a dazzling smile.

"Fake, she is lying," the voice in Harry's head whispered. He shoved it away.

"Err, pleased to meet you," Susan said, confused. Clearly, she hadn't yet heard about the breakup. Neville and Daisy said nothing, just a polite smile and acknowledgment that Ron's date existed.

"Well well, seems the gang's all here," Harry heard a somewhat familiar voice say, "almost. Where's Granger? I expected she'd be making an appearance now they're inviting muggleborns."

Harry tore his gaze away from the awkward exchange between Ron and his date and the rest of their classmates to see Theo Nott wearing extremely expensive looking black dress robes, complete with gold trim. From the way it pulled at the fabric, Harry suspected it might have been real gold, and a decent amount of it too.

"I suppose I'd be remiss if I didn't join this little mini reunion," Theo said as he inserted himself between Miranda and Neville, "how is everyone on this fine Renewal? I do love these little self-congratulatory events the Ministry puts together."

Harry practically felt the sarcasm puddling on the floor.

"Lord Nott, thank you for attending," Neville said.

Theo rolled his eyes.

"Merlin Neville, try not to be such a bore," Theo said, "though I do like what Madam Longbottom has done with the lights, please pass her my appreciation."

Neville ducked his head a bit and nodded.

"What are you doing here, Nott?" Ron asked.

Theo glanced about the tent before answering.

"Same as every day of your life, Weasley, trying not to look like an arse," Theo replied, "more specifically, I received an invitation. Seems whoever was in charge of the guest list felt the event wouldn't be complete without me."

Harry tried to figure out if Theo had just insulted Ron or himself, and from the look on Ron's face, he was in the same boat.

"Boys, let's not cause a scene now," Susan said.

"Yes, we wouldn't want to embarrass our host," Theo added.

Neville looked at Harry with a helpless expression and Harry was about to step in when someone else interrupted.

"Ah, if it isn't the future of wizarding Britain," a middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair and wearing deep brown dress robes said from behind Theo. The Slytherin sidestepped to allow him to address the group more directly.

"Mr. Macmillan, pleasure to see you again," Theo said.

"Ernie's dad," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded.

"It's good to see so many young witches and wizards attending the Renewal festival, this is a very special one, after all," Macmillan said.

Harry assumed it was because it was the first one after Voldemort's defeat but he didn't give voice to this thought.

"Lord Nott," Macmillan replied, "sorry to bring this up at Renewal, but have you had a chance to look over the proposed amendments?"

"Not really, haven't got 'round to it yet," Theo replied coolly.

Macmillan nodded and turned to Harry.

"Lord Potter, haven't seen you at the Wizengamot at all this year. I'm sure you support protections for werewolves. It is imperative we take advantage of this window to protect them and other beings, to integrate them more fully into our society so they'll fight to protect it rather than join up with the next dark lord, don't you agree?" Macmillan asked.

"Here we go, might as well jump in with both feet," Harry thought.

"Err, yes… but it's really all about the specifics, isn't it?" Harry replied, "I admit, I have been occupied, but I do think it's a very important piece of legislation."

"Glad to hear it, Lord Potter. Truth be told, we need every vote we can get, and your voice would probably pull enough people off the fence to push it through." Macmillan added.

"Angus, it's Renewal," Edmund Macnair said from behind Harry.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the pure blood.

"Why don't we give it a rest for a day," Macnair added.

"If we let you have your way, a day would become a year, and then ten," Macmillan replied, "the time to act is now."

Manair stood up straight, as if he were addressing his colleagues on the Wizengamot, and not a small crowd of barely graduated witches and wizards.

"This is not a minor change, and it needs to be properly thought out. We should focus on taking care of those that are struggling today," Macnair replied, "it's hard to justify to families that have a hard time putting food on the table that we should be adding goblins to the Wizengamot and issuing expensive potions free of charge to werewolves first, instead of helping them."

"The amendment will help them," Macmillan replied as he turned fully to Macnair, and Macnair stepped around Harry to engage.

Forgotten for the moment, Harry motioned to Neville with his head and the group of Hogwarts alumni quietly stepped away from the growing political debate.

"Word to the wise," Theo said to Harry, "stay away from those stodgy old meetings as much as you can, unless you fancy sitting through more of that for hours at a time."

The pureblood glanced at a passing floating platter.

"Excuse me," he said as he departed to chase it down.

"Well, that was interesting," Neville said as he eyed the debating politicians from a safe distance.

A few chimes sounded, and tables appeared through the floor of the tents. Harry and Ron found that most of the young Hogwarts students were seated with Neville at one table, but the two of them had been sat with Rebecca Fawley and Brandon Clark, along with a few others, at one of the tables closer to Kingsley's.

"Oh, please let nobody try to sit there," Harry thought as he glanced at the empty seat next to him. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The empty chair set for the date he didn't bring was like a magnet to everyone who wanted a word with Lord Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

Every time Harry tried to take a bite, someone sat down in the seat next to him. First were two fairly blatant passes from unattached witches. Next, Macmillan visited to press him on attending a Wizengamot meeting to support the amended werewolf legislation. Harry managed to fend him off by agreeing to a private meeting the following week, only to be visited by Macnair next, who described proposals to rebuild what was destroyed during the war and deal with the countrywide crime wave. After finally promising to read through the proposals (but without giving a timeframe), Harry found forty-five minutes had passed without him taking more than a few bites, when dessert arrived on more floating platters.

"We could shift over Harry," Miranda said across the empty seat between them, "then you could at least eat in peace."

"She seeks to trade Ron for you," the voice whispered to Harry, "she is a useless coattail hanger and will weaken you."

"Err," Harry said, but Ron came to his rescue by shifting around Miranda to sit between Harry and the model.

"What, you think I want the empty seat next to me?" he asked with a grin, "though it was entertaining watching the parade file through."

"Thanks," Harry said, "really regretting Ginny not coming."

Harry wanted to find out more about Miranda, but he was interrupted before he got a chance.

"Had enough politics for one night?" a voice to his left asked.

Harry knew she'd been sitting there the entire time, but he actually looked at her for the first time and noticed the small, elderly witch wearing an almost inappropriately boring plain grey robe. Her wrinkled face smiled knowingly at Harry.

"Anabelle Grimm," she said, though she didn't extend her hand.

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, and Anabelle merely smiled again.

"You know Mr. Potter, if you want to escape the politics and the demands of almost everyone, you could always come work with us," she said.

Harry was about to ask what she did when Fawley interjected, apparently, she'd been keeping one ear on Harry's conversations.

"Anabelle works in the Department of Mysteries," she said, "I'm sure they would love to poke around your head and see what makes you tick, Harry."

"The Unspeakables," Harry thought as he glanced at his meal to avoid eye contact, "too dangerous. No one can know about the horcruxes or the Hallows."

"It's his choice to make of course," Grimm replied and turned back to Harry, "but given his already extensive experience with obscure and powerful enchantments, it might be a good fit."

Harry made sure he practiced occlumency when he returned his attention to the wizened woman.

"Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Grimm, but I need to focus on the remaining Death Eaters first," Harry said, "maybe one day in the future."

"I don't suppose I could guilt you into working with us as compensation for all the damage caused three years ago," Grimm asked.

The prophecy. The trap. Sirius' death. Harry felt his expression harden, then he forcibly returned it to neutral, at least as neutral as he could after being reminded of his godfather's death and how if he'd only just used the mirror Sirius had given him, he might have lived.

"Stop trying to poach my Auror," Fawley interjected, good-naturedly but still firm, and brought Harry back to the present.

The old lady smiled, but she did fall silent as the lights dimmed. Out in the dark farmland beyond the tents, a small flicker of orange flame flittered about. Conversation hushed and all eyes turned towards the evening's entertainment as the fire split into two, and then four small flames dancing about in the distance and leaving trails of purple in the air. A whisper distracted Harry and he glanced over to see someone in Auror robes, he recognized him as Jenkins, speaking quietly in Fawley's ear with a serious expression. She nodded then glanced from Harry to Ron.

"Potter, Weasley, go with Jenkins," she said quietly, "Miss Appleton, it's time to bid Auror Weasley a good evening."

Harry and Ron stood up and Miranda also leapt to her feet to plant a kiss on Ron's lips, and though it seemed forced, Ron didn't push her away.

"Good luck," she whispered, and then Ron and Harry were off, following Jenkins to the nearest apparition point. Eyes followed them as they passed by the other guests, but they quickly returned to the display in the field.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. Jenkins waited until they were on the footbridge before he cast a muffling charm; the area filled with a low buzzing noise.

"Dark Mark over Abel Winthrop's house, Robards specifically asked for you two. Anti-apparition is already up. We're breaching the wards now," he replied.

"Dark Mark! Death Eaters!" Harry thought as his adrenaline surged and his heartbeat began to thunder in his ears.

They reached the small platform and Jenkins held out both arms.

"Hang on," he said, and Harry grabbed one forearm while Ron grabbed the other, and then they were twisting through side-along.

Harry landed heavily but maintained his balance on the grassy hill they appeared on, and it took a moment for the nausea to pass. He glanced up to see the unmistakable glowing snake and skull emblazoned across the sky, and drew his wand. Ahead, up an overgrown path, stood an old stone dwelling at the top of a small hill. The ceiling was probably once thatched straw but had been replaced by a proper shingled roof at some point, and the chimney listed slightly to one side, but otherwise the structure looked sound. Several Aurors stood near the entrance of the house and every now and then Harry spotted a small shower of red sparks falling to the ground.

"Ward breakers," he thought.

Jenkins led the two of them up the path to a group of five Aurors by the entrance, and Harry immediately spotted Robards' slightly larger frame among them.

"Sir, Potter and Weasley," Jenkins said.

"Good. Party's over, there's real Auror work to be done," Robards said as they saluted, "three-man teams, you two are with Jenkins."

There was a final shower of blue sparks from the entrance, followed by a slight shimmer around the home.

"Standard entry, stack up," Robards said, and the two ward breakers fell back to let four of the other Aurors take point. Harry thought he recognized Robinson, the other Auror from his trials, among them.

"Cover them with shields," Jenkins said as he led them closer. Harry nodded; this was part of their training.

With a bang, the front door blew off its hinges and Harry focused on casting a powerful protego around the team entering the building. Lumos spells lit up the interior.

"Clear," came the call from inside, and Robards, Jenkins, Harry, and Ron entered into a small living room. A floo sat to the left, beneath the chimney, and a small dining table occupied the area in front of the open kitchen. Wooden stairs led to the second story and to the cellar. Nothing was overturned or damaged; there was no sign anything was amiss. Harry felt several thrums through his body as the standard detection spells were sent out in all directions.

"Nothing here sir," Robinson said.

"Fan out," Robards said, as he entered the cottage, "Jenkins, take Potter and Weasley upstairs. Robinson, your team has the cellar, you two with me for the ground floor. Be careful, it could be a trap."

Harry and Ron followed the dark haired Auror up the stairs to a small landing; their footfalls caused the floorboards to squeak loudly with every step. Jenkins wordlessly lit his wand as they cleared the second story landing. Once there, a short hallway led to three doors set at even intervals. Green light from the Dark Mark filtered through the slightly ajar door at the far end, and a wet dripping sound reached Harry's ears as the scent of copper filled his nostrils.

The Aurors crept down the hall and the hairs stood on Harry's neck as Jenkins nudged open the door.

"Merlin's beard," the older Auror said quietly, then pushed the door open further.

A body, stripped to the waist, backlit by the glow from the window, hung upside down in the middle of the room. As Harry watched, another drop of blood fell from the soaked hair into a large puddle on the floor, black in the ambient green light of the Dark Mark. The body spun lazily, tied by the ankles to a ceiling support beam, and as it rotated towards him, the words 'BLOOD TRAITOR' carved across the chest and a gaping wound slashed across the neck came into view. He fought the urge to vomit and swallowed to keep his meagre meal down.

"Captain! We have a body in the master bedroom," Jenkins called.

Harry glanced about the room and spied a letter on the nightstand. A dagger pinned it to the wooden table and a few spatters of dried blood sat around the blade where it had been embedded through the parchment. Harry also lit his wand to illuminate a few words written in blood.

"The fate of all who sully wizard kind."

Heavy footfalls stomped up the stairs, then down the hallway towards them.

"That's Winthrop," Robards said from the doorway, "Jenkins, take a blood sample for the Tracers to be sure."

"Sir, there's a note here," Harry said as he tried to ignore the body hanging from the middle of the room.

Robards stepped over to take a look.

"Bottle that too," Robards said.

A few more thumping footsteps heralded the arrival of Robinson.

"Cellar's clear," he said.

"Potter, Weasley, check the other bedrooms," Robards said, and Harry was glad to be sent out of the room and away from the grisly scene.

"Wait," Robards said as they reached the door.

Robards observed the body for a moment while Jenkins caught a few drops of blood in an evidence bottle.

"His son's a professor at Hogwarts, right?" Robards said, "Potter, you know the staff and students. Get over there now, make sure the younger Winthrop is alive, and find out where he's been over the past two hours, then keep him there."

"You think his son might be a suspect?" Harry asked.

"Sir?" he added as Robards rounded on him.

"Yes Potter," Robards replied as if he were speaking to a young child, "the wards were still up, so whoever it was had access to the building. Abel Winthrop was a member of the Wizengamot, and his son stands to inherit his seat now he's dead. Judging by the body and the blood, he's been dead for ninety minutes or so. And I gave you an order. Move. You too Weasley, bedroom sweep, stop gawking."

Harry saluted then turned on the spot to appear on the grass just outside the wards of Hogwarts.

"Wanker," Harry thought, but there was nothing for it, Robards' reasoning made sense. He wished Ron was with him though.

"Expecto Patronum," he muttered, and his blue and white stag burst from the tip of his wand, "Tell professor McGonagall that Harry Potter is at the edge of the wards, near Hogsmeade, and I need access to the castle, Auror business."

The stag shot up into the night sky and shrank into a small point of light that zipped across the castle grounds like a shooting star.

A few seconds later, a second patronus streaked towards him, landed in the grass, and resolved into a glowing blue and white tabby cat that filled him with its warmth and radiance.

"You may enter, Mr. Potter," the cat said in McGonagall's Scottish brogue, "proceed directly to the Headmistress' office."

The cat vanished, leaving only a few blue sparks that circled and spun in the darkness until they, too, faded.

Harry lit his wand as he crossed the wards and began the hike up to the castle.

"No forced entry, just like Andromeda's cottage," he thought as he walked.

"Imperius maybe," he thought, "this time nobody put up a fight though."

"Why did Robards specifically ask for me and Ron? Was it to get us away from the party?" Harry thought.

"The Renewal Festival is an opportunity to build relationships with important individuals, and Robards is jealous you were invited, and not him," the voice whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded to himself and for a few minutes the only sound was his fancy dress shoes thudding on the path as he walked uphill. His mind started branching out with more and more bizarre and macabre ideas and imaginings.

"Did they force him write the note in his own blood, tie himself up, and then slit his own throat?" he thought. The panic the old man must have felt as his will and self-preservation instinct were overwhelmed as he was forced to kill himself nauseated Harry, and he shook his head and tried to refocus on his orders.

"Hermione said Professor Winthrop was a great teacher, but Robards thinks he's a suspect," he thought as he climbed the steps. Students stopped and pointed and whispered as he passed but he ignored them.

The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress' office moved aside as he approached, and he ascended into what used to be Dumbledore's office. McGonagall sat behind the large desk and regarded him through her glasses as the Headmasters of years gone by looked down on them.

"By your attire, I presume you've arrived straight from the Renewal Festival," she said without preamble, "I don't suppose I would be lucky enough for this to be a social call, Mr. Potter."

"Unfortunately, no, Professor," Harry said, "do you know where Professor Winthrop is?"

"Given the hour, he would be in either his office or his quarters," McGonagall replied, "what has happened?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Abel Winthrop was found dead this evening, with the Dark Mark above his home," he replied, "I'm here to inform his son and advise him not to leave the castle wards until the cottage is fully secured."

McGonagall's hand went to her mouth at the mention of the murder, then she stood up.

"Try his office first, my old office," she said, "if he is not there, return here immediately and I will escort you to his quarters."

Harry nodded and walked back downstairs while McGonagall tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace with a burst of green flames.

Harry walked briskly through the corridors and down the steps to McGonagall's old office. On the way, a few more voices whispered as he passed and a few more students stared, but nobody stopped him, nor did he recognize any classmates from his year. The familiar halls sent him back in time, back to the battle and then before, when he was a student, back to his first year when he'd charged down this exact hall with Ron and Hermione to inform McGonagall about the plot to steal the Philosopher's Stone, a lifetime ago.

Harry steeled himself and drew his wand as he approached the door. If Winthrop was evasive, he might have to arrest him, and no doubt a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would be no slouch when it came to duelling.

He knocked twice.

"Enter," a male voice, presumably Winthrop, said from inside.

Harry opened the door to see a middle-aged man with horn rimmed glasses sat behind a large desk facing the door. Harry recognized the bushy-haired student sitting at the table with Winthrop almost immediately.

"What's Hermione doing here?" he thought, "and also, wow, I'm actually glad Ron isn't here."

He put the narrowly averted awkwardness out of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

"Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Potter?" Winthrop asked.

Hermione whipped her head around and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Detention," she replied.

Harry hesitated.

"Hermione has detention? For what?" he thought. Then almost immediately another thought shot through him.

"She's been in Winthrop's presence; she can eliminate him as a suspect!" he thought.

"Err, for how long?" he asked.

"Since seven, why?" she replied.

Harry did some quick calculations.

"Nearly three hours," Harry thought, "if she's been with Winthrop, then he couldn't have committed the murder."

"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione asked.

"I'll explain later," Harry replied, as he breathed a sigh of relief, "I need to speak with Professor Winthrop, in private."

"I think we're about done here anyway, Ms. Granger, go on," Winthrop said.

Hermione laid her quill down and sent Harry a glance that he knew meant they would need to talk afterwards.

"Are you okay?" Harry muttered as she passed, mindful of the recent breakup.

"I'm fine, find me later," she whispered.

Harry gave her a small nod, then refocused on Professor Winthrop as the door closed and locked behind him, and a low buzzing filled his ears, a privacy spell.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Professor," Harry said.

The Hogwarts professor motioned for him to continue.

"You might want to brace yourself," Harry said.

"Just spit it out," Harry thought.

"I've just arrived from your father's cottage," Harry said, "the Dark Mark was above it."

Winthrop stood up with a loud scraping of his chair, wand already in his hand.

"Wait, the Aurors are there now, and I'm ordered to ensure your safety," Harry said as he held up a hand, the one that wasn't holding his wand, "your father was a member of the Wizengamot, and they may be after you as well. The safest place for you right now is behind Hogwarts' wards."

Winthrop hesitated for a few seconds; he wavered between trying to leave the room and acquiescing.

"My father, 'was'?" he asked.

"Was. He was murdered," Harry replied, "I… am sorry for your loss."

Winthrop sat down heavily and removed his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose, or perhaps wipe his eyes, Harry wasn't sure.

"And do you know who was responsible?" Winthrop asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Not yet, they're still securing the scene," Harry replied, "if we find anything, we'll be sure to keep you informed."

Winthrop nodded again, replaced his glasses, pulled out a dark bottle and a small glass from a desk drawer, then poured himself a measure.

"Drink?" he asked as he looked up at Harry.

"No thank you, I'm on duty," Harry replied.

Winthrop nodded, replaced the bottle, then threw back the glass to swallow it in a single gulp.

"I will go to see my father now," he said as he placed the glass on the table.

"Shit," Harry thought.

"Sir, you're supposed to stay here, until it's safe," Harry said.

"Where safer than at the scene of the crime, surrounded by a team of Aurors?" Winthrop asked as he pulled on a coat over his robes, "besides, I may be able to assist in the investigation."

"I have orders to keep you here," Harry said.

Winthrop casually drew his wand again.

"Will you use force to try to arrest me, or stop me from departing?" Winthrop asked, a hint of warning in his voice.

Harry actually thought about it for a moment, but he had no idea what Winthrop was capable of, and he'd already eliminated him as a suspect, so subduing him couldn't really be justified.

"No," he said as he grimaced, "but you'll side-along with me."

Winthrop's eye twitched but he made no other move.

"Agreed," he said, stowing his wand once again.

"Damn, Robards isn't going to like this," Harry thought as Winthrop scribbled a note and folded it in half.

"To notify the Headmistress and request a leave of absence," Winthrop answered Harry's questioning expression.

They walked in silence to McGonagall's office, and Harry had to almost jog to keep up with Winthrop's quick pace. The DADA professor dropped the note into the gargoyle's mouth, where it promptly vanished.

"I have been following your Auror career, such as it is," Winthrop said as they descended the grand staircase.

"He wants to talk about this now?" Harry thought, "…maybe he wants to take his mind off the fact his father's just been murdered?"

"I understand you defeated a Death Eater that attacked your family, before you even completed training?" Winthrop asked when Harry didn't respond.

"Yes, it was close," Harry replied as he recalled the duel with Avery, "it was very close."

"Trouble seems to have a way of finding you, Mr. Potter," Winthrop said as they exited the school, "I fear it will be the same for me very soon. I trust you will do your best to bring the murderer to justice before I, too, become an unfortunate casualty."

"Professor?" Harry asked as they crossed the courtyard.

"I've no doubt this is a political assassination," Winthrop said, "my father had recently taken up the cause for werewolf rights. His death is unfortunate, but some good can come of it. His seat now falls to me, and I intend to complete his work as quickly as possible."

"That's…brave of you," Harry said.

"It is the right thing to do," Winthrop replied as they neared the edge of the wards, "really, what's the alternative… let them win?"

They walked in silence as Harry contemplated his response.

"With any luck, we'll have at least one more Death Eater in Azkaban sooner rather than later," Harry replied with more confidence than he felt.

He held out his arm before they crossed the wards, and the Defence professor gripped his forearm, and Harry returned the gesture, just in case.

"I'll do my part, Mr. Potter, I trust you will do yours," Winthrop replied. They crossed the wards together, and Harry apparated to Abel Winthrop's cottage.

If Winthrop suffered any ill effects from the side-along, he didn't show it. The Dark Mark which previously marred the sky had vanished, replaced by several glowing balls of bright white light that lit the entire cottage and the surrounding hill as bright as day. At least a dozen Aurors now dotted the grass around the cottage, and more magical lights inside the cottage silhouetted magical law enforcement at every window. It wasn't more than a few seconds before Robards' slightly overweight form barged out of the front door.

"You must have a hearing problem, Potter, because I distinctly recall ordering you to keep Winthrop's son at Hogwarts," he said loudly. Several heads turned at the outburst.

"I apologise… Captain," Winthrop said before Harry could reply, "I demanded to see the crime scene, so the blame is mine. Besides, with the heavy Auror presence, I imagine this is likely the safest place in all of Britain at the moment."

Harry sent a silent thanks to the Defence professor for shouldering the blame.

Robards advanced until he was only two steps away from Winthrop.

"If you were smart, you'd get your arse back to that school, unless you fancy a trip down to the DMLE," Robards replied.

"And if I refuse?" Winthrop replied, "will you have me arrested for attempting to enter?"

"That depends," Robards replied, "where were you at the time of the murder?"

Harry was about to respond but Winthrop beat him to it.

"That depends," Winthrop echoed, "roughly when did this take place?"

"Robards was trying to bait him into saying something suspicious," Harry thought. If Winthrop was guilty and had immediately responded with an alibi, he would have given himself away. It was a simple tactic, but often effective.

"About two hours ago," Robards replied as he narrowed his eyes.

"I was overseeing a detention with a student," Winthrop said.

"That's convenient," Robards said, "and I'm sure the student will corroborate this."

"Sir, it was Hermione who was with him," Harry said.

Robards paused for a long moment as if weighing Harry and Winthrop's words.

"Unless there are any more objections, I would see my father now," Winthrop said.

Robards sneered.

"All right, but it's a bloody mess up there, fair warning," Robards said, "not you, Potter; make yourself useful and sweep the grounds."

Harry glared at Robards' back as his superior retreated into the cottage along with Winthrop, then he sighed and did his best to put it all out of his mind to focus on searching the grass for any clues. He decided to start farther down the hill than most of the team already scouring the area nearest to the cottage. He would still be within line of sight of the others, but far enough away that he wouldn't have to tolerate any chit-chat or comments on his dress robes. He'd made it a quarter of the way around the hill when he spotted something suspicious a few feet higher up: a section of flattened grass, as if something heavy had landed there.

"A large enough ward discharge could have thrown a person this far," he thought. He looked around, searching for something, anything, out of the ordinary. Then, reflecting off the light of the orbs above the cottage, Harry caught sight of something half-buried in the grass: a metal key inside a small glass container.

"What in the world?" he thought as he inspected the tiny object, which looked like it'd been sat or stepped on and pushed into the ground.

It was definitely some kind of clue, and Harry sent up blue sparks from his wand.

Robinson trotted down to investigate.

"What've you got, Potter?" Robinson asked with a distinct Irish accent.

"Not sure, looks like a house key in a jar," Harry said, "there's some crushed grass over here. Someone might have been blown back by the wards."

"Don't touch it," Robinson said as he summoned an evidence jar from a small pack on his belt, "my guess is that's an emergency portkey."

"A portkey… to their hideout?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," Robinson replied as he pressed the evidence jar into the ground, "at least some of them. It would explain why we haven't caught any, even with anti-apparition wards."

The case containing the key pulled out of the ground and suspended inside the jar, along with a small clump of earth.

"You've seen these before?" Harry asked.

Robinson shook his head.

"No, but it makes sense," he replied, "only touch portkeys are any good in an emergency, so this case around it keeps it from being touched accidentally. It probably fell out of whoever's pocket when they landed here."

"What if we went through the portkey?" Harry asked as his adrenaline already started flowing at the prospect.

"Too dangerous," Robinson replied, "with such a small portkey, only one person, maybe two, would be able to go. Who knows how many Death Eaters could be waiting on the other side, plus whatever defences they might have put up in case one of the portkeys falls into the wrong hands…"

"It could also be a trap to lure us there," Harry said as he gained a new appreciation for the danger.

The lieutenant opened up his pack again and rummaged around inside to make space for the jar.

"We'll send it to the Tracers to have it analysed, hopefully they can find where it leads, and then we can go in force," he said.

Harry looked at the small key as it hovered inside the evidence jar as Robinson fed it to his pack, and only partially succeeded in tamping down the feeling of excitement at the big break the little key might represent. That little bit of excitement bled away into boredom as Harry finished his sweep and Robards refused to let anyone leave the crime scene until well after midnight. He spotted Ron exiting the cottage.

"Supper at my place?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded, and they both apparated away. The absolute first thing Harry did was prise his feet from his shoes and collapse onto the couch, and Ron wasn't far behind.

Kreacher appeared with a pop.

"Master Harry has returned," the house elf said as he bowed.

"Can you make us something hot to eat please, Kreacher," Harry said.

The elf bowed and vanished again, and Harry heard the sounds of pans clanking from the kitchen. He glanced over to see Ron splayed out on the couch, head back against the wall.

"Find anything inside?" Harry asked.

With what seemed like great effort, Ron lifted his head up and opened his eyes.

"Nothing, just his wand," he replied, "they used it to cast the Dark Mark. Anything outside?"

"Found an emergency portkey," Harry said, "fingers crossed they can trace the location, and it leads to a hideout."

That got Ron to sit up straight.

"Pull the other one, really?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, then he stifled a yawn, "sorry. Really I'd be more excited, but I'm bloody knackered. Robards had us turn the entire cottage inside out."

Harry felt his mood darken at the mention of the Auror captain.

"Wish I could figure out a way to convince him I'm just trying to do my best," Harry replied. He tried not to sound bitter, but to his ears it came out harsher than he'd wanted.

"Can't please everyone," Ron said as he stifled another yawn, "some people are just gits. Mind if I crash here tonight?"

"Not at all," Harry replied.

Kreacher appeared with a pop, balancing a tray and bowls filled with steaming broth and chunks of meat in each hand, and laid them each on the coffee table. The wholesome smell of chicken soup filled the air and Harry's mouth started watering.

"Supper is served," Kreacher said.

"Wow, thanks for bringing it out to us Kreacher, me and my feet appreciate that," Ron said as he picked up a spoonful and blew on it to cool it off.

"Master Harry's friend Weasley is too kind," Kreacher said with a slight bow, then he vanished again.

Harry stared at the spot where Kreacher disappeared and then looked back at Ron.

"Did that just happen?" he asked.

"See, maybe there's hope for your relationship with Robards after all," Ron replied as he sucked a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Harry tucked in and finished his soup in under ten minutes, but Ron still beat him and trudged upstairs while Harry continued eating. He dashed off a quick note to Ginny to let her know what had happened with Abel Winthrop, then, feet aching, he also climbed the steps and crashed into bed.

"Street patrol tomorrow," Harry thought as he felt himself already drifting off to sleep, "need every minute of rest I can get."

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Chapter 25 Trigger Warnings: non-explicit M/F sex, gore