Harry had put Kingsley in quite a pickle and he should've seen it coming.

The Minister sat behind his desk, large arms crossed on his chest as he took a deep breath in, exchanging a glance with Percy who was rummaging through a pile of parchments, looking positively in need of a good night sleep. He pushed some of it towards Kingsley, who just frowned at its content.

"Do you even like being an Auror?"

Harry's head was pounding from a long night he had, and he massaged his temples, thinking it through. He had joined the department young, felt it was his duty to wrap the whole Dark Lord thing, and so he rushed through accelerated training.

But it's been almost five years since Harry had finished breaking the last of Voldemort's efforts, a stubborn band of Knockturn Alley fanatics none of whom finished the Hogwarts but somehow excelled in potioneering that spelled all kinds of trouble.

And ever since… "It's what I've always wanted to be."

"Right, as you've said to McGonagall during your interview," Kingsley said, replacing one parchment in his hands with another. "And your work was exemplary when it came to finishing the war, and dusting the scrapes of that particular foul batch of bake."

Harry sighed. "But?"

"But being Auror is more than finishing one's business, Harry," Kingsley said. "We do the spooky things, we're always online so anyone else doesn't need to be. So everyone else is safe."

Harry was mulling it over when Percy cleared his throat. "Mum says you stopped showing up for Sundays. She's worried."

"We all are, Harry," Kingsley added, leaning forward. "You're a great wizard, and a friend besides, but this…" He vaguely waved at one parchment or another. "This isn't you. This is an Auror who is a liability and danger to his colleagues, who're too polite to say anything."

Harry's smile was wry. "Because I'm Harry Potter?"

"Some," Kingsley allowed. "There's also respect and understanding."

"So just fire me and be done with it." Kingsley and Percy exchanged a loaded look, and it made Harry roll his eyes. He knew what was coming, and to be honest he was tired of it. "Out with it."

Percy adjusted his glasses and said, "It wouldn't go well with the public. Sure, the war is long gone and over, but there are other problems now, and the headline Harry Potter fired by the Minister of Magic wouldn't help us in solving them in any regard."

"Look," Kingsley said, "we can keep you on a payroll for another month or two for you to get your business in order, find something you want to do. Heck, you could still go for quidditch, you're young."

Harry waved the suggestion away. He didn't need either money or advice. "And then I quit?"

"Retire," Kingsley corrected gently. "You came with a single goal, and wanted to see it done, completely and thoroughly."

"Are you telling that to me or to the public?"

Kingsley's tired smile was answer enough.

Harry suddenly gagged, barely on time stopping the vomit coming out all over Kingsley's shiny dark desk, and then got into a coughing fit. A spell hit him, helping him catch his breath, and Percy pushed a bright pink vial towards him. He downed it without a word. The two of them didn't seem to want to mention it either.

"Can you handle it without me?" he asked, taking in a testy deep breath. It came through fine. "This retirement nonsense and the press."

"Yes." He might as well have said he would have preferred it.

Harry nodded, grateful. "Then I'll clear my desk today." He pushed himself up, and offered Kingsley his hand. "Let's not do this again, yes?"

Kingsley laughed, shook his hand, and then Percy did as well, all very businesslike, and Harry went out of the office without another word. What was there to say? In a manner, they were in the right, and Harry wasn't even sure if he liked the job.

Say it's time for something new, say Harry ain't stranger to it.

London fall morning did the impossible, and the sun shone brightly as Harry apparated in the little spot he had all enchanted for exactly the purpose in the Grimmauld square, just the opposite of his home. It loomed in the muggle neighbourhood as a sore thumb, dark and lifeless enough to turn it all gloomy. Luckily it was only him who could see it.

He took the two steps leading to his entrance somewhat shakily, not accustomed to it at this time of the day, and pushed it open, wondering if he might be early for drinks with Ron after the work.

He closed the doors behind him and the sun was gone, the hallway as gloomy as the exterior of the house. Kreacher popped into existence, bowed deep, and said, "Master is home. Breakfast?"

Harry murmured his affirmatives, nodded at the portrait of Black hag, and settled on his long table. It was so long it had hosted dozens of order members back in the day, the whole Black family even before that, but now it was only him, and the heads of elves passed in service of the house.

In front of him a newspaper and a warm butterbeer waited already, and Harry gave a sound of appreciation. Kreacher might be growing snarky and mumbly in his age, but say not a word about his service. "Thanks," he said to the air.

The news tried their best not to make the wizarding world in Britain completely boring. Centaurs once again refused the spot on the ministry's list and there was some sort of parley going on in the Forbidden forest. Tense. The Aurors broke down the ring of brothels and there were some juicy names caught in action. Exciting. Up in Kent all the enchantments popped loose in an uncharacteristic backfire.

Harry blinked, and read that last bit again. There were muggles injured all around the place, and Obliviators were having a field day to track them all down, a wizard was taken to St Mungo with serious injuries, and there was even a gray cloak at the scene.

Maybe he should've stayed for another month at the department.

He swore under his breath and called Kreacher, made him read it. "Have you ever heard about something like this?"

It took him a minute to read it, moving his mouth as he wrestled with longer words, and then hesitated once he was done. "Old master did it to Malfoy once."

"Sirius?"

"Master Sirius' grandfather, Arcturus. Bad Malfoy tricked him."

"How did he do it? Shouldn't really be possible." Even as he said it, Harry didn't believe himself. He knew better than most about impossible, and magic rarely had the word in its vocabulary.

Kreacher stared at him. "There was a potion, and there was a spell. Kreacher doesn't know."

Harry downed his butterbeer, frowned, and then shook his head. He asked the elf for a coffee and a breakfast, and turned the papers to the jobs section. He was barely aware of what there was, to be honest.

If he knew anything, it was the fact that he would grow mad quickly without anything to do. Aurors department may have been a dull place, but at least it gave him something to do every day, a reason to get up in the morning, and that was the good beginning.

By the time Ron arrived Harry was already nursing his third drink, eyeing the witch who either didn't care about the temperature or used a liberal amount of warming charms judging by her attire or the lack thereof.

"Hermione will have kittens when she hears you're unemployed," he said as a greeting and motioned Tom for two more. "Don't worry though, she'll have you knitting vests for spew in no time at all."

"How was the work?" Harry asked. Ron had gone through Auror training with Harry even though his heart wasn't really in it. Now, as a Hit Wizard, every year he swore it would be his last one. "Anything interesting?"

"Had to keep people calm and away at that nonsense at Kent," he said, giving a satisfied sigh after a long gulp of his butterbeer. "Bloody strange thing, that."

Harry murmured his consent.

"Percy dropped by," Ron went on. "Sent half the crew to sleep with his rant, but between all that I gathered he wants me to ask you about Sunday."

"Sure, I'll stop by."

Ron gave a nod, took another sip, and his face shifted towards something more happy now that he got that done. "So, fired, eh?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"I reckon it's good, but then I remember you're in that crazyhouse all by yourself."

Harry eyed the witch and gave her a smile once she looked at his direction. "Not if I've anything to say about it."

Ron followed his eyes, chuckled, and shook his head. "Seriously though, what will you do? Maybe you ought to talk Bill into giving you a tour, see if you like that sort of thing."

Not wanting to dismiss it outright, Harry gave it a brief thought. It did sound fun, and Bill had some good stories out of his work, but Harry wasn't all that hot with goblins as things stood, and he wanted things to stay that way. They weren't the sort to forget.

"Idea of the boss doesn't really sit with me right now," he said instead. "I'm looking into things I could do on my own and still get a couple of galleons out of it."

Ron nodded smartly. "There's some folk getting old around here and down in the Knockturn who wouldn't be against selling." He gave Harry a one over. "I don't really see you as a shopkeeping type, but still."

"I went through the papers this morning and it's all clerk this, account that, sit behind the desk and smile, and I had to take a nap just reading about it."

"Nice excuse." Ron laughed. "Had nothing to do with Pixietown having to kick your drunk arse out at three in the morning?"

Harry winced. "Heard about that, have you?"

"Stebbins was on duty."

"Telltale."

Ron didn't go on about it and Harry appreciated it. In some ways they have changed a lot since Hogwarts days, each in their own day, but there were some things that persisted. His mate worried, Harry knew that, but he also respected his privacy and didn't push.

Besides, Ron was a married man now, and had kids, which made him extremely good at keeping his mouth shut, else he gathered unwanted attention and noise, which was exactly the reason why he was here with Harry and not at home, at least for a while longer.

"How about that Free Wand Society?" Ron asked, checked the clock, and even though the time made him grimace, he ordered two more. "From what I know, they keep on the move, and they do their own thing."

It took Harry a moment to realize what Ron was talking about, and another one to remember what they were about. As far as he was aware, it was just a bunch of wands for hire doing stuff for people who didn't want to get tangled into ministry's business, and Aurors always kept a close eye to them. He told Ron as much.

Ron shook his head. "There's some shady contracts, sure, but Hermione says they do loads for creatures and such. There's even a brewing team, a healer or two."

"Did you ever encounter anyone from it on duty?"

"Eh, kinda," he said. "We run into them sometimes, and I spoke to Robards about it, but he says the ministry's stance toward them is neutral, and that the big heads would prefer to keep us separated as much as possible."

"Why is that?"

"Because ICW doesn't really approve, that's why." Even after all this time, Ron still knew much more than Harry about the world at large, and even if you would be cursed to see him ever reading, he was always at the top of the things.

ICW was something of a stranger to Harry. Not that he wasn't aware of the basics, but the organization was simply huge, employing the best of wizards from all around the world, with very little information about what they were really about, beside the usual Statue of Secrecy talk.

Even they learned their lessons from the Voldemort fiasco, and Ron had told Harry once that they're much more involved these days, having their own hit squads and whatnot.

"They see it as a challenge, I think," he answered the unasked question. "They're thinking what if everyone starts calling this society for help, right? What's the point of them and the ministries if you can just bypass them and get a job as equally as done, if not better."

"Who's the Great Leader these days, anyway?"

"That Russian bloke," Ron said, squinting his eyes at his empty glass. "Belyakov or something."

Which told Harry exactly nothing, but he didn't push since he didn't know for a reason in the first place. He simply didn't care much. "How do I get in touch with these wands, then?"

Ron raised his brows. "You'll give it a go? Better you than me, I guess. I'll have a look and owl you later, alright?"

"Yeah, sure."

Just as always, Ron protested when Harry ordered a couple of butterbeers, and Harry protested once Ron decided he had enough, and that Hermione might soon barge into Leaky Cauldron herself. As always, they confirmed the next date to catch up.

Not able to decide where to go next, and not so steady on his feet, Harry decided for the easiest option and apparated home, into his enchanted spot, and almost scared a stray cat to death.

He was just about to walk across Grimmauld square when he stopped dead in his tracks. There wasn't supposed to be a cat there, was it? His charms weren't the strongest magic around, but he made them robust and with redundancies in place just to stop random animals or Merlin knows what walking in there and messing it all up.

He kneeled next to the imaginary line where his enchantments range ended, and poked the air with his wand. There was nothing there, nothing at all. He gave a look around the vacant square, and noticed one of the streetlamps was dead, the one closest to him.

Just beneath it, there was glass that cracked under his shoes. Dumbledore had once told him that all magic leaves traces behind, dark magic most of all, and this was no different. He checked, and then double checked, and then cursed. All the magic that was supposed to be there was gone, but the broken glass retained some of it, it retained the last remnants of a backlash.

With a hurried step, he went home.