One Year Earlier–-October, 1999
"FUCK!" Harry felt an unexpected leg-locker curse hit him square in the back. He fell, landing directly on his nose before he could shoot his hands out to catch himself. He felt his glasses break for possibly the thousandth time, and quickly rolled over to discover the culprit.
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks lowered her wand; she was currently disguised looking eerily similar to her Aunt Bellatrix, but even her talent at changing appearance couldn't quite disguise the classic Tonks lopsided grin she gave Harry as she quickly shot the counter-curse at his legs. "Sorry, mate, but an important lesson. Always watch your six!"
"Alright everyone, let's take a moment and review. What was Harry's mistake?" Hestia Jones, Lead Auror, head of the training department, and certifiable hard-ass, looked around the group of Aurors-in-training. Harry avoided her gaze, focusing on quickly repairing his glasses. "Anyone? Lads, this is Auror 101, come on now. What was Moody always saying?"
"Constant vigilance," came the slow, half-hearted response from the group. Harry could see Terry Boot try not to roll his eyes.
"Precisely," Hestia continued, ignoring the sullen response. "The absolute first thing you do upon entry of any structure is to cast (non-verbally if possible) homenum revelio. First. Thing. You. Do. Had Harry taken the two seconds to cast that at the beginning of the simulation, he would have been on notice of Tonks' location and would have," she gave Harry a swift once-over, "- I would wager, a significantly less swollen nose."
Harry nodded his understanding, giving Hestia a slight look of chagrin.
"Right then, Bell, you're up." Katie Bell gave Harry a reassuring slug on the arm, reminding him of their days on the Quidditch pitch. Trying to shove down his embarrassment, Harry slouched over to Terry, attempting to casually cover his scowl by putting his fist over his mouth in what he hoped looked thoughtful, and stoic.
Katie's run went much better than Harry's, although he did note that she used a few spells he had taught her during his fifth year. After another Trainee actually tripped over their own shoelaces setting off the hidden box of Sneakoscopes, Harry started to relax. Not the biggest fuck up. At least not today.
Harry truly loved Auror training; he was learning loads, and his mistakes kept him humble, but he couldn't help but feel an immense amount of pressure to live up to everyone's expectations of him.
He tried to remember what Ginny had told him on his first day, her hands on either side of his face, her brown eyes flashing with fierce pride, "You don't owe anyone anything, Harry Potter. You're doing this because you love it, not to prove a point." He could almost still feel her hands wrapping into his hair and kissing away the last of his nerves.
It was almost physically painful to bring up happier memories of Ginny. He sometimes couldn't understand how exactly he found himself without her, and while he knew it was 100% his fault, and engaged in self-flagellation daily in order to deal with the consequences of his unbelievable cock-up, he still felt like someone must have hit him with a particularly strong Confundus Charm to let a witch like Ginny go.
The weeks following the final battle at Hogwarts had gone by in a blur. Despite his efforts to remember, Harry has no recollection of how he arrived back at the Burrow. He has since learned that he immediately took an incredibly long shower, so long that Molly literally burst down the door in an anxious flurry to check if he was still alive. The entire house could hear Harry shriek like a girl when Molly finally yanked back the shower curtain.
"AAAARRGH! MOLLY! I'M FINE I'M FINE PLEASE GET OUT OF HERE I'M NAKED!"
Molly, blushing like Ginny in her first year at Hogwarts, quickly closed the bathroom door, and made her way into the kitchen, bustling about making five dozen biscuits and flicking particularly potent jelly-legs jinx hexes at anyone who dared enter. Ron has told Harry that story a few times, now able to laugh–it was the first thing that made George crack a smile after Fred's murder.
After almost a straight week of sleep, and enough of Molly's cooking to feed an elephant, Harry seems to remember he attended a few months of therapy, a haze of media interviews, and a couple of quite impressive award ceremonies Harry still doesn't quite feel he deserves despite being the demise of the wizarding world's most feared dark wizard.
What gave him the most amount of comfort, and what he still recalls with pristine recollection, was Ginny. It had only taken Molly and Arthur a matter of days to realise that Ginny's bedroom needed extra wards to keep Harry out. But the two industrious youths found plenty of opportunities to sneak away and snog, which Harry found to be far more effective than hours spent with a mind healer.
Even with the blossoming relationship with Ginny to get him out of bed each day, Harry could not have been happier to return to Hogwarts that September. Although the castle carried the haunting memories of Voldemort's reign of terror, and he avoided a few particular corridors that sent his heart into his throat and made him break out into a cold sweat, he couldn't help but feel relief at the normalcy that came with finally finishing his 7th year studies.
The intensity of his and Ginny's relationship only increased in their last year at school. They planned their schedules to match as much as possible, although Harry had a strict path to follow for his Auror prerequisites. They could not keep their hands off of eachother, snogging in the hallways, Ginny sitting on Harry's lap while "studying" in the common room, taking long walks around the lake to a fairly well-hidden spot they had claimed before they broke up the first time. Ron did have to draw a line, however, when Ginny started feeding Harry bites at meals so he didn't have to remove his arms from around her waist.
Harry tried not to neglect his friendships with Ron and Hermione, but he could not help himself every time his fiery witch gave him that certain look. It wasn't long before Ron stopped trying to play wizard's chess with Harry. Half the time, Ginny would get bored, do something incredibly distracting, often with her mouth, like suck on a sugar quill with sinful enthusiasm. Harry would make up pathetic excuses, like needing to catch up on Divination reading, and the two of them would disappear for a few hours.
To be fair, Harry was somewhat certain Ron and Hermione were doing their fair share of snogging. At least, they were before Hermione's N.E.W.T. anxiety kept her in the library nearly 24/7.
The year was almost over before Harry knew it. Hogwarts had been like a cocoon for Harry; he felt his part of his heart heal in the comfort of his true home. He flourished in the bubble he and Ginny created, both desperately in love, dreaming about their future careers, sharing secret wishes for their future family.
"I've finally decided the perfect name ... if it's a boy," Ginny said one evening, the two of them tangled in Ginny's sheets, having taken full advantage of her private room as Head Girl.
"Hmm?" Harry mumbled, his eyes barely open having spent every last bit of his energy attempting to break Ginny's four-poster.
"What about Frederick Sirius?" Harry's eyes shot open. His head was laying on Ginny's chest and she was drawing lazy circles in his impossibly messy hair. He sat up on an elbow and looked at Ginny. His pause brought a glimmer of doubt in her eyes.
"I love it." And she knew he also meant he loved her as he kissed her, showing her just how much, her arms wrapped so tightly around him he felt his ribs creak.
Straight after graduation, Harry applied to the Auror program. He received his acceptance by owl approximately 30 minutes after submitting it; he guessed the delay might have been because he was forced to use Errol to deliver his letter. Ginny was completely supportive, and was already being courted by a few different Quidditch teams.
Leaving Hogwarts for the adult wizarding world seemed to rip something open inside Harry. The "real world" was so much different than Hogwarts. Harsher, faster, unpredictable. He felt his nerves starting to fray as the weeks of strenuous Auror training took a toll. No longer able to escape entirely into familiar school days, and now under a microscope as his abilities were being put to a test he never signed up for. Was his defeat of Voldemort a fluke? Or worse, what is the next incredible thing Harry Potter will accomplish?
He was six weeks into the year-long Auror program when things began to unravel. While it was immensely satisfying to do something he loved and was good at, and get paid for it, he wasn't able to enjoy it. The fear of failing, or disappointing Tonks, or somehow everybody realising he wasn't all that special, was paralysing. It's not like he was an actual genius, like Hermione. He felt a sense of inevitability that he would let everyone down.
The pressure was overwhelming, no matter how wonderfully supportive Ginny had been. Since the end of the war, Harry's nerves were shot; the nightmares he'd managed to shake while at Hogwarts came back with a vengeance. He woke up in a panic most nights clutching his wand, drenched in sweat. Ginny would rub his back in gentle circles until he was able to lay back down, then wrapped her arm around his torso, laying her hand on his heart until she felt his heartbeat slow.
"Harry. I'm safe. I'm right here. You're safe, you've done it. It's finished now. You can rest." She would repeat the phrases, softly cooing in his ear until Harry fell back asleep. But every morning, the panic and pressure started back up until he ended most days with sharp pain behind his eyes, hands shaking around a tumbler of firewhiskey. It wasn't sustainable.
It wasn't long before Ginny began to feel the distance Harry created. Her attempts at engaging him, distracting him, even with sex if all else failed, were getting less and less effective. She grew frustrated, throwing herself into her own job prospects, finding herself at the Quidditch pitch longer and longer each week.
It came to head on a night that should have been one of celebration. Ginny had been recruited by the Holyhead Harpies, becoming their youngest starting Chaser in fifty years. Her first official duty was to attend the Harpies' annual party at the end of September.
The event was being held at the enormous estate of Blaise Zabini's family. His mother was co-owner of the Harpies and relished her opportunity to out-do Narcissa Malfoy's annual New Year's Eve gala. It was a formal event with wizarding A-listers wearing both suits and gowns and extravagant dress robes.
The night had started out wonderfully. Ginny had looked otherworldly in a light blue gown that hugged her curves, displayed her athletic shoulders and back, and a delicious amount of cleavage. Harry took every opportunity to look her up and down, making sure first none of her brothers were watching.
Ron and Hermione were of course in attendance, along with Charlie, Arthur, and Molly. The ballroom was also full of many well-known witches and wizards, from Celestia Warbeck to Ludo Bagman.
Despite the high-end security detail employed by the Zabinis, Harry was on edge. He wasn't sure if it was just his Auror training beginning to take hold, or his post-war paranoia, but within five minutes of arriving he had clocked every exit, identified all former Dark Lord sympathisers, and was developing a handful of strategies for a quick escape.
He wasn't sure if Ginny could sense his discomfort, but she tried to take breaks in between each glad-handing with the various VIPs around the ballroom. She let him take as many breaks at their table as he needed, and pulled him away from awkward conversations, and avoided Rita Skeeter entirely.
The event was about half over when she had handed him a glass of champagne from a tray floating by and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Harry, how many more glasses of champagne will you need before you'll dance with me?"
Harry smiled, tossing back his drink, and set both their glasses down on a nearby table. He slid his arm around her waist, leading her to the dance floor. "For some reason, you actually want to be seen dancing with my ungraceful arse, and so the least I can do is oblige you as often as you want."
Ginny flashed him her most stunning smile and as always, his heart skipped a beat. "Don't worry, Potter, it's not your dancing that keeps me interested." He raised an eyebrow, and she leaned in to whisper some ideas she had for later that night.
Harry spun Ginny around the room, she tilted her head back in laughter. He sometimes felt so unworthy of such a beautiful, dynamic person. Ginny possessed the type of personality that drew every eye in the room. She was quick to laughter, quicker to anger (if he was acting the fool), and quickest to love—always so willing to pick up the pieces, for her family, friends, and especially for Harry.
Harry carried the weight of the Weasley's expectations on his shoulders: to protect their only daughter and sister, give her everything she deserved, and if nothing else—never, ever break her heart.
As they spun faster and faster around the ballroom, he could almost feel Arthur and Molly's gaze on them. Is Harry Potter up to the task of not just loving, but being the partner of Ginevra Weasley, the passionate and unstoppable force— Was he enough for her? Could he keep her safe? What if —
Suddenly, there was a loud bang from the back of the ballroom. Without thinking, Harry grabbed Ginny around the waist spiralling to the floor covering her with his body. He raised his head up—wand at the ready. He had heard screaming, and with panic in his eyes looked around to see where the sound came from. Instead, there was silence, the band had stopped playing and everyone was staring at Harry on the floor in the middle of the dance floor, his chest heaving in panic.
The noise, he learned later, had been a particularly loud champagne bottle popping open. No one else had even flinched let alone assume there was a threat. It was like the Dementors all over again—-once again, Harry is overreacting, Harry is incapable of handling his shit. Harry, you utter tosser, he thought to himself.
He looked down at Ginny; her lip was bleeding and a bruise was forming on her forehead from where he had bodily thrown her to what he thought was out of harm's way.
"H-Harry?" She was looking at him with confusion and concern. He helped her stand up, then muttered an apology and ran from the room.
He didn't stop running until he was outside, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Ron reached him first.
"Mate, you alright?" He tentatively placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're in a right state. D'you need something ... erm, I could grab Hermione ... "
"I just ... I'm-" He took a deep breath, "I'm fine." He stood up straight, cold sweat pouring down his back. "Really, Ron, I just need a minute." Before Ron could protest, Ginny had arrived, eyes flashing, face nearly red as her hair.
"What in the flying fuck was that, Harry?!" Her hands were on her hips, looking at Harry like he had just told her he wanted to adopt a pet hippogriff.
Ron took the opportunity to slink away back to the party. "I'll, erm, just let Hermione know you're okay."
Harry wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, barely able to meet Ginny's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Gin. I thought I heard a spell go off and I just panicked. I thought ... well, I don't know what I thought, but I just started to move automatically and–-"
Ginny started in a cold, measured voice. "I have been asking you for months, months, Harry, to go to a mind healer. You're clearly not doing well, waking up every night with nightmares, you barely touch me, and instead of actually fucking dealing with it, now I hear you're buying gillyweed from George, as if that's the answer." Her arms were now crossed, her eyes narrowed in barely controlled rage.
"The gillyweed is not the problem, Ginny. Jesus, you'd think I was a drug addict. I got it to help me sleep, alright?" Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling his own rage begin to build. "Mind healing has done fuck all for me, okay?"
"Harry, that's bollocks, and you know it. You barely gave your last mind healer a chance and –-"
Harry cut her off, his anger starting to overwhelm him, "I'm sorry that I'm still on edge from fighting for my fucking life against the world's most feared wizard. Oh, and your life and the life of every witch and wizard in that fucking building." He shoved his finger in her face, now losing complete control, "I'm still fucked up, okay?! Is it so much to ask that you give me some time to sort through things?"
"Time? Oh, you just need some time, then?" Ginny's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Harry could hear the unmistakable shake when she was holding back tears. "You think I've just been twiddling my thumbs, doing bugger all while watching my boyfriend have a mental breakdown?"
Harry scoffed, turning away from her, unable to take the frustration he felt rolling off of her. "I need you to stop acting like you're my mother!" Harry snarled, "You're like fucking Molly 2.0. Christ, can you just give me a fucking second to catch my breath without tearing me a new one."
"How dare you, Harry! I've been doing everything I can think of to help you get through this. And in return, I've asked for one night— one fucking night —where not everything is about you!"
Heavy silence hung between them, Harry unable to look at her, tears finally falling down Ginny's cheeks. Harry's heart was still pounding from the panic, and now his stomach was in knots, listening to Ginny's criticism. He was too upset to see that what she was saying was true, all he could feel was her anger and disappointment. It was too much for him to bear.
"Fine. If this is too much for you, if I'm too much for you, then maybe ... maybe I should just leave you alone."
"What? Harry, stop." Ginny's quiet tears turned to gentle crying, she walked towards him, reaching and grabbing his arm. "What are you even saying?"
He wrenched his arm away, and started walking toward the Apparition point. "Just leave it, Gin. Just leave me the fuck alone. I'm obviously not what you need. I'm sure there's another gent inside who can smile and twirl you around and not make a fool of himself."
"Harry! Come back here!" Ginny yelled after Harry. He picked up his pace; he could not stay there a second longer. He reached the Apparition point, turned to see Ginny struggling to catch him in her stiletto heels, and he turned on his heel without another word.
As it turned out, Harry and Ginny's entire conversation had been overheard by a few journalists having a quick fag before the speeches began inside. The next morning, the entire wizarding world knew far too many details about Harry's personal life.
BOY WHO LIVED NO LONGER IN LOVE!
POTTER'S MENTAL INSTABILITY STRIKES AGAIN.
Their break up was on the front page of the Daily Prophet for three weeks. Harry did little else than put his head down and complete his Auror training until things died down. He started wearing his invisibility cloak on his way to and from Grimmauld Place, at least until the media circus stopped camping out on his doorstep.
Harry put on a brave face at work, but his heart was obviously in shambles. He'd fucked up the only good thing that had ever happened to him. There was no coming back from that. The only thing getting him out of bed each morning was Hermione's annoyingly chipper voice coming from his fireplace, promising to tell Rita Skeeter every embarrassing thing he had ever done if he didn't show up at work. A frustrating, yet effective strategy.
Ron was furious with Harry, to put it mildly, and refused to speak with him for the better part of the year. To be fair, he had warned Harry that if he fucked with Ginny's heart once more, he would personally see to it that he never pissed straight again. Thankfully, George and Charlie convinced Ron that killing or even seriously injuring Harry wouldn't actually make Ginny feel any better, and likely much worse.
It had been a lonely year with Hermione at Oxford and Ron not speaking to him. Harry was grateful for Katie Bell and Terry Boot's friendship as they moved through Auror training, but work mates cannot begin to replace lifelong friendships. Harry still saw Hermione every other Saturday, but besides after-work Ministry get-togethers, Harry was mostly by himself, pathetically finding reasons to call for Kreacher just to speak to another living being.
The months apart seemed to cool Ron down. Harry and Ron had finally mended fences last May when Ron reached out for advice about Hermione. After splitting a bottle of Ogden's they both came to the conclusion that women were just not worth the effort. They would buy a van, and just hit the road, be free. Or better yet, a boat! After taking turns crying on each other's shoulders, and ending the night singing Quidditch chants at the top of their lungs on Harry's roof, the pair fell back into their usual friendship.
Having Ron back in his life was much needed respite from the Hermione of it all. As much as Harry loved her, she had landed squarely in Team Ginny, and he couldn't bear much more of what she thought was helpful advice, but was actually just straight up nagging.
Meanwhile, Harry continued to pour himself into work, volunteering for every stake-out, arriving earlier and staying later than every other trainee. By mid-summer, he looked like a walking corpse, drinking only coffee or firewhiskey, smoking too many fags, and eating only when Katie or Terry reminded him to.
That July, Ron and Hermione told Harry they were taking him out to lunch for his birthday. Instead, they took him to the ocean—Hermione actually taking the entire day off to be with Harry caught him off guard. He could sense what was coming next. Ron and Hermione sat him down on the beach. "This is an intervention, Harry," they had said. The message was more or less, Quit fucking up your life and start dealing with your trauma. It's not a big deal to ask for help, so just fucking do it, you idiot. It was probably a lot more eloquent and heart-felt than that, but in any event, Harry had been through enough with the two of them to listen.
First step, send an owl to that tosser of a mind healer . . .
Present Day– October, 2000
Harry sat at his desk, slogging through the backlog of field reports he had continually put off until Hestia threatened to chain him to desk duty for the next three months if he didn't get caught up. He nursed his fifth cup of tea, trying to ignore the pain beginning to build behind his eyes. At the advice of his mind healer, he was trying to replace coffee with green tea, and it was going ... poorly.
His concentration was shite—he was still recovering from the devastating blow he had received first thing that morning. The newest edition of Seeker Weekly had been on top of his overdue paperwork when he arrived at his cubicle. He had stared at the cover for a full thirty seconds, before Katie came up and waved her hand in front of his face.
"Helloooo, Harry! Need another cuppa before we hit up Knockturn? Mundungus's lead better pan out this time or I'll skin him like a shrivelfig." Harry continued to stare. "Oi! What the hell's wrong with y– oh." Katie's eyes followed Harry's gaze to the cover of Harry's favourite magazine.
Standing with a broom in one hand, looking brilliant in her Harpy uniform, was Ginny Weasley, smiling so brightly, her dimples showed, occasionally throwing her head back in a delightful laugh. Her other hand was casually slung over the broad shoulder of none other than Viktor Krum. Krum, apparently incapable of smiling, was giving the camera a steely gaze, and had his arm around Ginny's mother fucking waist , with his other arm around the shoulder of Cho Chang, the new Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados.
Un-fucking-believable.
Harry suddenly completely understood Ron's uncontrolled urge to dismember his Krum figurine in year four.
"Oof ... sorry, mate." Katie sadly patted Harry's back. "Blimey, Cho is looking fit as fuck, though. I should ask Terry if she's seeing anyone." She gave Harry a bracing smile. "Best not to linger, yeah? I'll grab you after work for a pint if you'd like. It's my turn to buy."
With that, Katie grabbed Terry to follow up on the tip from Mundungus Fletcher, while Harry engaged in his own disfiguration of Krum, slashing a few unsavoury marks with his quill over Viktor's annoyingly handsome face, and dumped the magazine in the bin.
It's not as though he can move on and pretend Ginny doesn't exist. Besides the fact she's his best mate's sister not to mention roommates with his other best mate, Ginny had become well-known in her own right, not just as the ex-girlfriend of The Chosen One.
Harry tried to ignore Ginny's frequent presence at the same galas and publicity events he was often strong-armed into attending by Ron, who, incidentally, could never quite get enough of the limelight. It seemed to Harry that Ginny was on a different wizard's arm at every event, each placing their slimy hands on the small of her back, or dragging her to the dance floor to spin her around like a doll.
What disturbed Harry more than anything, however, was imagining his own arms around Ginny's waist, pulling her close to him as they swayed to the music, whispering sweet nothings, or perhaps something naughtier in her ear. Then in some of Harry's longer daydreams, they would sneak off into the gardens, cast a few notice-me-not charms and . . .
"Well, well, well, look who's stuck on desk duty. Have they lost faith in you already, Potter?" Harry's teeth clenched as Malfoy sauntered to his cubicle, holding a large stack of parchment. "What has it been, two weeks since you finished training and you're already benched?" He slammed the stack on top of the already impossibly high pile of paperwork, now threatening to topple over.
"Save it, Malfoy. I'm not in the mood."
"Are you ever?" Malfoy sunk into a chair next to Harry's desk, propping a foot up taking a long sip of his coffee. Harry could smell the tantalising aroma of expensive espresso from across his desk. "I'm actually not certain this report goes to you. As usual, my absolute cretin of a boss has given me almost no helpful information so that I can properly do my bloody job."
"And what is that, exactly?" Harry sneered, "Full-time prat? Assistant to the Director of Fat Cat Arse-Kissing?" He pulled the report, thumbing through it and realising with a sinking feeling, it was him, actually, that had to deal with this.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand the inner workings of international diplomacy, Potter." Malfoy responded, putting on his ponciest accent. "I'm certain neither your Muggle relatives, nor your continued association with the Weasles has provided you any reason to comprehend the finer points of wizard politics."
"Right, well, it's been a pleasure." Harry pushed Malfoy's dragonhide loafers off his desk with his quill. "Off you go, then."
"Hold on, hold on. I'm done–-I promise. You can't expect me to never take the piss out of you, Potter. I'm only human after all."
Harry gave Malfoy a smirk, "Yes, yes, you've shown remarkable restraint."
The pair had reached a surprisingly amicable truce over the last year and a half. They had largely ignored each other during the final year at Hogwarts. And Hermione's repeated refrain had actually landed with Harry: "Dumbledore believed in second chances, Harry, shouldn't we be extending the same courtesy? It's not like Pansy or Goyle or even Malfoy really had a choice in the matter. Their parents basically forced their hands!"
By the time their paths began to cross at the Ministry, it was clear Malfoy was making good faith attempts at showing remorse, and even engaging in some acts of restitution. Harry had yet to pay for a drink when Malfoy showed up at the Cauldron after work. He also happened to know (source remaining confidential) that the Malfoy Foundation had single-handedly funded the new Muggle-Born Student Initiative, championing a new Intro Program for Hogwarts first years, providing need-based scholarships, and Ministry internship opportunities. Harry could imagine that effort certainly did not come from Malfoy, Sr., currently rotting in Azkaban for the next twenty years. Harry was highly suspicious the idea did not even originate with Narcissa, though he had seen firsthand her change of heart.
"What else can I do for you, Malfoy?" Harry sighed, placing Malfoy's report back on the towering stack of paperwork.
"Nothing more than to confirm that the DMLE team will be in attendance at this Friday's Pub Quiz. I know last week's loss was particularly upsetting to you all, if the colour of my cousin's face was any indication."
"The colour of Tonk's face?!" Harry snorted. "Are you forgetting that you nearly punched Hannah Abbott when she called out the results?"
Malfoy held up his hands in mock surrender, "Fair enough. Ugh, that call was such utter bollocks. My team's answer was perfectly adequate."
Harry began to recite Hermione's answer from yesterday, "Wiggenweld Potion, obviously, Herbicide Potion, and the potion you should have included-–Draught of Perception!" Malfoy narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced Harry came up with that answer on his own.
"Well, maybe get the wolf back on your team and you'll actually get a chance at the lightning round, Potter."
Harry bit back a retort, wanting to save his revenge for when a certain bushy-haired secret weapon made her appearance that Friday. "The DMLE team will be there. With bells on."
"Delightful. Well, then," Malfoy stood, brushing the non-existent wrinkles from his robes, "-back to it. I'll buy you top-shelf firewhiskey if you get that report handled before next Monday, Potter."
Harry scoffed. "That might be how it's done in your department, Malfoy, but I'm not exactly amenable to bribes."
"Everyone has a price–even Saint Potter." He winked, and strolled back to the lifts.
Harry rolled his eyes, burying his nose once more in his overdue work. "Fucking ferret."