clementine

by shy_one

Summary:

“Dudley’s daughter is magic.” He said, astonished by the very words. “She’s a witch.”
Petunia looked insulted. “She’s a Dursley!”

Chapter 1: THE PHONEBOOK. OBVIOUSLY.

ONE.

THE PHONEBOOK. OBVIOUSLY.

Of the many and varied people Harry may have expected to show up on the door step of his quiet little apartment at a quarter past eight one cool mid-May morning, Petunia Dursley was not high on the list. She wasn’t even in the top ten. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t on the list in the first place.

But there she was, all the same.

Harry blinked, readjusted his glasses and blinked again. “Er- hello?” he said, warily.

Harry found himself wondering a great many combination of possibilities, including whether he was still asleep, having some sort of mildly unpleasant dream or if perhaps someone was pulling a distasteful prank for some Merlin forsaken reason. He wondered if a Boggart had been let loose in the building, if maybe his greatest fear had transformed into his skinny, pinched mouthed Aunt without him knowing.

He wondered, perhaps a little fantastically, if this was some kind of bizarre coincidence: if Aunt Petunia had knocked on his door expecting- oh, who knows- some old biddy member of her book club and was just as surprised to find her shaggy haired, disgraceful nephew standing in the doorway as he was to find her.

“Harry.” She greeted, simply and then scowled a fraction. “You need a haircut.”

Right, so not that last one then.

“Thanks.” Harry said, still bewildered. “Aunt Petunia, what are you doing here?”

The scowl tightened. “Waiting for you to invite me in, of course.”

“Right.” Harry said, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. “And why would I do that?”

“It’s past eight o’clock in the morning, Harry.” Aunt Petunia said, as though that explained everything. “Well within the bounds of acceptable visiting hours.”

“For a hospital, yes.” He frowned. “This is my flat.”

“Yes.”

“Where I live.”

“I imagined so.”

“What are you doing here at my flat where I live?”

The scowl emerged in its full force. “Waiting to be invited in of course!” she huffed. “Honestly is this how you greet all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who show up unannounced at eight o’clock in the morning.” Harry snapped back, irritably.

Aunt Petunia tilted her head sharply with intent. “Well?” she demanded. “Are we going to discuss personal business on the doorstep where anyone can snoop and pry?”

Harry really, deeply considered slamming the door in her face at that moment but couldn’t quite manage it. Call it a leftover shred of fear remaining from his childhood or his own finely honed instincts for self preservation but something told him the action would not be worth the consequences.

So, reluctantly, he held the door open and watched Aunt Petunia tentatively step inside his flat, her pale blue eyes flitting from surface to surface as though she couldn’t decide what to comment on first.

The sight of her was jarring. He hadn’t spoken to his Aunt, Uncle or cousin in years. The last time he’d had any contact was a small note announcing the marriage of Dudley Andrew Dursley to some woman named Karen which had been accompanied with an even smaller note in Petunia’s neat scrawl that he was not welcome to the wedding. He’d sent a box of Chocolate Frogs as a gift, only partly in spite.

Seeing his aunt again dredged up their last meeting, in the house at Privet Drive, in that nameless look they’d exchanged before she had left with Vernon and Dudley to go into hiding and he had begun what had seemed to be a doomed search for Horcruxes. The feeling was oddly itchy, like a too tight woolly jumper.

At present, the two of them stared at each other with apprehension.

Harry ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “Can I get you a glass of water?” he asked, uncertainly.

Aunt Petunia scoffed. “Certainly not.”

“How about some frogspawn then? A nice cauldron of phlegm?” Harry asked, sarcastically.

Petunia’s glare was icy. “On second thought, perhaps just a glass.”

Thankful for something to do, Harry moved about the little galley kitchen, taking his sweet time.

“So…how’s Uncle Vernon?” he called out, wondering if she was here to report a death in the family.

“Quite fine.”

Drat. Not Vernon then.

“Still working?”

“Hard as ever.”

“And Dudley?”

“Harry, I will not have a conversation screaming from the other room.” Aunt Petunia huffed, impatiently.

Harry peered at the window over his sink and wondered what it would be like to plunge headfirst through it. Maybe later, he told himself as he re-emerged from the kitchen with a glass of tap water. She took it gingerly but didn’t condescend to drink it.

Another long pause and Harry threw a hand out haphazardly towards his couch. “Do you want a seat?”

Aunt Petunia took a long look at the furniture in question before she decided it was worth the risk and took a seat at the furthest edge. “Thank you.” The words looked like they physically hurt to say.

“Actually, Aunt Petunia, how did you find me?” he asked, the last dregs of sleep fading from his head.

Despite his rather short career, his time as an Auror was marked with the arrest of several high profile criminals, many of whom would have delighted in having his home address. That wasn’t even mentioning the countless ex-Death Eaters and their families who may have thought to seek revenge so many years after the end of the War or, Harry’s personal favourite, the endless list of journalists and tabloid reporters who clamoured after him at all hours of the day and night, desperate for a scoop or an angle or a quote or a story. Assassins, all manner of Dark wizards, paparazzi – his address was meant to be privy information. He wondered how Aunt Petunia had discovered it.

“The phonebook, obviously.” Aunt Petunia replied with a careless wave of her hand.

Harry let his eyes close. “Obviously.” He repeated. He rubbed his forehead, feeling nowhere near refreshed enough to ask but with no other method of recourse. “Aunt Petunia, why are you here?”

“I just said, I looked up your name in the phonebook.”

“I’m not in the phonebook, Aunt Petunia.” Harry said patiently.

“Nonsense. How else did I find you?”

“That’s not- look, what’s going on?” he asked, frustrated. “Why did you look me up?”

Aunt Petunia didn’t reply but Harry took the opportunity to look her over for the first time, somewhat surprised at what he saw. His memory had filled in some gaps that were visible now that the shock had faded: her hair was greyer than it had been, the wrinkles more pronounced around her pinched features. But more importantly, she looked pale and tired. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled; there was a scuff mark on her shoes. Her hands shook a little, holding the water.

“Aunt Petunia, what’s going on?” Harry repeated, this time a little concerned. “Did something happen?”

Petunia set the glass down on the smudgy coffee table and straightened like a bow string tensed for action. “As I’m sure you know, your cousin has been married for several years.”

“Yeah, he mentions it every time we catch up for bingo.” Harry said, impassively.

Aunt Petunia’s nostrils flared with disapproval. “Well he has a child. A girl.”

Harry felt his mouth quirk a little at that. “Duddikins’ a dad, huh?” he said, throwing up a silent prayer for the poor kid. “That’s- that’s really something.”

The older woman looked a little soft as well. “Yes, well. We’re all very proud, obviously Dudley is a wonderful father.” She boasted.

“Obviously.” Harry repeated, thinking about the boy who used to dunk his head in the toilet and beat up kids on the playground for fun.

“He’s so devoted,” she continued, starry eyed. “Just absolutely adores little Clementine.”

“Clementine Dursley.” Harry acknowledged it wasn’t the worst name he’d ever heard.

“And she’s such a bright thing too, very clever already, you can just tell she’ll be quite something when she’s older-”

“Aunt Petunia, this is great, really.” Harry interrupted. “But I think maybe a letter could’ve done the trick?”

She glared at him, all joy gone from her face. “There’s been a development.”

“A development.”

“Yes.”

“With Dudley’s kid?”

“With your second cousin,” Aunt Petunia said pointedly. “Yes.”

“Right and this concerns me, how?” Harry said, confused.

Petunia shifted slightly in her seat, uncomfortable; a sight at which Harry felt only a twinge of satisfaction. “There was an incident.”

He waited but no details were forthcoming. “An incident.”

“Yes.”

“A development and now an incident? Merlin, it’s a wonder you haven’t called the BBC.”

Aunt Petunia looked furious. “How dare you make light of the situation-”

“A situation too?” Harry said, mockingly. “Aunt Petunia, what’s going on? Why are you in my flat at-” he checked his watch. “-eight thirty on a Wednesday morning when we’ve spent the past six years wilfully ignoring each other?”

“Because it concerns you and your sort!” she snapped.

“My sort?” Harry echoed, warily. “What do you mean? Has something happened to the baby? Is she okay?” He wasn’t heartless enough to tease his aunt about the life of her only granddaughter.

Aunt Petunia huffed. “She’s fine as we can tell, considering she spent three hours last week on the ceiling!”

Harry paused, double checking his hearing. “Hang on, she spent-”

“Three hours!” Aunt Petunia wailed, looking caught between desperation and rage. “We tried to get her down and she just crawled away, laughing at the top of her lungs like it’s all some sort of game!”

“Dudley’s kid was on the ceiling.” Harry repeated, aghast. “Why?”

“That’s what I wanted to know from you!” Aunt Petunia howled, settling on rage apparently. “We never had this sort of trouble with you until you were a little boy! No colour changing wallpaper, no bathtubs overflowing with bubbles, no babies stuck to the ceiling! So what I’d like from you, Harry Potter, is an explanation!”

The pieces clicked into place so loudly Harry could hear the clack reverberating inside his skull, revealing the completed image, as unlikely as it was. “Dudley’s daughter is magic.” He said, astonished by the very words. “She’s a witch.”

Petunia looked insulted. “She’s a Dursley!”

“She’s a baby!” Harry knew his mouth was open but he couldn’t figure out the button to close it. “What- I don’t- are you sure?”

“Am I sure that we spent what was otherwise a lovely Wednesday night chasing my two year old granddaughter around the ceiling?” Aunt Petunia trilled. “Quite!”

“I’ve never heard of magic at that sort of age.” Harry muttered, sitting back in his seat with a thump.

“So then?” Aunt Petunia demanded. “What’s your solution?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! You’ve obviously done this so fix it!”

“I’ve done this?” Harry repeated, bamboozled by the concept. “Aunt Petunia, I’ve never even met her!”

“No but you grew up with Dudley! We let you in to our home, raised you, clothed you, fed you and all that time, you were, were- infecting our son!” Aunt Petunia accused, viciously. “I want it fixed! I want it fixed now!”

“Fixed? Petunia, magic’s not a disease!” Harry snapped, indignantly. “I didn’t infect Dudley, he just inherited whatever gene it was that gives people magic and that he inherited, might I add-”

“Don’t you dare-”

“-from you.” Harry finished, sharply.

She had gone pale and trembling all over, rage in her features but very real fear in her eyes. He had never seen his aunt so worked up, not in all the years he’d spent at Privet Drive. Even watching them leave their home with strangers, Aunt Petunia had never appeared so afraid as she did now, at this: yet another a witch in the family and this one, her fault.

“There must be a solution.” She said after a long moment, lips barely moving. “Your sort can do all manner of things, unnatural and twisted and impossible, there must be a cure for this.”

“I told you, it’s not a disease.” He said, bluntly. “There’s no fix for it.”

“There must be something.” She said, desperately. “Please, Harry, there has to be something-”

“Here’s a thought,” Harry said, his anger overwhelming his sense of pity for a moment. “Don’t lock her up in a cupboard.”

His aunt took the words like a physical blow. “We would never-” she said, in a low voice.

“Yes. You would. In fact, you did.” Harry cut her off, rising to his feet. “I think I’d like to you to leave now.”

Petunia followed suit, her sense of manners not allowing her to do otherwise. She left the water glass untouched on the table. At the door though, she stopped and turned to him urgently.

“Come with me.” She said, suddenly. “To Dudley’s.”

“Why would I do that?” Harry said, wearily.

“He doesn’t know what he’s getting in to.” Petunia said, desperately. “He doesn’t understand-”

“He grew a tail when we were eleven and watched Aunt Marge blow up like a balloon and float away when we were thirteen, I think he understands a bit about magic.” Harry said, sarcastically.

“Not like this.” Petunia shook her head. “He’s scared and confused.”

“It’s Dudley, he’s confused about stop lights and how letter boxes work too.”

“He’s your cousin whether you like it or not!” she shrieked.

“And Clementine is your granddaughter whether you like it or not!” Harry retorted, feeling attacked.

“He’s family! So is she!” Petunia insisted.

“Funny way to treat family, isn’t it?” Harry snapped.

But the words had tugged on the last dreg of sympathy he had for his cousin, a place not so much deep inside Harry as it was distant and unused, a place which housed the words I don’t think you’re a waste of space and the realisation that the Dursleys were the only biological family he had left in the entire world. A family which now included a little girl named Clementine who was, through no fault of her own, a witch.

Sensing he was softening, Petunia removed a piece of note paper from her purse and pushed it into his chest. “Dudley’s address. They’re a back house.”

And with that, Aunt Petunia left his flat and her nephew in quiet peace once again.

*                *                *                *                *
*                *                *                *

Notes:

I really tried to write something else but more post-series Harry Potter headcanon wank came out instead??

I JUST LOVE ADULT!HARRY DOING HIS BEST OKAY I WONT APOLOGISE FOR IT

Chapter 2: IF I SEE THAT QUILL SO MUCH AS TWITCH, I’LL SNAP IT IN HALF.

TWO.

IF I SEE THAT QUILL SO MUCH AS TWITCH,
I’LL SNAP IT IN HALF.

Clinging to the meagre shadows beside the bright orange backdoor, Harry kept the collar of his cloak up, obscuring his face as much as possible from the mid-lunch rush of Diagon Alley around him.

His shaggy, overgrown hair concealed his scar but his face had become worryingly public in the past week. There seemed to be no end to the slew of photos of him splashed amongst the headlines of the Daily Prophet, Omen Magazine, the Owl Post and every other wizarding publication it seemed.

Ginny had cut out and sent him an especially lovely shot of him outright growling at one reporter, attached with a short note: Favourite so far. Keep up the good work, it’s excellent fodder for the girls.

It had given Harry an awful mental image of the entire Holyhead Harpies reservist team huddled about a single paper, ruthlessly critiquing each of the progressively worse pictures of him exiting the Ministry last week.

(He’d kept the note all the same.)

Though the patrons of Diagon Alley seemed more focused on lunch than the strange man hovering about the backdoor to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Harry felt prickly and uncomfortable being out in public. He’d never found much of a liking for crowds. He knocked again on the orange door, once, then three times and on the third time, the door swung open.

“Harry!” George greeted with his signature grin. His vest was unbuttoned and striped like a candy cane, giving him a sort of deranged, ginger Willy Wonka effect. “Good to see you, what’re you doing here?”

Suppressing an eye roll and ignoring the way a few curious passersby turned their heads at George’s voice, Harry was ushered inside.

The backroom of Wheezes was part workshop, part laboratory, fitted with fizzing cauldrons and multicoloured vials, and hardy scratched wooden benches full of tools. George looked quite at home amongst the organised chaos. Despite mostly working behind a bench or testing his products or working the floor of the shop, he had somehow retained the stocky, muscular build that had set him apart from the other, lankier Weasley brothers. He bore his marks well too: a few extra scars from some of his tests-gone-wrong now and of course, the ever missing left ear which he made no attempt to conceal.

Harry didn’t breathe easy until the door closed behind him. “Thought I’d come bother Ron for a while,” he replied to George’s question, casually. “Haven’t had much chance to lately.”

The wizard’s grin fell to a grimace. “I heard. Rubbish business mate. Mum’s ropable. Keeps sending Dad to the Ministry with angry letters.”

The news made Harry’s mouth twitch upwards for just a second. “That’s good of her.”

“I imagine she’ll graduate to howlers any day now,” George continued with a glint of mischief in his eye. “They won’t know what hit them.”

“They never do when it comes to your Mum.” Harry said, ruefully.

George snorted in agreement and gestured to the spiral staircase tucked into the back corner which led to the office space above. “Ron’s upstairs, tearing his hair out over my finance reports. Glad I took him off your hands when I did to be honest. Don’t let on but he’s been somewhat helpful to have around, the nag.”

Harry felt a tiny, minuscule flinch at that but refused to show it. “I’ll keep mum about it. Thanks, George.”

Upstairs was, for starters, quieter than below which shared a wall with the main hub of the shop. One wall was papered with various marketing posters for Weasley Wizard Wheeze’s best selling products. A series of filing cabinets took up the other wall.

Ron lay out flat on the floor between all this, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, a litany of papers and parchment surrounding him. His hair, while a little manic, looked mostly intact to Harry.

“’Mione says it’s ridiculous that wizards don’t study mathematics at Hogwarts and I always said she was mad.” he suddenly said, voice muffled from his hand which had not moved. “I’m starting to think she may actually have a point.”

“Hermione’s never wrong.” Harry replied, distantly. He cleared a small patch off the enormous oak desk which split the middle of the room. He withdrew a brown paper bag from his cloak and tapped it with his wand. A heady, meaty smell filled the room. Ron finally perked up, eyes narrowed.

“Did you bring kebabs?” he asked, suspiciously.

Harry didn’t reply, just transfigured a pair of quills into (admittedly slightly wonky) plates upon he deposited their lunch: halal kebabs from the Turkish shop on Drummond.

When he was done, he extended a hand blindly to Ron who, swayed sufficiently by his curiosity and hunger, used it to tug himself to his feet with a groan.

“I knew I picked you as my best friend for a reason.” he sighed, slumping into his chair while Harry took the seat opposite.

Harry shrugged as he settled in to eat. “Melik asked after you and Hermione.” He mentioned, off-handedly. “Asked when you guys were getting married. Again.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Between him and mum, they’ll plan a bloody wedding themselves before I even get a chance to propose.”

Harry snorted. “Now that’s a wedding I’d pay to see. Do you think he’d cater for you?”

His friend jerked a finger at him. “Don’t give them any ideas.”

Harry shrugged, noncommittally and tilted his head toward the papers on the floor. “George says you’re handling the finances.”

Ron scowled. “I’m fixing them, more like. George hasn’t so much as glanced over his financials since he opened the place.”

Harry frowned, with a touch of concern. “Is the shop in trouble?”

The wizard let out a groan. “I wish it was that simple. We should be making a killing but the profits are leaking from somewhere. I just have to find where and it’s in here,” he waved a hand, blithely. “Somewhere.”

For a moment, Harry considered his best friend and former partner. Many people underestimated Ron, an unfortunate by-product of being best friends with the Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. Mostly, they ignored it. Anyone who mattered knew Ron was brave and loyal and honest and that was enough. Even so, many had been somewhat confused when he left the Auror Department a year or so ago to help manage the administration of his brother’s business.

For his part, Harry found himself wondering what they’d say if they knew how many cases Ron had personally cracked during their partnership with his own straightforward, unconscious logic. He wondered if anyone ever guessed at the strategic, surprisingly mathematical mind Ron himself often seemed to forget he even had. There was a reason the youngest Weasley brother excelled at chess, Harry mused.

“It’ll turn up.” Harry tried to comfort but it seemed a little weak in view of the explosion of paper littered across the floor.

Ron continued with his lunch with a grunt. “It better. So are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“That’s a no, then.”

Harry sighed, unhappily. “No, I haven’t heard from the Ministry. No, I haven’t heard anything from the trial.” He recited, the same answers he’d been giving most people who asked.

Ron scowled and threw his screwed up napkin at his friend. “I know that.”

“Well, what else is there?” Harry bristled.

“Oh I don’t know,” the other wizard said, sarcastically. “How about, how do you feel about being suspended from a career you’ve spent six years building?”

“I’d say that sounds like a question from the Daily Prophet and I’d like to answer with my wand.”

Ron raised a brow, unfazed by Harry’s snark. “Yeah, I saw that answer in last week’s paper. Nice Jelly Bones Jinx, by the way. Hermione says you need to lift your elbow more.”

Harry’s scowl twitched into a smile for just a moment. “Thanks for the feedback.”

“Any time,” Ron replied breezily. “So back to the original question.”

“I don’t know, Ron.” Harry leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “Everything’s still up in the air. Kingsley hasn’t even contacted me so it’s probably not great.”

“You think it might be permanent.” Ron said, in a carefully neutral voice.

Harry shrugged, affecting an equally blank expression. “Maybe.”

“Well that’d be a piss poor way to treat their best Auror,” Ron said, his ears turned slightly red but otherwise keeping his cool. Their training with the Department had quickly taught them both how to reign in the emotions from their outward expressions but there were always little signs left. Harry’s tell was his eyes which went flinty and hard. Ron’s was his ears which still flushed when angered.

“Besides, Kingsley’ll have your back on this, you know that.”

“I don’t know if he’ll have much of a say.” Harry admitted, grudgingly. “I did technically attack a Wizengamot member.”

“Allegedly attacked.” Ron corrected.

Harry snorted. “There was nothing alleged about it.”

Ron frowned, a small glint of curiosity in his expression but he thankfully didn’t ask the unspoken questions which had been circulating: what happened? Why’d you do it? What did he say? Instead, his best friend suddenly looked especially disinterested in the motivations.

“Well he deserved it.” He said instead, loyally.

Harry felt a sudden surge of immeasurable gratitude to have a friend like Ron Weasley. “Thanks Ron.”

“Course.” Ron said, before continuing, a touch awkwardly but genuine all the same: “Look mate, if you wanna talk about it, I know what leaving’s like.”

 “You retired.” Harry corrected, not unkindly. “Not quite the same as suspension.”

Ron allowed that. “I didn’t say I know what suspension’s like. I said I know what leaving’s like. Auror work, well it’s not exactly an easy gig but it’s hard to give it up and it’s not like you can really go outside much these days to let off some steam.”

“The flat is beginning to feel like a postage stamp.” Harry admitted begrudgingly.

“Your flat is a postage stamp.” Ron corrected. “But listen, it’s hard in the beginning. You want to leave the work but it’s like the work won’t leave you. Hermione said I nearly drove her made for the first two months, patrolling around the building, checking the wards, interrogating the owls-”

Harry frowned. “Interrogating the-?”

“It was one time and that’s not the point.” Ron cut in, firmly. “The point is, I knew it was time for me to move on and it was still hard. S’gonna be even harder for you.”

Harry conceded Ron had a point but maybe not the one he meant to make.

However in a not-altogether rare display of intuition, instead of continuing, Ron began to Vanish the kebab wrappers and transfigured his quills back to their normal shape. “But enough business talk,” he said, loudly and brashly changing the subject. “What else is new then?”

Harry sat back in his seat, let out a noisy sigh and the words which he’d been bottling up inside his chest since eight o’clock that morning: “My aunt came to visit me.”

Ron paused in his tasks and tilted his head slowly, peering at Harry with knitted brows. “Your…aunt.”

“Yep.”

“Your magic-hating aunt who locked you in a closet and stuck bars on your bedroom window. That aunt.”

“I only have the one.”

“But…why?” Ron said, looking bewildered and then he paused with a mildly outraged expression. “Hang on, how’d she even find you?”

Harry leaned forward, energetically. “That’s what I said!” he exclaimed, validation running through his veins.

“Sometimes I can’t even find you!” Ron complained. “Your flat has more protection charms than half of Whitehall.”

“Apparently,” Harry said, wryly. “She looked me up in the phone book.”

If possible Ron looked even more confused. “What’s a phone book?”

Harry shrugged, not wanting to get into the ridiculousness of the very idea that Harry Potter could be found in the Muggle phonebook. (He’d already made a mental note to check when he had a chance anyway. You know. Just in case.)

“So what’d she want?” Ron asked, uncomfortably. Understandably, he and the Dursleys had had a limited, hostile history, limited to shouting at Uncle Vernon over the phone and breaking Harry out of his room in Second Year.

“Dudley has a kid.” Harry said, keeping it to the point. “She’s magic. And that’s my fault, according to Aunt Petunia.”

“Blimey,” Ron said, brows raised. “That’s a big call to make.”

“I know,” Harry replied, moodily. “I told her it’s not a disease, you can’t catch it.”

Ron stood up, cracking his back as he went. “So what is she expecting you to do about it?” he enquired, fishing around in the filing cabinet on the far side of the room.

“Fix her, of course.” Harry said, mockingly. “There must be some way, amongst my sort. She wants me to visit Dudley and meet the poor kid.”

Ron let out a small noise of triumph as he removed a small, dusty grey bottle from the cabinet. “Meet her? To do what? You can’t cure magic.”

“Aunt Petunia certainly thinks you can. Thinks I can. She’s lost her mind, I mean, what am I meant to do? Show up at Dudley’s house after nearly a decade with a nice balloon and a card, sorry I missed the wedding and the birth of your daughter but I hear she’s turning the wallpaper yellow so I figure you might like a hand?” Harry said, sarcastically.

“I don’t think they make a card with all that.” Ron said, pensively, transfiguring the two quills from earlier into glasses. They somehow looked even wonkier as glasses than they had as plates but the pair of wizards shrugged.

“Why should I even bother?” Harry muttered as Ron poured them both a drink from the unmarked bottle. “The only kind words Dudley ever had for me was that I wasn’t a waste of space.”

“If I remember your cousin right, that might’ve been all the words he knew at the time.” Ron muttered back, sourly.

“I s’ppose I should be nicer. He has a kid now. I have a second cousin.” Harry said gloomily, taking a sip and immediately grimacing. “What in Circe’s name is that?”

Ron was also grimacing. “Not sure but I figured this conversation required a drink.”

They both peered into their glasses and almost in unison shrugged. “Whatever,” Harry said, with a tiny twitch of his mouth. “Better than that toilet water tequila Abbas used to pass around.”

Ron snorted. “That shite blinded two people for twelve hours.” They exchanged grins for a minute, recalling the particularly memorable Auror Christmas Party of 2003. Oh what a year. Ron’s grin fell into a more serious, thoughtful look. “What’re you gonna do then?”

“Not sure I’m up for a reunion with Duddikins.” Harry said, dryly.

Ron snorted. “I’d pass on it, personally.”

“Aunt Petunia’s said her piece,” he continued, eying his glass. “Maybe she’ll stay away from me if I’m such a bad influence.”

“But?”

“What but? There’s no but.”

“Oh bugger off,” Ron rolled his eyes. “That’s your but I don’t think so tone.”

“My what?”

“Your I don’t think so tone you use on cases.” Ron made a gesture. “Like, well maybe he did jam his wand in his oven and blew up his house on accident but I don’t think so. So. What’s the but?”

“There’s no tone.” Harry grumbled but finished his drink all the same, stalling as he put his words together. “But I don’t know. Like it or not, the Dursleys are all the blood family I have. This little girl, she’s not just Dudley’s kid, she’s my mum’s great niece. I just wonder if she’d be okay with me ignoring her.”

Ron scowled. “Harry. They locked you in a broom closet. I think your mum would be fine skipping dinner with your lunatic relatives.”

“It’s not skipping dinners though is it?” Harry said, a note of bitterness in his voice. “This is a kid who’s magic, growing up with Dursleys. I know what that’s like. Can’t say I’d recommend it.”

His friend looked troubled by the implication. “You think they’d do something to her? Their own kid?”

Harry didn’t want to think so. He was about to reply when George’s head popped up from the staircase connected to the lower workroom, his expression thunderous.

“Harry, I don’t know how but I think the press have got wind you’re here,” he said, cutting straight to the chase. “There’s a pack of them outside the shop and I think one or two might’ve already snuck in.”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances and immediately fell into action, following George back down to the workroom. “Floo?” Harry barked, listening to the noise from the shop proper which had grown steadily louder.

“Broken. It’s getting fixed next Wednesday.” Ron said, heading to the windows which looked out onto Diagon Alley, thankfully obscured from the inside to avoid rivals peeking on George Weasley’s latest products. “There’s a few outside. I think I see Hemmings and- blimey, is that Skeeter? Merlin, she’s eerie, not a single part of her face moves anymore.”

“So the Prophet and the Omen contingent. Perfect. They always go for my bad side,” Harry said, offhandedly as he cracked the door to the main shop open just an inch. Immediately a series of flashes popped off in a blinding array and he slammed the door shut. “They’re definitely inside your shop.” He informed George dryly.

George looked furious. “What is the point of having security wards if they just let any bloody one wander through?” he said, irritably.

“Can I Apparate out?” Harry asked, joining Ron at the window as they scanned the growing pack of reporters.

His friend shook his head. “There’s permanent anti-Apparation wards set up all through the shop against theft. We usually have to go outside to Apparate home.”

“Sometimes I wonder what kind of second rate show you’re running here, Weasley.” Harry teased, his voice tense.

“Only the best for the family business.” Ron replied back, equally dry but their attentions were both fixed on the growing pack outside, their well trained Auror-instincts kicking in. For a second, it was like they’d never left. Ron was right; leaving the work behind was one thing but leaving the training was altogether different.

“You could stay here a while if you want?” George offered from behind them. “Until they go away.”

“They’re more likely to wait with me.” Harry cracked a small, self-deprecating smile. “Better to just face them while they’re still gathering.”

Ron scowled for a second and then turned to his brother with his stern Auror Weasley look. “George, that trick-fork, where is it? The one that gives people headaches?”

George frowned. “The Earsplitter? Behind you, there, but it doesn’t work yet, the frequency isn’t right. It’s not going to affect any of those vultures.”

“I know but the range is fine.” Ron replied impatiently as he rifled through the chaos of the work benches to find what looked like a silver tuning fork attached to a bizarre looking glass handle filled with tiny orange sparks. “I have an idea, come on then.”

He and Harry took either sides of the backdoor, wands out but pointed to the floor for now. Standard Auror practise. With a quick nod between them, Harry flung the door open from one side. Ron stepped into doorway, tapped the fork against the door jam and pointed the strange contraption towards the flood of camera flashes.

The effect of the low, nasal ringing was immediate: one after the other, the bulbs of each camera began to quake and then shatter, glass raining down onto the cobblestones with a gentle tinkering sound. The lenses split in half from the force of the fork’s vibration. At least two pairs of glasses were irretrievably ruined.

While it didn’t cause a headache, Harry had to admit, George’s Earsplitter was a nifty little act of vandalism.

The cries and shouts followed soon after as the wizards began to inspect their broken gear. A few angry calls for damages to be paid that the pair of them outright ignored. Looking very self-satisfied, Ron lifted the fork to his lips, blowing off the tip as though he was a cowboy in an old Western film but Harry couldn’t bring himself to regret showing them to his friend who had just saved his arse, once again.

After all: no cameras, no photos. No photos, no stories.

“Weasley is our King.” he nudged Ron with his elbow as he exited the shop. Ron caught his friend’s arm as he passed.

“Catch you soon. Bring more kebabs.” He added, sternly before sending him off with a grin.

A few of the reporters noticed the exchange and, sensing their quarry was about to make a run for it, began to shout and holler, hoping to catch a quote they still might use.

“Harry! Harry, do you have any further insight into the ongoing trial of Wilbur Tiltenhaus-”

“Mr Potter, have you heard from your superiors at the Ministry?”

“Harry, do you believe your early childhood trauma may have contributed to your disturbing pattern of violence?”

The last question, following on the heels of his talk with Ron, made his teeth grind. “Skeeter, nice to see you again or at least, what’s left.” Harry said coolly as he pushed his way through the group of them.

“Come on Harry, won’t you give me a quote, for old times’ sake?” she called, though the voice was muffled by the lack of muscle movement around her mouth. Helga help her, Ron was right. It was downright eerie how little expression was left in the old hag’s face.

He caught a glimpse of her Quick Quotes Quill moving with fervour and scowled. “Skeeter, I’m warning you, if I see that quill so much as twitch around the words ‘tears in his eyes’ or ‘haunted by his past’, I’ll snap it in half.”

The quill paused instantly, as did several others. Harry threw especially flinty look towards the crowd and all of the quills finally ceased.

“I am not able to discuss Ministry affairs with members of the public.” He recited the press line all Aurors were taught from day one. “If you have questions, you are welcome to contact the Ministry directly and they will respond in all due time.”

Without their flashing cameras or scribbling quills, the reporters were left looking sour mouthed and sulky as Harry simply Apparated away, all evidence of his visit lying in shattered pieces on the alley’s cobblestones.

*                *                *                *                *
*                *                *                *

Notes:

hi yes hello, thank you for enjoying adult!harry-trying-his-best i'm really glad you're all rooting for him too. this one is super long, sorry. but hey, dudley next chapter. woo hoo?

Chapter 3: A PARROT. NAMED MILDRED. SHE'S VERY NEEDY.

THREE

A PARROT. NAMED MILDRED. SHE’S VERY NEEDY.

He’d tried to forget the address on Aunt Petunia’s note. He even went so far as to set it aflame in his sink until it was nothing but a pile of ash. But then he realised the ash would probably get everywhere if he didn’t clean it out and then, while he flushed and scrubbed the ashy remains out of his sink, Harry had started wondering if he was making a mistake by not visiting his cousin. Not a question he ever thought he’d have to ask himself but then, well, here they were.

Three days later, he received a note from Kingsley that made his decision for him. The note was little more than a scrap of parchment, carried on the wings of an enormous black owl with an incredibly judgemental tilt to his feathered brow:

Harry,
No news on the trial yet but for Godric’s sake, stop antagonising the press.
Will let you know as soon as I have anything, I promise.

The word promise was underlined twice and below his scribbled signature was a tiny postscript:

Tell Weasley I’m interested in one of those forks.

No news was good news, he tried to tell himself but the weight of knowing he might have ruined the Tiltenhaus trial entirely was heavy and looming and infuriating. No amount of sitting in his apartment waiting for news or visiting well-meaning friends or snapping at the paparazzi could dispel it.

So instead, he decided, since most wizarding locations were somewhat off limits to him at present, maybe he ought to give the Muggle world a try. It was perhaps the last place anyone would think to look for him after all, and he figured for the newest little Dursley’s sake that he ought to at least tell Dudley to his face that there was no way to remove the magic from his daughter.

Maybe he’d listen closer than Aunt Petunia had, especially if Harry used small enough words.

At least, this was the excuse Harry gave himself when he appeared from behind the concrete bus shelter, poised on the mouth of Keller Circle where Dudley Dursley lived with his wife Karen and daughter Clementine. As it turned out, he’d memorised the address before setting on fire, a fact which he refused to analyse further.

Harry let out a long noisy breath and casually glanced up and down the street but no one seemed even the faintest bit interested in the tall, dark haired man in a long coat who’d mysteriously appeared out of thin air. Truthfully he hadn’t expected anyone to be interested. Dudley may have moved away from his childhood home but the neighbourhood he’d chosen could have been Little Whinging’s slightly cheaper but no less ordinary younger brother.

Even the house at Number Seven faintly resembled Number Four, Harry mused. Quite a bit smaller and certainly less manicured but there was something in the house’s shape – the little path that led to the door and the flowerbeds under the window – that seemed familiar to him. He wondered faintly if there was a convenient cupboard under the stairs and then immediately chastised himself. Aunt Petunia had seemed genuinely affectionate toward her grandchild. She’d even tracked down her disgrace of a nephew to ask for help, though Harry had no help to actually administer. But then again, Harry figured, he wouldn’t be here if there hadn’t been a tiny shred of worry in his mind for a magical child growing up with Dursleys.

There was a certain kind of relief to being able to walk across the street and knock on the front door of 7 Keller Circle without sensing people staring at him or having cameras flashed in his face. But there was no room in his churning gut to enjoy the feeling. A few minutes passed. Then a few minutes more. Harry considered knocking again, all the while wondering if he should take it as a sign to leave but when he raised his hand, the door swung open with a frenetic speed.

“SHHH!!” the man hissed, eyes wide and panicked. “I just got her to sleep- Harry?”

Dudley seemed stuck, bewildered by the sight of his cousin on his door step. Harry found himself unable to keep from staring right back.

Dudley was- well, he looked rough.

Gone were the days of private school uniforms or fancy tracksuits with spotless expensive sneakers. He wore a wrinkled t-shirt and worn sweatpants. Plump as ever, his jowls were covered in stubble, his hair thin but unkempt. Twin purple shadows beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and stress. He looked like any other overworked, sleep deprived Dad who had just discovered his daughter was capable of animating her own toys and had no idea what to do about it.

Harry abruptly realised they’d been staring at each other for probably a fraction too long and quickly blinked, clearing his surprise. “Er, hi Dudley.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Harry said, awkwardly, wondering what Dudley made of him in return: taller than he’d been at seventeen, filled out thanks to years of hard Auror training, his hair still unmanageable but certainly longer over the telltale scar. Did he seem as different Dudley as Dudley seemed to him?

“What- I mean, what’re you-” Well, at least his cousin’s ability to form full sentences seemed to have remained about the same.

“Well,” Harry said, deeply uncomfortable with the words he was about to say: “Your mum asked me to come.”

His confusion was overtaken by a weary, graceless kind of annoyance. “Oh bloody hell, mum.” he cursed, gripping the door in one meaty hand.

Harry paused at the reaction. “So…I take it you didn’t ask her to contact me?” The question had occurred to him over the past few days.

“No.” Dudley grunted, finally seeming to remember where he was and looked about quickly. “Bugger, come on, get inside before someone sees you.”

“Ahh, that’s more like it,” Harry said, cheerfully as he stepped inside the house. “The Dursley family welcome.”

“Shut up.” Dudley snapped, closing the door quickly.

“This is...nice.” Harry said, glancing around the home. It was cramped and a little messy. There were baskets of washing around the place, a pile of letters and papers covering the side table and it was covered in frankly awful wallpaper but the house remained oddly homey. The rug in the middle of the room was studded with brightly coloured children’s toys. A series of framed photos decorated the mantle. There was a vase full of fake flowers on the little coffee table. It showed signs of being well cared for, despite the current state of unrest.

“You look...taller.” he added, scrambling for an adjective that wasn’t tired, dirty or worn out.

Dudley threw him a dirty look all the same. “I’ve taken some time off work lately.” He said, stiffly. “There’s been some stuff to take care of. Around the house.”

Harry hummed knowingly. “Oh, I’ll bet.”

“Shut up,” he said again but it lacked the kind of venom Harry usually associated with his cousin. Instead, he just sounded tired. “So how’d she find you? Send you a letter by one of those stupid crows, did she?”

“They’re owls,” Harry corrected mildly. “But no, though I’d pay to see Aunt Petunia try to use one. She paid me a visit.”

“She pai- what, in your world?” Dudley looked deeply unsettled by the idea of his mother setting foot in a wizarding establishment of any kind, even one as benign as Harry’s apartment building. Frankly, Harry could empathise.

“I’m in the phone book apparently.” The wizard stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “So. Congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“A girl, right?” Harry said in a forcefully casual tone.

“Yeah. Clementine. Clem for short.” Dudley said, flatly. “S’ppose Mum told you about her.”

Harry edged towards the sofa nearby, leaning against the back of it, trying not to project how completely skin-peelingly uncomfortable it felt to be in Dudley Dursley’s house. “It might’ve come up.” He hinted.

“Well, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t care what she said,” Dudley began to bluster, drawing himself up to his full height which was about the same as Harry’s, though he was probably twice as wide. “You’re not taking her anywhere and I’ll break your bloody hands if you try-”

Harry, resorting to his old strategy when it came to Dudley threatening him, casually removed his wand from his pocket. The effect, he was happy to report, was still the same: Dudley immediately cut himself off, instead eying the wand with equal parts distaste and wariness.

“I don’t know what nonsense your mum’s been spouting but she hasn’t asked me to take your kid anywhere, Duddikins.” Harry stated in a calm, logical fashion. “So you can knock it off with the threats, alright?”

Flicking his gaze between Harry and the wand, Dudley nodded reluctantly. Some of his earlier confusion came back to his resting, haggard expression as he registered the words. “I don’t get it then. What’re you doing here, Harry?”

Well, wasn’t that a question? In the end, he went as simple as possible. “Your mum wanted me to fix it.”

Dudley blinked once. “Fix what?”

Harry waved his wand-free hand in a vague gesture. “The whole magic thing. She wants me to make it go away.”

Dudley blinked again. “Can you- can you do that?”

The blatant hope in Dudley’s voice immediately soured Harry’s mood. “No.” he snapped, waspishly. “Magic isn’t a disease, you can’t cure it and frankly, if you’re going to treat it like one maybe you shouldn’t-”

“Dudley? What’s- oh, we have company.” A voice interrupted from the door leading to the kitchen.

The woman Harry figured was Karen Dursley was average in height and fair in her looks, her voice tinged with just a hint of an accent. Something Northern maybe. She seemed nice enough, but clearly just as tired as Dudley, though it was better hidden beneath layers of masterfully applied makeup and acrylic nails. She peered curiously at Harry while the blood began to drain from Dudley’s face.

“Karen!” he blurted out, looking like he might faint any second with sheer panic. “This is- well I- this-”

“My name’s Harry,” Harry introduced, summoning a polite but bland smile. He quickly tucked his wand back in his pocket. “Dudley and I knew each other as kids. I was just dropping past, thought I’d say hi.”

“I thought I’d met all your friends,” Karen said, a note of suspicion in her voice but which soon gave way to the etiquette good manners demanded when greeting guests. “I mean it’s lovely to meet you, Harry, of course.”

“You as well. Couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. Big D, getting married. What a world.” Harry laughed lightly, somewhat perversely enjoying the way Dudley seemed to sway, face still bloodless.

“That’s kind of you Harry. But, um, I’m afraid we’re not really fit for company right now.” She added, her tone of voice just a fraction short of pointed as her eyes flitted around at the mess. More good manners. Harry idly wondered how she got on with her mother-in-law.

“Oh not to worry,” Harry interrupted quickly. “I won’t stay long, just in and out to say hi.”

“You should use the telly room!” Karen suggested, brightly but firmly. “Dudley, why don’t you two go catch up in the telly room.”

As though helpless to say otherwise, Dudley began to stagger towards the adjacent room and after a beat, Harry followed. When the door closed, Dudley slumped into the armchair positioned in front of the television set, looking miserable.

“So I’m going to go ahead and guess you haven’t told your wife why her daughter is suddenly crawling on the ceiling?” Harry finally broke the silence.

“Of course I haven’t.” Dudley moaned into his hands. “She’s still trying to convince herself it might be some kind of skin condition.”

“Skin condition huh?” Harry hummed, thoughtfully. As far as explanations went, it wasn’t bad.

“What am I gonna tell her?” Dudley fretted. “She wants to take Clemmie to the doctor, see if we can get medicine for her. She’s been looking up message boards online for god’s sake.”

Harry winced a little. “I’d probably avoid going to a doctor. Medically speaking, Muggles and wizards are pretty much the same species. You’ll both just look like lunatics.”

Dudley tilted his head up out of his hands, glaring at his cousin. “Of course we will!” he exclaimed, angrily. “Muggles, magic, wizards, how am I meant to explain any of it without sounding like a lunatic?!”

“Well, you have a little bundle of proof that you’re telling the truth.” Harry said, sarcastically. “Maybe that’ll convince her?”

“She’ll leave me.” Dudley said, bluntly. “If she knows I knew before we- she’ll leave me and Clem. I can’t- I can’t do that.”

“She’s going to notice, Dudley.” Harry said, slowly and incredulously. “She already has, by the sounds of it.”

Dudley fell silent, clutching his head and Harry gingerly took a seat on the small leatherette couch beside him.

“I was hoping it might go away.” Dudley finally said, wearily. “You weren’t…you know…all the time. When we were kids, I mean. I thought maybe she’d be normal most of the time.”

Harry suppressed an eye roll, forcibly softening his tone as he tried to piece an answer together as simply as possible. “Look, it doesn’t work like that. Even when I’m not doing magic, I’m always magic. It’s not something you can turn off, it’s just who I am.”

Dudley groaned, pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets. “She’s so small Harry.” He said after a long pause. “She’s so small and she’s so perfect but she’s making the curtains bloody sing, what am I meant to do?”

Before Harry could attempt respond to that very legitimate query with what was sure to be a very eloquent and well prepared answer, a knock on the door made them both stand quickly.

Karen popped her head in, looking somewhat frazzled. “Sorry to interrupt!” she said in a high pitched voice. “Just thought I’d ask if Harry was staying for tea?”

Harry and Dudley exchanged a look of wordless horror and in a moment of rare but complete synchronicity, they cried out: “No!”

“I-I mean I’d love to but I can’t-” Harry stumbled, grappling for an excuse – any excuse – not to sit between his lumbering cousin and his poor unwitting wife and discuss the weather over dinner. “I’ve got- er-I have-”

“Harry has a parrot.” Dudley blurted out.

“Named Mildred.” Harry continued immediately, committed to taking the lie as far as he possibly could. “She’s very needy.”

Dudley nodded frantically. “He has to feed her. Soon, I mean.” With that, he elbowed his cousin in the side with roughly the equivalent force of a ticked off rhinoceros.

Smothering the oof noise of his ribs being crushed into his lungs and making a great show of peering at his battered old watch, Harry exclaimed, “Now, in fact! Wow, is that the time? I’d best be off. It was lovely to meet you Karen. Nice to see you again Dudley.”

It was to the great advantage of the two cousins that Karen did not seem the least bit interested in their concocted story. She was too busy looking caught between relief that Harry would not be staying for dinner and preoccupation with whatever was sleeping (or had been sleeping, perhaps) on the second floor.

“Well, visit again soon, Harry!” she said, distractedly.

“I’ll walk you out.” Dudley grunted, leading his cousin outside. With that, the door closed, leaving just the pair of them standing on the stoop of Number Seven alone.

“A parrot?” Harry finally said, flatly.

“Shut up.” His cousin said, wearily and the pair fell into a thick, brewing silence. Dudley looked like he was in the process of swallowing a frog when he finally spoke again: “Is there- I mean, is Clem okay?”

Harry frowned at him, puzzled by the question. “What do you mean?”

For a moment, Dudley’s expression cleared of discomfort, revealing a flash of pure, unadulterated worry. For his kid, Harry realised. Because he was a Dad now and dads worried about their kids. Duddikins as a dad. What a world, indeed.

Dudley continued, bluntly. “Mum says you weren’t like this. She even- I mean, I asked her if Lily...” he said the name with a lilting unfamiliarity that made Harry shift uncomfortably. “But she said she was older when she started...showing signs.”

Harry hesitated. “Clementine is pretty young,” he agreed cautiously. “But I’m not really an expert on magical children. I don’t know what’s normal.”

The next question was spoken with the same kind of energy projected during a particularly nasty dental appointment involved pulling teeth: “Could you find out?” Dudley said through gritted teeth.

“About…magical kids?” Harry clarified, slowly.

“I just- if it’s not normal... if it’s not good- I don’t – there’s not really – look, can you just find out or not?” he finally said with a mix of desperation and exasperation.

Letting out a long sigh, Harry allowed himself a brief pause before he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks.” Dudley grunted, looking incredibly unhappy with the word but also perhaps moderately relieved. No sooner had he spoken it than a loud bang! erupted from upstairs.

Karen flung the door open, face taut with panic. “Dudley, there are fireworks- oh! Harry! I thought- Dudley, sorry but I need- there’s just something upstairs-” she babbled, urgently.

Dudley’s relief transformed to panic in a split second. “Better go. See you.” He said shortly and then door slammed shut, though not before Harry heard another bang! from upstairs.

Stepping off the stoop, Harry took three steps down the path which bisected the small front garden and peered upwards at the visible window which was ever so slightly ajar. Pink, violet, green lights flashed against the glass with fervour, punctuated every now and then with muffled but energetic bangs! and a squealing laughter.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Harry let out a groan. “Merlin what am I getting in to?”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

MAGICAL CHILDREN EH HARRY. WHEREVER WILL YOU FIND ONE OF THOSE HMMMM?
a short one today methinks.

also, to everyone who reads this, I hope you're all safe and healthy and with people who care about you.

Chapter 4: IT DOESN'T GO ANY HIGHER THAN FOUR AND A HALF FEET, I CHECKED.

FOUR

IT DOESN’T GO ANY HIGHER THAN FOUR AND A HALF FEET, I CHECKED.

It would probably not surprise many to know that Harry Potter did not know many magical children.

Not personally at least. He knew the Weasley grandchildren, Bill and Fleur’s girls Victoire and Dominique, who chattered on in an incomprehensible mix of French and English, fluidly switching back and forth, sometimes in the same sentence. They’d been the only ones until Percy’s wife Audrey had announced her first pregnancy last November. She was due by mid year, to the delight of her parents.

He was occasionally approached by children in public; mostly younger ones with absolutely no shame who wanted to know if he was really Harry Potter because Harry Potter had a scar and they couldn’t see a scar even though mummy said it was him, the real Harry Potter, from the Chocolate Frog cards. Albeit, due to the unflattering newspaper coverage, this sort of reaction had dried up a little.

But there was, however, one child in particular who Harry knew quite well. A child who, in Harry’s humble opinion, more than made up for his other lack of experience.

“And this one has the Muggle Queen on it,” Teddy explained, gesturing to the small pink coloured square. “Nana bought it for me for my birthday.”

Harry hummed, peering at the collection with close attention. “I remember that one. But what about this one, he seems new?”

Edward Remus “Teddy” Lupin was seven years old, obsessed with the Muggle postal service, bugs and making noise. One day, he hoped to marry Hermione (whom he had met several times and simply adored) or George Weasley (who had met only once but who owned the best shop ever). He was also of the steadfast opinion that his godfather was the single most amazing wizard on the planet, not necessarily as ‘the Harry Potter’ but simply by virtue being ‘Harry’.

At that moment, much as they did most Sundays, they sat at Andromeda’s kitchen with peanut butter sandwiches and Teddy’s budding stamp collection, waiting for her to return from her errands. Harry treasured the time to an extent which had surprised himself early on but with which he had become quite comfortable as Teddy grew older.

The boy in question narrowed his eyes at the stamp in question with a wrinkled brow while he thought. The expression was so Tonks-like, Harry smiled a little to see it.  “Mr Murphy gave it to me!” the boy finally exclaimed, remembering. “He says his sister is a Muggle and she sends him letters all the time.”

“A good source then.” Harry nodded, approvingly.

Teddy grinned up at the older wizard. “He says he’d give me more but Nana says I mustn’t be greedy.” As he spoke, his hair began to curl spontaneously, the colour darkening to a pitch black, his eyes similarly flashing from warm brown to bright green. The unconscious transformation was the work of moments. Teddy didn’t seem to have noticed at all.

Harry had grown quite used to his godson’s Metamorphagus abilities. When he was smaller, he used to take on the appearance of whoever he wanted to play with him or hold him. Harry had often come to visit only to be greeted by a tiny black haired baby who lit up and made grabby hands for him.

Now that he was older, he seemed to simply adopt the look of whoever he spoke to at the time, though sometimes Harry would still arrive to find a seven year old miniature of himself sitting on the front steps, waiting for him. It was a heady - mildly terrifying - feeling, being Teddy’s favourite. But Harry was determined to live up to it.

“I could introduce you?” Teddy suggested hopefully. “Nana said I’m allowed to go visit if I have someone with me.”

Harry considered it but even in a wizarding town as small as East Brightpeel, too many people knew he was the boy’s godfather, too many more knew about Teddy’s Metamorphagus abilities. He didn’t fancy his odds of going unrecognised, even if he’d been able to disguise himself as well as Teddy. “How about we make plans for next time?” Harry suggested instead. “You could send Mr Murphy a letter yourself asking what time suits him, with its own stamp and everything. He might even reply with one back.”

Teddy looked unbearably excited by the prospect, though he looked down at his collection with apprehension. “But which one should I use?” he fretted, brow furrowed in his Tonks-like expression again.

Harry was saved from having to answer by the small pop! of Andromeda Apparating on to the front steps, back from her shopping trip.

“Hi Nana!” Teddy greeted happily as she closed the front door behind her, a basket full of brown paper parcels in one arm and a netted bag of groceries slung over the opposite elbow.

She smiled back at him, tossing her grey streaked hair over her shoulders. “Hello little love. Hello Harry.”

So many years on from the war, Harry found it difficult to compare Andromeda Tonks to her sister as he once had. The striking resemblance to the visage of Bellatrix Lestrange hadn’t faded but after seven years of knowing her as Teddy’s beloved Nana, her strong, delicately arched brows rather made him think of Tonks, the same way he saw Sirius in her sharp cheekbones and the aristocratic tilt of her mouth.

“Teddy, let’s help Nan with the shopping, hey?” Harry said, standing to help the older witch with her bags.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said warmly and tilted her head outside. “There’s another parcel outside if you don’t mind, young man.” She told Teddy who clambered out of his seat to go help.

“You know they don’t weigh anything.” Andromeda told Harry with an arched brow, as soon as her grandson left the room. “I’ve been putting Weightless Charms on these old things for years.”

Harry shrugged as he took the admittedly weightless basket of parcels. “Being helpful is a good habit to have.”

Andromeda chuckled. “I’d rather he made a habit of keeping his room tidy but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

The front door banging shut behind him, Teddy rushed back to them, his little arms wrapped around a small brown paper wrapped parcel. “Nana, Harry said we can send a letter to Mr Murphy to meet him next week!” he rambled breathlessly. His hair shortened and lightened so quickly it seemed like a trick of the light, his eyes similarly taking on Andromeda’s warm almond brown.

“Mr Murphy?” Andromeda repeated.

“Yeah!” Teddy brightened, setting the parcel down. “I told Harry about the stamp he saved for me!”

“Yes, that was very kind of him, wasn’t it?” she said, lightly. If Harry hadn’t known better he would’ve said there was a faint blush in her cheek.

“Mr Murphy’s great! Sometimes he lets me play with his telly because he says his nieces used to like watching it when they were my age but they’re all growed up now.” Teddy continued to babble, idly playing with his stamp collecting book. “We went there last week and we had tea, well Nana and Mr Murphy had tea and I got to play with Mr Murphy’s video player, did you know Muggles can watch movies on video tapes, Harry?”

Harry politely did not call attention to the fact that Andromeda was turning pinker and pinker with every minute. “Ted, I think Nana might need the table to put away her shopping.” he said instead, kindly. “Why don’t you put your stamps away in your room and then we can go play outside for a little while, okay?”

Teddy perked up at that. “Okay, Harry!” he scooped up the book and charged upstairs.

“And add a tidy up while you’re up there young man!” Andromeda called, sternly. “I saw under that bed this morning, pushing all your dirty clothes under there doesn’t make them clean!”

The pair of them heard a whine and a thump, followed by a much burdened: “Yes, Nana.”

Harry sat back down at the kitchen table, watching as Andromeda dutifully ignored him, putting away her shopping quickly and efficiently.

“So,” Harry said, with equal parts awkwardness and amusement. “Mr Murphy, hm?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, Harry.” Her tone of voice was almost haughty with dismissal.

“Nothing,” he said with a small smile. “Nothing at all. I’m glad Teddy’s found a new friend.”

She promptly grimaced. “I’m certainly glad this one only has two legs.” She said, deftly changing the subject. “I caught him trying to sneak in a frog the other day.”

“Frogs can make good pets.” He pointed out, thinking of Neville and his toad Trevor, who, as far as Harry knew, had gone missing a few years back and never resurfaced. 

Andromeda raised a single brow, unimpressed. “He’ll receive a proper pet when the time comes and no sooner.” She said with a note of warning in her voice. “Unlike that broomstick you both think I don’t know about.”

Harry’s smile faded instantly into a wince. “It was a birthday gift?” he tried.

Andromeda raised a single brow.

Harry folded. “I promise, it doesn’t go any higher than four and a half feet, I checked.”

Andromeda hummed. “Oh, I know. That’s why he’s been allowed to keep it. Well, that and the fact that as long as he thinks I don’t know he has it, he’ll only use it when you’re around to supervise him.”

Harry blinked. “That’s pretty ingenious.”

“I had practise.” She replied, knowingly with a small, nostalgic smile. “Nymphadora got her first broom when she was six. Her father couldn’t refuse her anything, let alone something he loved so much as well.”

Abruptly reminded of the matter he’d been meaning to discuss, Harry cleared his throat. “Actually I wanted to ask you about her. Tonks, I mean.”

“Oh?” the older witch said, distractedly as she put away what looked like potions ingredients.

“How old was she when she first started showing magic?”

Andromeda paused, tilting her head as she thought back. “Well, her hair started to change colour from the moment she was born.” She said, finally with a small smile flitting about her lips. “I didn’t notice at first, I was rather a little preoccupied but later, Ted asked me if it was normal for wizards to have a red headed child one minute and a blonde the next.” She laughed.

Harry frowned. “But it was just her Metamorphagus abilities? Nothing else?”

She turned to him fully, confused. “Not as a newborn, no. Why do you ask, Harry?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Someone asked me about early signs of magic,” he said vaguely, not wanting to explain the whole saga with the Dursleys. “And I realised I didn’t know anything. The only magical kid I know is Teddy and as far as I know, he hasn’t shown any signs yet apart from the whole…” He waved a hand across his face, obviously.

Andromeda took a seat opposite him, arranging her skirts as she did. “It depends on the child, obviously.” She explained. “Metamorphagi show signs as soon as they’re born, it’s an unconscious ability. The Healers even told us not to expect any accidental magic with Dora because of it. Often their ability channels it to an extent, which we were thrilled about of course.” She shuddered. “Some cases of early childhood magic can be downright explosive.”

“Explosive?” Harry echoed. “What do you mean?”

“I remember a visit for tea at Grimmauld Place a few years before Sirius left for Hogwarts during which he staunchly refused to wear the shirt Aunt Walburga had laid out for him.” Andromeda smiled slightly, recalling the event. “He launched into a tantrum which shattered every clock face, glass goblet and window in the house.”

Harry was suddenly besieged with a vision of Clementine Dursley throwing a similar tantrum and found himself blanching. “Really? Is that, well, normal?” he continued, weakly.

“I suppose so.” Andromeda shrugged elegantly. “It’s said that often the younger, the more powerful they’ll become. I’m afraid it really does depend on the child.”

A few years before Hogwarts age, Harry thought with a sinking feeling of dread. It sounded as though Dudley may have been right to worry: Clementine sounded young even by wizard standard to be making fireworks go off in her room.

The thud, thud, thud of Teddy’s footsteps careening down the staircase was about all the warning he had before the boy launched at him, looping his arms around Harry’s neck in a tight hug. “I cleaned up my room and I put my stamps away, can me and Harry play outside now Nan?”

“Harry and I,” Andromeda corrected but she nodded. “Off with you both, go ransack my garden.” Over the top of Harry’s head, she gestured to Teddy with two fingers, mouthing: watch him.

Harry nodded, sheepishly and heaved out of his chair, taking the boy with him who shrieked with laughter as he clung on for dear life, feet dangling. “Come on then, let’s get out of Nan’s hair.”

When the backdoor closed, Harry set Teddy down and the boy wasted no time in unearthing the long wooden box from the dirt at the base of Andromeda’s broad-leaved plum tree. He presented it with an air of immense excitement and conspiracy, practically vibrating in place.

With Andromeda’s warning in mind, Harry turned the box over with a slightly keener eye than he usually did. “It doesn’t look like you’ve been playing with it.” He said mildly but with a note of suspicion in his tone.

Teddy bounced twice on his heels. “I promise I haven’t!” he whined, desperately. “I kept it under the plums, I haven’t touched it!” Harry hummed, inspecting the small copper lock on the front as though it could reveal any tampering (which it could not) and Teddy let out a small whine. “I mean, I dug it up one time,” he said in a rush. “But it was just to look at it, I didn’t try to open it, I swear!”

Placing the box aside, Harry knelt before the boy with a solemn expression. “Teddy, we talked about this.” He said, calmly but seriously. “It’s not safe to be flying around on your own just yet. We promised each other, remember? I’ll come visit as often as I can so you can practise but you can’t do it without someone there to help.”

Teddy looked down, shamefaced. “I wanted to practise so I’d be better when you got here.” He said in a mumble. “I want to be a Seeker. Like you were.”

With his hair the same pitch black, wild mess as his own, Harry felt like he was looking at himself about to get a scolding from his Uncle Vernon and his gut twisted violently. He lowered his head until he could meet the seven year old’s gaze. “You’re doing really, really well, Teddy.” He said, earnestly. “And you’re just gonna get better and better until you’ll be able to fly circles around me. Even Ginny said she was impressed last time she came.”

Teddy perked up, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Really?” he breathed, in awe.

“Really, really.” Harry assured him. “But being good at something also means knowing how to do it safely, right?”

“Right.” Teddy agreed, reluctantly.

“So no more trying to practise without me here, okay?” Harry said, slightly stern and Teddy nodded so quickly it looked like his ears might fly off.

“Can we try doing a loop today?” he pleaded. “Please?”

Harry chuckled, tapping the lock on the box with his wand. The lid sprung open, revealing mauve coloured, velvet lining upon which was nestled a broom, just under four feet in length, with smooth, well kept golden brown bristles. “I think we’ll start with some general technique first.” He said firmly, removing the broom and placing it on the grass before his godson.

Teddy held a hand over it. With a deep breath, he said in a firm voice: “Up!” and the broom surged upwards into his grasp. The look of awe on his face was one which never lessened no matter how many times he did it. “Cool.” He whispered.

“Very cool.” Harry agreed, gesturing to the open grass with his wand. “Culciticas!”

The grass trembled for a moment as though a strong breeze had passed over it before going motionless once more. When Harry trod on it hard with his foot, it sprang back as though the green blades were sprouting out of an enormous mattress. “Now do you remember how to hover?”

Teddy nodded and began to mount his broom, kicking off with practised ease, up into the air until he hovered at the very highest the broom would allow him. Harry raised a brow at him and he sank a little lower, looking sheepish. “Sorry Harry.” he said, though he only looked sorry to be caught.

“Do a few laps and then hover,” Harry instructed, casting his mind back to his first year flying lessons with Madame Hooch. “Then back the other way and hover again.”

“And then we can try loops?” Teddy said hopefully as he began to circle the space, slowly but confidently.

Harry snorted. “You’re trying to incite your Nana to murder.” he said under his breath but out loud, he simply shrugged and called out: “Let’s see how you go with rolling.”

Teddy let out a whoop, taking his laps a little faster but Harry didn’t have the heart to make him slow down, not with his expression overtaken with exuberant joy as it was. They flew for almost an hour; first practising hovering and then some very basic rolls which mostly ended with Teddy falling off the broom and bouncing off the springy enchanted grass like it was a trampoline, though he seemed thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Did you see that last one?” he panted, lying flat on his back as his broom tumbled to the grass beside him from mid air. “I was so close! I almost did the whole roll!”

Harry sat down beside him with a grin. “It looked pretty whole to me,” he agreed, ruffling Teddy’s now utterly wild hair. “You’re a natural, kiddo.”

While he caught his breath, Harry glanced over at the house, catching the faint twitching movement of one of the curtains settling back into place. He wondered if Andromeda had watched them practising before, though he’d been certain he’d checked to make sure she wasn’t around before they started. Mothers and those eyes in the back of their heads, he thought of the old maxim. Did she think of Tonks and Ted Senior when she watched them?

“Harry?” Teddy suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

When Harry glanced down, the boy was watching the clouds with a serious, thoughtful expression. “Yeah, Ted?”

“Did my dad like flying?” The question wasn’t surprising. Teddy knew the reason Harry was his godfather was because their fathers had been more like brothers than friends. He often asked Harry questions about Remus, in much the same way Harry had once asked Remus questions about James.

“I don’t know.” Harry said, honestly because though it made him sad to admit it, he didn’t know an awful lot about Remus or Sirius or his dad or mum or any of them, really. “I think he liked Quidditch though.” He added after a moment.

“How come?” Harry looked over at his godson whose hair had drifted to a sandy brown, his nose lengthening, his eyes shifting to a kind of golden hazel. A dead ringer for a miniature Remus Lupin, though far younger, less gaunt, less scarred. Teddy must have been looking at old photos recently.

“He came to my matches.” He explained with a wistful smile. “Before we got to know each other, I used to see him in the faculty box at Hogwarts. I think I even saw him watching us train a few times.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t unusual for teachers to watch training.” He explained, ruefully. “McGonagall used to come down a lot to make sure we were gonna give Slytherin a run for their money.”

Teddy giggled. “Do you think…he’d have come to watch me?” he finally asked, quietly. While he often reminded Harry of Tonks with his constant transformations and the stubborn tilt to his brows, in moments like this when he was distracted or thoughtful, there was so much of Remus that spilled out of him.

“I don’t know if he liked flying Ted, but I think he would have loved how much you love it.” Harry said, truthfully. “And I think he would’ve watched every single time you got in the air, cheering you on.”

“I think I would’ve really liked that.” Teddy said, simply. There wasn’t really sadness in his voice. As Harry well knew himself, it was hard to be sad about people you had never met, about losing something you’d never had.

“I know your mum was a really great flier.” Harry added, though this was not news to Teddy. “Maybe that’s where you get it from?”

Teddy smiled at that. His hair flickered to a bubblegum pink, wild and curly. “Yeah, maybe.”

“And you know,” Harry continued, casually. “When you make Seeker in Second Year, I’ll be there every match to cheer you on myself.”

“Second Year?” Teddy squawked, surging upwards with outrage. “But you were Seeker in First Year!”

Harry hummed, mock-thoughtful. “I was indeed.”

“Then I’ll make it by First Year too!” Teddy announced, determined. He launched to his feet and tugged on Harry’s arm, one hand reaching for his broom. “C’mon Harry, I have to practise!” he whined.

Harry laughed, stretching out on the spongy, comfy grass with a long sigh. “I don’t know, Ted,” he remarked. “This grass is pretty soft, I might just have a nap right here and now.”

“No!” Teddy wailed though his voice was riddled with giggles. “Harry, I know you’re not sleeping!”

“Oh how tired I am.”

“You’re not tired!”

“Weak with exhaustion, that’s me.”

“You’re not exhausted either!”

“Nighty night, Ted.”

“No, Harry, wake up!”

Harry closed his eyes and let out a snore.

“Harry!” Teddy complained, continuing to tug on Harry’s arm until he swooped out with his other arm, grabbing the boy and hugging him tight to his chest. “Harry no!” he shrieked with laughter as Harry tucked him under his chin like a teddy bear but he didn’t try to wrestle free. Instead he snuggled into his godfather’s grasp, still laughing to himself.

Harry smiled, resting his chin on top of the boy’s head, which was once again covered in thick black hair. “You know your parents would be really proud of you, right Ted?” he said after the giggles had subsided.

With a faint smile still on his face, Teddy nodded. “I know.”

“And you know we can talk about them whenever you want?” he checked, as he always did when Teddy brought them up.

Again, the boy nodded, even with a little eye roll. “I know.”

“You want to keep flying?” Harry asked, letting his godson roll free. He stood up, tugging Teddy to his feet and collecting the broomstick.

Teddy bit his lip. “Actually, could we maybe look at the photo album together for a while?” he added hopefully. “Just until you have to go?”

“I think that’d be a great idea, Ted.”

“And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I think they’re proud of both of us.” He stated, simply before he wandered away to put his broom back in its box while Harry watched on with a small, surprised smile. There it was again; so much of Remus, all spilling out of him.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

Teddy Lupin is a Favourite™ of mine, in case it wasn't obvious. Next chapter features Hermione, stay tuned!

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE. I HOPE YOU'RE ALL SAFE AND WELL.
PERSONALLY I'M DROWNING MY SORROWS IN ESPRESSO MARTINIS SERVED IN AN EASTER EGG.

Chapter 5: YOU’LL CRUMPLE THE CLAUSES!

FIVE.

YOU’LL CRUMPLE THE CLAUSES!

“I don’t believe it.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed as beside her, Harry glared down at the yellow pages. “I couldn’t either. But there it is.”

She was curled up with her legs tucked under her on the sofa, drowning in one of Ron’s old maroon jumpers with the enormous golden letter R on the front. A fine selection of takeaway from the Muggle Thai shop down the street was spread across their coffee table, mouth-watering aromas drifting from the neat white boxes.

Ron peered over their shoulders with a single raised brow. “Looks like a Floo book to me.” He said, dubiously.

“It is, sort of.” Hermione explained, sitting up straighter. “But for Muggle residences.”

“Huh,” he said, absently, pointing a finger at the page with hand he wasn’t holding his takeaway carton. “There you are. H. Potter. Weird. There’s dozens of you.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “How many do you think your aunt tried before she found you?”

Ron shuddered. “Can you imagine waking up and finding her on your doorstep for no good reason?”

Harry wasn’t really listening. He flopped back against the couch, exasperated. “I can’t bloody believe I’m in the bloody phone book.”

“Well it’s an easy enough fix.” Hermione said brightly. “There should be a way to have them remove you.”

“Why bother?” Ron shrugged, heading to their galley kitchen to reheat his noodles. He’d become rather a fan of the microwave oven since he’d moved in with Hermione. He watched it spin with intrigue, even as he spoke. “Who’s going to think to check for you in there?”

“Petunia Dursley clearly did.” Harry replied mutinously.

“Who other than your crazy relatives?” Ron corrected, pointedly.

“Ron has a point, Harry.” Hermione acknowledged. “Wizards aren’t likely to go around checking Muggle phone books for the Boy Who Lived’s home address. Ooh, Ron, could you bring me some too?” she added, hopefully as the smell wafted from the kitchen.

“You don’t even like peanuts.” Ron complained but it was half hearted at best.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m allowed to change my mind, Ron, don’t be such a hog.”

Meanwhile, Harry pushed the phone book aside and turned to his stir friend squid with chilli jam instead, stabbing into it with his fork.

“Imagine the scoop if Skeeter ever found it.” He remarked sarcastically but it lacked any kind of real concern. His friends were right: the chances of Rita Skeeter being creative enough to think to check the Muggle phone book was about as remote as the chances of her even knowing it existed.

“Ron told me she showed up at the shop.” Hermione said, darkly. “I wish I’d been there to give her a piece of my mind. Did you see her latest bit of trash?”

“Funnily enough, I’ve cancelled my Prophet subscription recently.” Harry replied, dryly.

Her brow furrowed with apology. “Oh, I didn’t mean- it’s all nonsense Harry, you’re right not to bother with it.”

Ron rolled his eyes as he returned, handing Hermione about half of the satay tofu as he passed. He took a spot in the armchair opposite, stretching his long legs out under the coffee table.

“It’s getting embarrassing,” he informed his friend. “They haven’t had a decent photo of you in ages. I’d all but forgotten what you looked like.”

“You saw me a few days ago.” Harry pointed out.

“I know, it’s been too long.”

“So…” Hermione said, delicately.

Harry tilted his head back, glaring at the ceiling. “I haven’t heard anything. Kingsley told me there’s nothing new. I don’t know what’s going on.” He recited, dully. “At this point, I thought you’d know more than I would.”

Hermione winced. “Ordinarily, I’d tell you but they’re keeping their lips buttoned on this one, I’m afraid. It’s the only time I’ve ever known Sampson to keep his mouth shut, to be honest.”

“Ah yes, how is your informant?” Ron asked, in between shovelling food. To his mother’s dismay, his table manners had not improved with the advent of adulthood.

“Sampson’s not my informant, he’s just a co-worker and a friend.” Hermione defended. “And he’s an excellent stenographer, that’s why he handles all the important court cases.”

Ron and Harry outright snorted. “Deodas Sampson is the biggest gossip at the Ministry.” Ron corrected, eyebrows raised.

“If he’s not saying anything, it’s because there’s nothing to say.” Harry added. “Which is good news, I guess.”

“It’ll all work out, Harry.” Hermione insisted. “Everyone who knows you knows better than to believe whatever rubbish the Prophet is printing.”

“Just do what I do and read the Quibbler.” Ron suggested with a shrug. “It’s always good for a laugh.”

Hermione groaned. “That reminds me I have to write Luna on Monday. That advice she gave on removing catterpebbles just isn’t medically sound.”

“Or watch Hermione read the Quibbler. That’s a laugh too.” Ron quipped.

She swatted his legs as she collected more of the pineapple fried rice to add to her filched satay. Ron actively grimaced at the clash but she ignored him.

“Laugh all you like,” she threatened but her eyes were bright. “Next time you end up with growths the size of pebbles dangling from your ears, I’ll just let the Narblers chew on them like the Quibbler suggests, shall I?”

Harry squinted at his friend, thoughtfully. “I don’t know Hermione,” he said slowly, adjusting his glasses. “As far as looks go it couldn’t hurt to try them out.”

“What’s wrong with my look?” Ron grumbled, indignantly. “At least I don’t look like I haven’t had a haircut in a year.”

“Everyone’s a critic, for Merlin’s sake.” Harry sniffed.

“It’s very…urban?” Hermione tried, eyeing Harry’s tangle of hair.

“It’s camouflage.” Harry corrected, running a hand through it absently until it covered his scar. “Fewer people stare this way.”

Ron raised his takeaway in salute. “Donahue would be proud.”

Harry hadn’t thought of their old Stealth & Disguise trainer from the Academy for years. They hadn’t spent much time in the Auror Academy but there had been more than a few memorable faces including the five foot nothing wizard who had been none too pleased at the idea of trying to teach the mastery of disguise to two of the most famous faces in the Wizarding World.

Ron grunted suddenly, wriggling in his seat. “What in Helga’s na- oh!” he dug around in the crevice between the cushion and the chair back, retrieving whatever was disturbing him. “Hey ‘Mione, I found the one you were looking for!”

He held up the parchment scroll which had obviously been lost down the back of the chair.

Immediately, Hermione’s eyes widened in panic. “Ron wait-!”

But before she could say anything, he had flipped the scroll upside down, setting off whatever precarious magic that kept it bound. It exploded outwards, unravelling with the energy of a coiled spring in a long, unending river of parchment. The seemingly limitless paper coiled and tangled into a mess at least as tall as Harry. Within moments, it had completely enveloped Ron and his armchair, spreading across the rug, over the coffee table, engulfing their supper and headed for the sofa at a worrisome speed.

With a yelp, Harry flattened himself against the couch while Hermione grabbed her wand, attempting to aim for the wooden handle in Ron’s hand, quickly disappearing under the mess. “Volumenato!”

It took a few tries, but the scroll finally quivered for a moment and then stopped unravelling, leaving the three of them staring at each other in shock.

Ron, or at least what little of him was visible, scowled. “Why do you keep bringing these home?” he complained, struggling to free himself from what looked like thousands of yards of parchment scroll.

“Stop wriggling, you’ll rip it!” Hermione demanded, frantically trying to keep the paper out of the Pad Thai dipping sauce. “Right, I need the handle to wind it back up.”

“Just Summon it then!”

“It could tear the paper!”

Harry warily extricated himself from the sofa, gingerly picking up the nearest section to him. It was covered in notes, written in a familiar, cramped hand in fine black ink. “Hermione, what is this exactly?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione takes bringing her work home with her literally.”

Hermione frowned, indignantly. “It only happens because you keep twisting them with casting a finding spell first.”

“Right and how exactly am I meant to tell the difference between every one of the million scrolls you bring home?”

“Perpetual Parchment is heavier, obviously!”

“Obviously!” Ron echoed, looking deeply unimpressed with his current predicament.

Harry smiled slightly at the familiar bickering. “What are they actually for though?” he tilted his head to read the section he held, which seemed to be discussing something about licensing.

Hermione manoeuvred through the tangled web of parchment carefully trying not to crush any of the yellowed paper coils. “My team is addressing the lycanthropic sub council of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in two days’ time. We’re delivering a reform to the current Werewolf Restrictions Act-” she explained as she moved.

Ron wiggles his arms experimentally.

“Ron stop, you’ll crumple the clauses!”

“Merlin forbid I crumple the clauses.” Ron muttered, rebelliously.

Harry marvelled at the sheer volume of the mess. “All this is for one meeting?”

Hermione shrugged, reaching through the web to try to grasp the wooden scroll handle, still kept aloft by Ron. “Not quite. It’s a coup, of sorts.”

“A coup?” Harry echoed, bewildered. “You’re taking over the Ministry?”

“Ha! They should be so lucky!” Ron called out, trying not to shift. “Hermione, that’s not the handle, that’s my leg.”

“Not the Ministry,” Hermione corrected Harry. “Just the sub council. As part of their regulatory charter, when they ratify the Act, they’ll have to disband and reform- Oh, hang on, I think I’ve got-”

“No, that’s not it either-!” Ron yelped.

“And that helps you how?” Harry enquired, absently as he unearthed the spring rolls from the submerged coffee table. No point in them going to waste, he supposed.

Hermione looked pleased with herself as she replied: “Part of the new Act demands equal werewolf representation on the council. They’ll have to elect new members immediately.”

Harry let out an impressed whistle. “Nicely planned.”

“It shouldn’t even be necessary,” Hermione said, scathingly. “It’s absolutely criminal that a council which makes decisions about an entire community doesn’t have so much as one community representative, let alone a group as vulnerable as werewolves- oof!”

In a flash, Hermione vanished beneath the parchment tangle, only the tips of her wildly curly black hair still visible.

“’Mione are you alright?” Harry called out, mildly concerned.

“We’re fine!” she squeaked back. Harry could hear Ron snickering.

“Oh good, you found him, I was worried we’d have to Accio him out.” He remarked, squinting through the mess to see if he could find that dipping sauce.

There was a pause, the couple’s conversation muffled by the mess they found themselves in Then, from deep within the piles, he heard Hermione let out a laugh and suddenly her voice: “Volumentilis!”

The parchment began to wind back as quickly as it had unwound, until all that was left was a mildly ruffled dinner spread, a single inconspicuous looking scroll wrapped about a wooden handle and the pair of them in the armchair. Hermione was practically in Ron’s lap, his arm looped familiarly around her waist as she reached for the end of the scroll he was still keeping aloft. Warm faced, smiling at each other, they didn’t even seem to remember Harry was even in the room.

He took only a small amount of childish glee in reminding them, with a pointed cough.

Hermione blinked, scrambling to get out of the position while Ron’s ears turned furiously red. He coughed, handing her the scroll handle carefully before he turned a mild glare on Harry.

“Shut up.” Ron groused.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t worry Harry, Ron’s just sensitive because George has been giving him a hard time since he caught us snogging in the office at the shop.” Hermione replied, unbothered as she transferred the scroll to her work bag, clipping it shut neatly.

The crimson of Ron’s ears intensified and spread, filling his freckled cheeks while Harry hooted with laughter. “Yeah, go ahead, have a laugh,” he muttered but there was no venom in his tone and only something soft in his eyes when he looked at his girlfriend. “George certainly did.”

“As if he hasn’t walked in on snogging before.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Her smile looked close to a smirk. “Besides, when he and Angelina finally stop their dancing around, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make fun of your brother.”

Still snickering, Harry mercifully let the matter drop. “So, you’re preparing a coup for werewolf rights and Ron’s got a special order for a Fracturing Fork from the Minister of Magic-”

Ron tapped his chin, thoughtfully. “Huh, that’s not a bad name. Better than the Earsplitter, that’s for sure.”

“Well what about you?” Hermione asked, hopefully. “Anything you’re working on? What about your cousin?”

Harry shuffled, uncomfortably. He thought about bringing up his cousin and his aunt and the whole saga with Clementine with Hermione; it would have been helpful to have her perspective on how regular Muggleborns were introduced to the Wizarding World. But he’d been doing well not dwell over it and he didn’t want to spoil the mood.

“Oh, I’m far too busy starring in every trashy publication this side of the Channel.” He instead replied, lightly.

“There is a world outside the Auror Department, you know.” Ron pointed out, sarcastically. “I hear they even let you visit there sometimes.”

“Senior Auror takes vacation in the midst of assault investigation and suspension, is Potter out for good?” he replied, sarcastically. “Maybe I should get a job at the Prophet writing their headlines for them.”

“But you’re not out for good, it’s just a suspension.” Hermione said firmly. Sensing Harry’s hesitation, she frowned, concerned. “Isn’t it?”

Harry pushed his spring rolls around, idly. “I mean, I haven’t heard anything.” He said, not meeting his friend’s gaze. “As far as I know, nothing’s been decided.”

“That’s what Ron said.” Hermione said with a decisive nod. For his part, Ron looked less certain.

Harry kept pushing his food about as he continued. “But I guess I’ve just been thinking whether it’d be so bad if it was. Permanent, I mean.” He finally blurted out.

The silence was thick with shock between the three of them. “But,” Hermione finally said, bewildered. “Your career- I mean, you’ve put in so much work! I thought being an Auror was what you wanted!”

“I thought so too. I mean I think it still is, but I-” Harry finally set his meal down on the coffee table, looking up at his best friends instead. They both looked stunned. “I guess I’ve just been wondering if fighting’s all I’m good for.”

Ron scowled immediately. “That’s bollocks, Harry.”

“You’ve been giving this some thought then.” Hermione’s expression fell from astonishment to careful composure. “Since before the suspension?”

“For a while.” Harry shrugged, not looking at Ron. “I guess this whole thing with the trial just brought it all back up, that’s all.”

“Brought what up?” Ron asked.

Harry paused, trying to pick his words carefully. “I just wonder if I’m actually doing any good.” It felt equally relieving and sickening to say the words out loud, like the two sensations were duelling it out in his gut.

“Any good-? Harry, you’ve spent years catching criminals who hurt other people, innocent people!” Hermione exclaimed. “How can you not think that matters?”

“I know it matters, I just-” Harry waved his hand in an undefinable gesture, frustrated with himself for not being able to explain himself better. “Tiltenhaus killed two people and he might get away with it because of me.” He finally said, the guilt in his voice heavy.

“If Tiltenhaus does walk, it would be because of that member who accused you of attacking him!” Hermione exclaimed, righteously.

“Listen, it’s just one case mate,” Ron added. He looked painfully earnest. “You can’t question everything you’ve worked for because one prick in a fancy robe started spouting accusations.”

“Exactly!” Hermione cried, outraged. “You can’t give him the satisfaction! ”

That’s not the point, he wanted to say but he wasn’t precisely sure what was the point. So instead Harry threw them both a weak smile. “Yeah, well. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

“Well you don’t have to worry,” Hermione said, decisively. “Everything will work out, I know it.”

“Maybe when she’s finished whipping the Department of Magical Creatures into shape, she’ll come for the Auror Department.” Ron teased, though he eyed Harry with a somewhat pensive look.

Harry ignored it. “You know, I think I’d pay to see that fight.” He mused, mildly.

“It’s not a fight,” Hermione countered, primly as she picked up her pineapple rice/satay tofu mix and settled back on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her. Still clad in the enormous red sweater, one might have been forgiven in mistaking her as nonthreatening. “It’s a coup.”

One would, of course, be wrong.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

 

Notes:

Writing this has made me think a lot about:

a) Hermione's ability to navigate politics in the Ministry. I've come to the conclusion she has become both savvy, forthright and swift to act. It has proved problematic in the past but once she has a plan, Hermione will see it through no matter what.

b) the internal structure of the Auror Department. this will become relevant later on. I think.

c) What domestic Hermione/Ron look like. Spoiler alert, it's really fucking cute okay.

Also. How do you guys feel about the trial plotline? It's become slightly more relevant as this fic unspools, which I hadn't expected tbh.

Hope you're all safe and well! There's been talk in my neck of the woods that some restrictions on gatherings might be easing to under 10 people and I'm a little bit too excited <3 <3

Chapter 6: JUST A LITTLE OFF THE SIDES I'LL BE QUICK

SIX.

JUST A LITTLE OFF THE SIDES, I’LL BE QUICK

“I’m coming home.”

Harry sighed. “We both agreed this was important for you.”

Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently, though it was hard to take a fiery head floating on a stove top seriously. “We made that agreement before you were front page news.”

“I’m always front page news.” Harry pointed out.

His girlfriend was unappeased. “I’m coming home.” She repeated, tersely. “The camp is over in a week anyhow-”

“You have three weeks left, Gin.” He corrected, pointedly.

She tossed her head, long red hair swinging in the flames. “Details.” she dismissed. “This is more important.”

“What is? Watching me crawl the apartment walls? Burn copies of the Prophet? Curse at nosy reporters?” Harry threw back.

“It’d be easier than watching through the bloody stove top.” She grumbled. “We didn’t know how big this would get when I left.”

He sat back against the kitchen’s breakfast counter, watching Ginny’s floating head peer back at him with concern. Even with their extension charms, the apartment was too small for a fireplace of their own. There was a communal one downstairs in the front foyer of the building for the Floo but for chatting, Harry and Ginny had always found a pinch of green powder on the gas stovetop did the trick just fine, though it was far less reliable than Floo in the fireplace. Even now, the image of her flickered perilously.

“I kind of made it big.” he admitted, sheepishly. “Not on purpose but- I mean, it’s my fault I couldn’t keep my wand to myself.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It sounds like the prick needed a good hexing anyway.”

“I didn’t hex him.” Harry exclaimed, indignantly but Ginny had already moved on.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” she said, frowning at him. “I can come home early, it’s not a big deal.”

“You said yourself, the camp is important if you want a shot at captain come start of season.” Harry replied, firmly though a part of him thought he could really use Ginny’s unique combination of empathy, humour and tough love to put his woes into perspective. He could almost hear her: Cheer up Potter, it’s not as though you died. Again. “I’m fine here, I promise.” He said instead.

“More important to some than others.” Ginny muttered, darkly. “Dorothea needs to be taken down a peg or two. How she can even get off the ground with that ego of hers is a mystery.”

“Glad you’re having fun then.” Harry said, wryly.

“Oh, tonnes.” Ginny replied, flatly but there was a hint of a smile. “Anyway. How’ve you gone with that other thing, with your cousin?”

Harry groaned, tilting his head back. “Don’t remind me. Why’d I say I’d ask about magical kids? I don’t even know any magical kids except for Teddy!”

Ginny snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

He frowned, confused by her tone. “What d’you mean?”

She peered back with a look of disbelief. “Harry. If you need advice on magical children, you already know an expert.”

Sensing a trap but not quite sure where it lay, Harry hesitated. “…McGonagall?”

Her disbelief transformed into outright derision. “Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “My mum’s had seven magical children and she’s constantly begging you to go round for tea. She would write you up an invitation if she thought it’d help.”

He closed his eyes, wearily. “I’m so glad,” Harry said with great emphasis. “That you’re the smart one in this relationship.”

“Someone clearly has to be.” Ginny laughed but the image flickered again and then again, more forcefully. “Bugger, the connection’s breaking up.”

Harry nodded, smothering his disappointment. “You’d better go knock Dorothea off her broom.”

“My curse in life.” Ginny agreed. They paused, just watching each other for a long moment. “I miss you.” she admitted, quietly. “Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m aw-”

The stovetop went out. The flame vanished, replaced by a thin curl of wispy grey smoke.

“I’ll try.” Harry sighed to no one.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Molly Weasley’s kitchen possessed the unusual ability to remain exactly the same regardless of whatever was happening outside it. The pots still scrubbed themselves. The stack of magical cookbooks on the mantelpiece always looked near to toppling but never had or would. A scruffy brown owl was perched on the window sill, picking at some stale bread which had been left out.

(Harry couldn’t be sure it was Errol because he’d been sure Errol was grey and it had been a few years but at the risk of insensitively bringing up a dead pet, Harry usually took his cue from Ron and Ginny who referred to the poor creature as featherbrain.)

As Harry had exited the Burrow’s fireplace, these warm details of the ageless Burrow kitchen enveloped him as they usually did. At the centre of the mismatched furniture and clashing patterns, Molly Weasley held court as always, her wild red curls streaked with white as she tended to her home and its occupants. Currently, that meant the part-Veela hellions tearing through the upper storeys.

“Girls! Girls, no running in the house!” she shouted as the patter of little feet raced through the loungeroom and up the stairs. She turned back to Harry with a weary expression. “You’d think the house was on fire the way they rush about while Bill’s out.”

Harry peered upwards thoughtfully. “No noise now though.” He pointed out.

Molly threw him a somewhat indulgent glance. “A sign trouble’s on its way, no doubt.”

“I’m sorry, you’re busy,” Harry apologised as she bustled about him. “I should’ve owled you first-”

Molly waved a hand immediately. “Don’t be silly, dear, Arthur and Bill are at the Ministry and it’s only the two girls besides.”

“Are you sure you’re not-?”

“I used to juggle seven at a time, dear, don’t worry, they’ll tire themselves out soon.” She flapped a hand once more.

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter while Molly finished her laundry charms. “So does that mean Bill’s taken that contract then? With the Minstry, I mean?”

Molly shook her head, as though tired of the subject. “Oh no, he’s got to renew his cursebreaking license but they won’t allow him to file the paperwork in France, it’s all such a bother frankly and not a mite rude of them, you see, to offer him a job with one hand and make him jump through hoops with the other!” she continued, hotly. Through the window, Harry noted the basket of wet washing began to peg itself up on the line outside, one sleeve at a time. “It’s a pity Fleur couldn’t come with them this time.” she added wistfully. “It’s been so nice to have the place full of people again.”

Harry could not conceal a wince. “I’m really sorry I haven’t visited lately, Mrs Weasley.”

“Oh never mind that, dear, you’ve had your reasons.” Though it was expressed with complete authenticity, guilt still curdled in his stomach. Molly Weasley’s capacity for shaming her children remained as sharp as ever over the years. “Now have a sit, biscuits will be ready soon, sit, sit, my goodness, look at your hair! Harry dear, it always looks so neat when you have it cut, won’t you let me have a go, just a little off the sides, I’ll be quick-”

Harry took his regular seat at the long Weasley family table, enjoying the quiet warmth which filled him whenever he mused over the fact that he had his own spot: a beaten up, formerly-plum-purple-now-sort-of-lavender-coloured arm chair which had been discovered in the attic several years ago.

Molly took the head of the table, as per usual. “It’s just awful what they’re putting you through, dear.” she jumped straight in, unflinchingly. Blunt as ever, Harry mused.

There was a teapot whistling over on the stovetop but Molly flicked her wand at it without even so much as a glance. “I’ve been writing to the Ministry every day, you know. I’ve half a mind to turn up in person, I’d have words with that Shacklebolt-”

“It’s alright Mrs Weasley,” Harry interrupted hastily at the mention of Kingsley. He wasn’t quite sure if a fired up Weasley was a fate he’d wish on anyone, let alone a man he considered a friend. “Kingsley’s been helping, actually. His hands are tied as much as mine. He’s doing as much as he can.”

Molly harrumphed, unappeased. “He ought to be doing more, he’s the Minister for Merlin’s sake! And don’t get me started on that wretched man, the one who’s been giving interviews left and right-”

“Talbins.” Harry named, flatly.

“-saying you attacked him! Well I for one don’t believe it!” She continued, cheeks flushed with the precisely the same shade of pink as Ron’s ears when he was angry.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s been about a bit, hasn’t he?” he said, darkly, though saying so was a little like saying Voldemort had been a bit of a nuisance. The only wizard in Britain with more time on the front pages than Harry was the man who accused him: Toliver Talbins, Wizengamot Member, judicially appointed defence interrogator and all-around prick.

“The Prophet’s been bad ink for years!” Molly continued, irritably though she took a moment to flick her wand at the stove top. The kettle gently levitated, bobbing along with two slightly chipped mugs toward the table. “I've been saying it since that horrid piece they ran on that poor old witch getting evicted from her own house, all those horrid pictures of her in her nightie, I said right then, this paper has gone all to shame, printing things of that sort! And now look at what they've been writing about you, I mean imagine giving that sort of rubbish the time of day-”

Harry hid his wince as she spoke. He told himself he wasn’t really, technically meant to be discussing the trial with anyone, though it seemed poor form for him to allow Mrs Weasley to continue to rage indignant on his behalf when he had indeed committed the crime she’d deemed him innocent of. Besides, a small part of him felt pleased about the way Mrs Weasley always thought the best of him.

Instead, Harry put the issue aside and forced himself to focus instead on the problem at hand. “Actually Mrs Weasley, I came to ask about something else.”

With another flick of her wand, the tea kettle began to pour. The older witch didn’t even seem to notice herself doing it, merely looking politely curious at Harry. “Yes, dear? What is it?”

Harry shuffled in his seat. “Right,” he began, awkwardly. “Well, it’s not for what it sounds but- well, I guess I wanted to ask about kids. You know, magical ones, I mean.”

Molly’s jaw literally dropped. The teakettle dropped out of the air, clanging to the ground with a crash, followed swiftly by the remainder of the wet washing and the scrubbers in the sink attacking the greasy plates. Even the mouthlike door to the oven fell open in shock. The quiet left behind by the cessation of magic sounded deafening to Harry.

“Children?” she squeaked, eyes lit with some sordid mix of astonishment and glee.

“Not for me!” he blurted out, hastily. “Me and Ginny- we’re not- I mean- not right now- we haven’t- um. Not for us.”

Harry caught her shoulders drooping just a little, though the Weasley matriarch tried to hide it. She fanned herself instead. “Of course, dear. Of course.”

The teakettle looked like it was outright pouting. The scrubbers went back to their washing in a sulk.

“It’s just…well…do you remember my cousin?” Harry said, carefully.

The wistfulness vanished, replaced with narrowed, disdainful eyes. “You mean that oaf of a boy and his useless, good for nothing parents.” she said, flatly. “What have they done now?”

“My cousin has a daughter. She’s showing signs of magic.” Harry finally said, as bluntly as possible. There was really no other way to put it, even though it did not sound any more plausible with repetition.

Molly’s eyebrows raised, though she remained politely disdainful at the mention of Dursleys. “What sort of signs?”

Harry explained his Aunt’s ramblings about babies on the ceiling and Dudley mentioning the singing curtains and finally, the fireworks he’d witnessed just last week. “She just seems kind of young, you know? I mean, she’s only two.”

Mrs Weasley hummed, knowingly. “Oh, it strikes at any age, dear. Percy made the bathwater turn to a sandpit when he was four because he didn’t want to wash. It took us two days to work out how to change it back.”

(Harry tucked this little nugget aside, having learned from Ron and Ginny that gathering embarrassing information about one’s siblings, or as good as in Harry’s case, was never a poor idea.)

“Is that normal?” Harry wondered, part of him genuinely curious. When he thought about all the odd happenings that surrounded his childhood - haircuts which grew back overnight and finding himself on rooftops unexpectedly - he seemed to recall he’d been about school age. He’d certainly made enough teachers cross with him for making everyone’s homework disappear off their desks or turning all the chalk into cheese. “Andromeda says the younger, the more powerful.”

He was surprised when Molly outright snorted. “Oh, what pureblood rubbish,” she dismissed. “By that logic, Ginny should be a Squib! She didn’t show any signs until she was nearly eleven.”

“Really?”

“George was teasing her that she wouldn’t get to go to Hogwarts. She set his eyebrows on fire. We were very proud.” Molly recalled, fondly.

“Yeah that seems about right.” He muttered, subconsciously patting down his own brows. He sat back in his seat, more confused than ever. “But then…there’s no reason or pattern to it? At all?”

“None whatsoever.” Molly announced merrily. “Though certainly once they start, it’s difficult to stop. Accidental magic is accidental for a reason, there’s not an awful lot of control involved. Helga help us, Arthur and I went through two rooves, four ovens and about a dozen garden beds between the seven of them.”

Just for fun, Harry imagined pudgy, blonde baby Clementine exploding the roof of off the house at Number 7 Keller Circle.

The image was so alarming that it did not merit imagining a second time.

Molly was still speaking. “I must have sent Arthur out for Nullifying Knick Knacks so often I’m sure the woman at the apothecary thought we were mad. Or stupid.”

“Nullifying knick-knacks? What’re those?” His ears perked.

Molly shrugged. “Just what they sound like, usually they’re hung over a crib and absorb most of the really wild magic so you’ll keep your house in one piece.” Then she chuckled. “They don’t last forever of course, but they do in a pinch until the little one settles down. Which she will, dear, mind you.” Molly added, reassuringly. “Eventually.”

Harry felt a sweep of relief run through him. “Can Muggles use them? If I got one for Dudley?”

Molly raised a single brow, archly. “I don’t see why not, though I’d be surprised if he’d lower himself to using them.” She sniffed. “I thought that lot considered themselves rather above magic?”

“It’s not for them,” Harry said, haltingly. “It’s just- she’s just a baby, Mrs Weasley. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She looked unbearably fond for a moment. “Quite right, dear. Well, let’s go check shall we?”

The entry to the attic was concealed in a small hatch in the ceiling just outside of Ron’s bedroom. Harry caught a glimpse of its vividly orange décor from the hallway as they unfolded the creaky wooden ladder, Mrs Weasley leading the way. The attic was pokey in the way much of the Burrow was, full of boxes and objects and trunks which were stacked in a labyrinthian manner, forcing the pair to manoeuvre amongst the piles with caution.

“Somewhere over…” Molly hummed as she looked, brow furrowed. “Oh for heaven’s sake, I thought I told Arthur to throw those away…” she grumbled.

Harry peered through the piles, though he had no idea what he was looking for. He wandered away from Mrs Weasley, inspecting the clutter which seemed to be vaguely organised by Weasley spawn. There was a rather tall stack on his left piled high upon a truly battered trunk initialled with a W.A.W which he suspected belonged to Bill, and an old shoebox full of Chocolate Frog cards which must have been Ron’s. There were a few old scribbly drawings whose figured hopped about the page unevenly when he poked them, and a box or two of old comic books and kids’ toys and photo albums. The whole space was dim and cramped and borderline claustrophobic but Harry found himself strangely endeared by the sight. This was how a wizard family kept memories, he mused. All hoarded away like a dragon keeping gold.

In the far corner of the attic, high above the rest of the melee, sat a few precariously stacked cardboard boxes which seemed rather dusty. Harry hopefully pried open a lid off the top and instantly regretted it: it was full to the brim of old saggy knit jumpers, each bestowed with a glittering golden F. He wondered if Molly or Arthur had tucked them back here for safe keeping, though the location seemed hard to access for either of them, what with Molly’s poor eyesight and Arthur’s bad knees. George, then, Harry thought, his stomach twisting as he carefully put the lid back on.

“Oh, I think I have them!” Molly called, a welcome interruption. He followed the sound of her voice, until he found her kneeling beside a very old, rather small wooden chest. It was carved with an old-fashioned crest depicting the letter W with a finely hewn weasel creeping across it.

“My brothers gave me this when I was pregnant with Bill. It’s charmed to keep little fingers out, you see. Very handy for an expectant mother.” the older witch hummed, nostalgically. She cracked open the lock, revealing a tangled nest of what looked like old children’s toys, strung on chains.

The box gave off a strange sort of feeling amongst the rest of the familial detritus; unlike the rest of the attic which held the Burrow’s typical warmth and crackle of magic, the toys were utterly still, lifeless, bland. They looked about as un-magical as toys could be.

Harry inspected the knick-knacks further. No two were alike, each one made of chipped glass or scratch plastic or metal or some sort of worn out furry plush. He wondered who belonged to who: There was the little thatched broomstick and the small glass owl with the luminescent yellow eyes, followed by a pair of duelling unicorns with their glittering horns interlocked, the frayed Niffler plush with beady eyes, and a golden star which glowed from within.

Molly smiled, her eyes a little watery as she brushed her fingers over the small bearded wizard with his chipped spell book. “One for each of them.” she murmured, lost in memory for a moment before she blinked, drawing herself out.

“Here now, this one was Charlie’s-” she lifted out a small, painted dragon with gold-green papery wings. Of course, Harry thought, amused. “-His was the strongest I should think.” Molly continued, thoughtfully. “We bought it right after he made his bedroom disappear.”

Harry blinked. “Disappear? As in-?” He made a vague gesture, blowing his cheeks out with a soft explosion noise.

Molly looked up at him wearily. “He didn’t want to go to bed.” She said by way of explanation.

Harry gingerly took the dragon charm, strung on a thin metal chain. “And this’ll help with the accidental magic stuff?”

“They worked for us,” Molly tilted her head. “Admittedly, not all the boys needed them but Arthur and I decided to err on the side of caution after Percy.”

“Sounds sensible.” Harry muttered, internally wondering how the Weasleys still managed to have a house after seven tiny magical babies. It made Clementine’s little stunts seem downright harmless. He considered the Nullifying Knick-knack, wondering what Dudley would think of it. Knowingly accepting a magical object? Keeping in his house? It sounded all a little too much for the cousin he knew.

Harry supposed he could always present it as a gift somehow; it would have been a rather innocent gift from anyone else but coming from him, Dudley would be rather suspicious. The only fair way was honesty, Harry resolved. He would present it to his cousin, explain it use and then leave it to Dudley to decide what to do with it. He’d done his due, supplied the information that had been requested and even found a bit of a solution. Whatever happened next was on Dudley.

He did quietly make a note to make sure nothing happened to the dragon if Dudley did reject it. Harry could see all of the Knick-knacks were dearly loved. It wouldn’t be right to let his cousin ruin a Weasley childhood treasure.

He was broken from his train of thought as Molly tried to rise to her feet, wincing about halfway. Harry immediately gently gripped her elbow, steadying her. “Thank you dear, would you mind-?” Harry obliged wordlessly, helping her to the attic entrance.

“These old bones aren’t what they used to be.” Molly sighed, apologetic.

“I could carry you if you’d prefer?” he suggested, teasingly, as he assisted her back down the ladder, down the stairs to the kitchen.

The witch harrumphed, thwapping his arm though her eyes glowed with amusement. “Oh, I’m not quite so frail yet, I’ll have you know, Harry Potter.” She scolded as she settled back into her seat at the head of the table, her cup of tea magically kept piping hot.

Harry grinned. “Perish the thought.”

Molly seemed fit to chide him some more but her wand suddenly flicked in her grasp, so quickly as though she had not so moved it on purpose but out of reflex. The door to the oven snapped shut, though Harry had not even see it open. A series of whines followed and two small blonde heads poked up from behind the kitchen island with woefully large eyes.

“I told you both, no biscuits until after dinner.” Molly warned.

“But Uncle Harry gets biscuits!” Dominique complained, her voice high and reedy with a rather thick French accent. She settled her chin on the wooden island with a petulant thunk. The effect was not quite as morose as she might have thought; the younger Weasley sister’s deep golden skin and exceptionally white blonde hair, inherited from her mother, made her look more cherubic than sombre.

“Harry has had his supper already and he is a guest.” Molly corrected, unwaveringly.

“Mémé! Ceci n’est pas juste!” Victoire wailed. Though she resembled her sister, their colouring was rather different, Victoire clad head to toe with sprays of freckles like her father and her hair was far more strawberry, as if Fleur’s typically dominant Veela genes had met their match with the tenacious Weasley fiery hair. Harry noted she’d had another growth spurt, which put her quite at a bit taller than his godson’s natural height, though she was the same age as Teddy.

(His godson was sure to be annoyed by this news. When the family had gathered together at last Easter, Teddy had grown an extra half foot just to annoy the little witch who had been so enraged by his smugness that she’d dumped Audrey’s dessert trifle over his head. The resulting squabble landed both of them covered in mud from the nearby pond, much to Harry’s dismay. He’d worried Andromeda would never let him to take Teddy out every again but the older witch had simply laughed. Nothing his mother didn’t put me through twice over, she’d remarked with an eye roll.)

“They’re not ready yet.” Molly held firm. “And they won’t be until that mess you made upstairs is cleaned up.”

The girls howled in unison. “We didn’t-!”

“It’s a shame too, because I added extra chocolate chips.” She added, sighing sorrowfully. “All to waste. Such a pity.”

Victoire and Dominique exchanged loaded glances with each other and then threw their grandmother a scrutinising stare which strongly resembled their mother’s frightful intensity. Harry would’ve cracked but Molly simply sat at her table, sipping her tea with ne’er a care in the world until-

Sharp whispers in French, a stampede of little feet up the staircase, the distant slam of a door and suddenly the kitchen was calm again.

Harry raised a brow at Molly. “How’d you know they made a mess?”

Molly sipped her tea with another sigh, this one more fond than woeful. “There’s always a mess dear.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

If you want to know why this chapter took so long, it is because of two reasons.

Firstly, writing Molly Weasley was so unexpectedly hard I literally gave up for a few weeks and wrote the next chapter (soon to come, won't take nearly as much time.)

Secondly, I had to change some details for the rest of the fic in light of JK Rowling's gross anti-transgender rights rant because this fic and this writer supports trans women as real women and that's that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, bonus points if you can guess whose Knick-knack is whose.
Also, also, say hello to Ginny, she's a fave of mine even though she hasn't made much of an appearance. yet.

Chapter 7: IT’S AS MUCH ABOUT WHAT IS SAID AS WHERE IT’S SAID

SEVEN.

IT’S AS MUCH ABOUT WHAT IS SAID AS WHERE IT’S SAID

The note was written in Kingsley’s customary style.

Meaning it was around five lines of fine cursive, scribbled on a literal scrap of paper and delivered by his incredibly judgemental owl. The creature made a low purring noise in his throat when Harry approached it at his kitchen window the next morning.

For a Minister for Magic, Kingsley didn’t seem to put much ceremony in his correspondence.

The note didn’t give much away. Just asked Harry to attend a meeting at his office at around half past twelve that afternoon. He initially thought this was a little presumptive (what if he’d had plans?) before realising that Kingsley probably knew he didn’t have anything better to do than sit about waiting for news.

“D’you have any clue what’s going on?” he asked the owl who simply blinked, ruffled his feathers and took off from the window again. “S’pose that’s a no, then.”

Suddenly Ron’s earlier mention of interrogating the owls seemed not altogether ridiculous.

He spent the morning trying not to focus on the clock (which proved useless), and to focus instead on preparing for what the meeting could have in store (which proved anxious).

At around twelve, Harry prepared to leave his flat, tugging his old school trunk out from under his bed. From it, he withdrew his cloak. The material felt nearly weightless as it always had, slipping between his fingers like water made cloth. His tugged it over his shoulders, lifting the hood over his head until he had completely vanished from sight. As it usually did, the sensation was tinged with a strange sort of nostalgia. When he, Ron and Hermione had hidden beneath it as tiny First Years, it had seemed voluminous and mysterious, capable of shielding all three of them. Now it skimmed along the ground as he walked, concealing every inch of his body but certainly no bigger than his regular cloak.

He figured he was better to take the Floo than Apparate, to better avoid the main entrance to the Ministry. While his tiny apartment did not have the space for a fireplace (hence Ginny’s head on the stovetop), there was a communal one installed in the foyer for the use of the building’s magical inhabitants. It was maintained with a low, heatless flame with a discreet pot of green powder on the mantle.

Harry took a brief moment to settle himself in the relative calm of the building’s foyer, then set foot into the flames. Within moments, he emerged from the wreath of crackling emerald flames into the bustling belly of the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium.

The enormous gilded hall buzzed with witches and wizards and creatures of all sizes, hustling to and fro on their own business. Harry even caught a glimpse of one or two of his co-workers, silver Auror badges flashing. Though he still didn’t enjoy crowds, being invisible made the experience far more tolerable. Harry wove through the clumps of people and creatures, ducking around outflung hands and powerwalking assistants as they charged through the fray.

He passed the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren about halfway down, or at least, the new one. It was an early passion project of Hermione’s from when she first entered the Ministry. The old one, featuring the magical creatures staring adoringly up at the witch and wizard, had been destroyed during the War. Its replacement was almost twelve feet tall, and featured a sort of enormous spill of liquid bronze, suspended in the centre of the fountain where it rippled and flexed in slow motion.

Every so often, the liquid bronze surged and swirled to form a glowing, shining figure rendered in terrific detail. The figure was sometimes a witch, or a wizard, or sometimes a House Elf, or a goblin, or a centaur or a giant or a mermaid or any number of creature. No two figures, even of the same species, were ever quite the same. It was an impressive bit of spell work. Many assumed she’d done it herself, though Harry knew Hermione had in fact commissioned a small army of magical artists to prepare it.

Moving on from the statue, Harry neatly folded himself into one of the less crowded elevators from the bank of them at the end of the Atrium. He slipped out on the first level. Kingsley’s office was at the very end of the long hallway, guarded by his assistant Fiona Firth who took her job as the gatekeeper to the Minister’s office very seriously.

It was with no small satisfaction that Harry suddenly revealed himself in front of her desk, prompting a small yelp of surprise.

“Good afternoon, Fiona.” He said politely, with a smile as though nothing could possibly have been wrong. “I have an appointment at half past twelve.”

She gaped at him, twisting to glare behind him at the corridor where she should have had generous forewarning of his arrival. “Mister Potter- I- where did you-” she stammered, bewildered and almost a little indignant. “You can’t Apparate in here!”

“I’d imagine not. Doesn’t seem very secure for the Minister’s office.” Harry agreed casually and tilted his chin towards the door behind her. “Is he in then?”

Fiona forcibly composed herself, standing and ushering him through. “He’s expecting you. May I take your cloak, sir?” she asked, stiffly.

“Oh, this old thing? I wouldn’t part with it for the world.” Harry replied, unable and unwilling to explain the joke as he entered the office. He stuffed into his coat pocket as he went, the material crumpling with ease.

But any small amount of cheer he’d had evaporated on sight. Kingsley was not alone.

“Harry.” he said, with a small nod. He looked tired. “Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” His desk had been transfigured to a conference table which seated the room’s four occupants.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Harry said, politely as he sat before turning to the witch beside him. “Madame Zhao.” He greeted, warily. Thick dark hair cut close to her scalp at the sides and streaked with grey on top, she wore a pair of thin rimmed glasses which did nothing to conceal her bright, alert gaze.

Rebecca Zhao was the Head of the Auror Department and had been since Kingsley left for the Minister’s office. Since the end of the war, she’d been the driving force behind the push to reinstall public faith and confidence in the Department, whose reputation had been besmirched with Death Eaters and spies for the Dark Lord during the war.

As far as Harry knew, she’d done remarkably well at it. The Chiefs under her command referred to her with respect and spoke highly of her, including his own, Chief Auror Whittaker.

Personally, they hadn’t had much contact during his six years with the Auror Department, though that was likely purposeful. Zhao had always been exceptionally careful in treating he and Ron with the same mindfulness and support she gave all the Aurors under her command, which he’d appreciated and understood. Playing favourites was never a good look but especially not with war heroes who had more or less skipped the years of hard slog at the Auror Academy.

That being said, the last time they’d spoken, Zhao was demanding Harry hand over his Auror badge.

However, if she bore him any ill will the witch was remarkably gifted at concealing it. “Mr Potter. Nice to see you again.” She acknowledged, turning to the man beside her. “No doubt, you already know Mr Bridewell.” Here, she did not hide her tone of disdain.

The mild-looking wizard beside her was not ruffled by it. He simply greeted Harry with a neutral nod. “We’ve met before when I signed the warrant for Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ arrest.”

“I remember.” Harry said, flatly.

Zhao made a humming noise of derision. “Well, while ordinarily I find it inappropriate to discuss sensitive matters of this kind with temporary officials,” she emphasised the word, pointedly. “These are not ordinary circumstances.”

Kingsley sighed noisily behind his desk. “Rebecca,” he began but Bridewell raised a hand, asking for a moment.

“Minister, if you would allow me,” he interrupted, politely. “Madame Zhao, I understand your reservations, I do. But I can assure you I am aware I’m only here to warm the seat for my successor, nothing more, nothing less. I’m only here to assist in whatever fashion I can.” He gave a bland smile but then, everything about Bridewell was bland. His cloak and shirt were pale grey. His hair was an unremarkable shade of dark brown. With every twitch of his face, he seemed to evaporate from the memory of those around him. Hermione alleged that he’d been selected from one of the actuary departments of the Ministry’s treasury, which made the whole thing even more ridiculous in Harry’s book.

After almost eight months, Harry still marvelled that such a wizard had been placed, even temporarily, as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. The stupidity of the Ministry’s bureaucracy was breathtaking at times.

Zhao, it seemed, was as unimpressed by the man as Harry. “Be that as it may, Mr Bridewell, the situation requires more than assistance, it needs a solution.” She turned to Harry. “Mr Potter, I’m sure you’re aware that Mr Talbins has made a fine scene for himself in the press.”

“Couldn’t have missed it.” Harry responded, flatly. “I’m on the front page of every paper from here to Turkey.”

Zhao hummed. “I suppose you couldn’t. You drop your shoulder when you throw your Jelly Bones Jinx, by the way.” She added, offhandedly.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a long almost-sigh. “Thanks.”

“The question at hand is how this incident will affect the trial.” Kingsley reigned them back to the matter at hand, firmly. “Ordinarily, I’d just remove Talbins from the defence-”

“He should’ve been removed as soon as he started attacking Sasha Tiltenhaus.” Harry bit out. Then, he added, belatedly: “Sir.”

Kingsley frowned. “I don’t disagree, Harry. But I’m afraid that now it’ll look as though we’re stacking the deck. It only strengthens Tiltenhaus’ appeal.”

“He’s already planning an appeal.” Harry stated with a scowl. “Have they declared a mistrial then? That’s what Talbins’ been banging on about this whole time isn’t it?”

Zhao’s flinty eyes glinted as she spoke. “The Wizengamot has ruled that the trial will continue as planned. Talbins has been retained, though he knows he’s on his last bloody leg. They’re set to re-examine Sasha Tiltenhau. Two weeks from Friday.”

“They’re putting her through all that again?” Harry exclaimed, aghast. “Hasn’t she gone through enough?”

Hands clasped tightly together on the table, Kingsley looked as disapproving of the decision as Harry. “It was put to a vote and passed.” He said, flatly “Talbins has been retained on the defence but he’s been demoted as their interrogator. A new one has been appointed, an outside contractor this time. She’s been warned that she is to treat Sasha carefully. The courts don’t take harassment of underaged witnesses lightly, Harry.” he added, firmly. “This will be done right, I promise.”

“The only problem is,” Zhao sighed with frustration. “Sasha has added a condition to her testimony.”

Harry frowned. “Which is?”

 “She wants you present in the courtroom with her.” Zhao said, bluntly.

Bridewell made a small cough, the first noise he’d made in the discussion so far. “I’m not so sure that’s a wise decision.” He said, peaceably. Harry had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. They watered from the exertion.

Kingsley let loose a noisy sigh. “Yes, that was the general impression of the Wizengamot as well.” He added as though exasperated by the court members’ increasingly ridiculous whims.

Zhao raised a brow at the men. “I’ll be blunt,” she said, as though she had any other way to be. “If Sasha doesn’t testify, this case will fall apart. The physical evidence isn’t enough to guarantee a conviction and short of tying Tiltenhaus down and drugging him with Veritaserum-”

“Which is illegal, Rebecca.” Kingsley cut in, coolly. “Until he’s convicted, Tiltenhaus has rights same as any of us.”

Zhao shrugged. “We need the daughter’s story to corroborate the evidence found on the property and the secondary witness accounts. Even the financial motivation is circumstantial.”

“But Sasha’s already given her testimony.” Harry insisted, fiercely. “She doesn’t know anything else, what would be the point of putting through all this again-!”

The witch threw him a level, unperturbed look. “Mr Potter, you know as well as I do that when it comes to convictions, it’s as much about what is said as where it’s said. In this case, the Wizengamot have decided to expunge the entire day from the record of the trial.” The muscles in her jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth. “If Sasha doesn’t return, it will be as if she never said a word in the first place.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, pushing down the anger writhing in his stomach. “I don’t suppose you stopped to wonder how Talbins knew those things about Sasha.” he finally said, in an icy tone. The implication was clear.

Zhao didn’t even flinch. “All the more reason to put this bastard away where he won’t be able to hurt her or anyone else ever again.”

Well, how was Harry supposed to argue with that?

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Harry emerged from Kingsley’s office in a terrible mood, made all the worse by the fact that he knew they were right.

The incident in the Wizengamot was his fault and his mess to clean up. If not for the sake of the trial, then for the benefit of the little girl who he’d made a promise to.

He didn’t even bother waiting for Fiona to look away before he whipped the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, vanishing from sight. He heard her slight gasp though. Well, if Harry’s disappearing act prompted Fiona to install stricter security measures, then it served Kingsley right.

The thought of heading back to the apartment made him itchy and uncomfortable so he followed a whim, taking the elevator three more floors up rather than back down to the Atrium.

The corridor he exited on to was far wilder than the Minister’s office. Wizards and witches surged back and forth, paper letters swum through the air in the shape of planes or tiny birds or fish, all to the tune of unending chatter and discussion. To one side, the corridor opened onto a bullpen full of desks much like the Auror Department, filled with various creatures and wizards alike. To the other side, there was a series of offices including at the end with a smart green enamel plaque on the door which read HERMIONE J. GRANGER.

The mood felt almost jubilant in comparison to the meeting he’d just exited; as Harry drew towards Hermione’s office, he noticed a small crowd of people in the bullpen, most of them grinning and slapping each other on the back as they poured out bottles of fizzy pink cherry champagne, collars loosened and shoulders relaxed. Deftly removing his cloak as he stood on the threshold of the office, Harry knocked on the open door with a grin.

“I assume the coup went well then?” he said, dryly. Hermione glanced up from her desk, meeting his gaze with an answering grin. Her eyes sparkled and she looked to be almost glowing with glee.

“Better than I could’ve dreamed!” she trilled, entirely unsurprised by the sight of him. Since Ron had left the Ministry, it was not unusual for Harry to find his way up to the Department of Magical Beasts and Beings to chat or spend lunch with his other best friend. “The look on their faces when I told them, oh Harry- I know it’s not the point but Merlin, it felt so good.”

“Nothing wrong with taking pleasure in your job.” Harry said with a shrug.

“This is such a huge win, I can’t- I almost can’t believe it.” she corrected herself, closing her drawer. “But it’s just the beginning, there’s so much we’re planning now that this has gone through.”

“Maybe you should come for the Auror Department next.” Harry mused, thinking of Ron’s suggestion from the past week.

Hermione paused at the comment. “Why? What’s happened? Have they decided something about the trial?”

Unwilling to ruin her joy, Harry shrugged, taking one of the seats across from her desk. “Nothing major.” He said, evasively but Hermione’s eyes narrowed all the same, mouth pursing slightly.

“They called you down to the Ministry for ‘nothing major’?” she said, doubtfully.

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with her eagle-eyed gaze. “I met with Kingsley. They’ve asked for a repeat of testimony or else it’ll be excluded.” He finally said, reluctantly.

Hermione scowled. Despite Harry’s promise not to discuss the case while it was at trial, she’d been made aware of certain details, as much through the Prophet’s excessive articles featuring quote from Talbins, as through what Harry had omitted from their discussions. More than bright enough to put two and two together, she inferred the consequences of asking the case’s underaged star witness (though thankfully as of yet unnamed by the press) to repeat testimony.

“Forget the Auror Department,” she said, scathingly. “I’ll go after the bloody Wizengamot next. Those bylaws they operate under are downright archaic.”

Exactly how they like it, Harry couldn’t help but think, darkly. He shrugged instead.

“I suppose there’s one good thing to come out of this.” she said after a moment, leaning against her desk with her arms crossed.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, tilting his chair to rest on two legs for a few moments. “Hit me with it, I could use some good news.”

“If they were going to fire you, they would’ve done it by now.” She shrugged, looking rather cheered by the suggestion. “You’ll be back at the Department in no time, I’m sure.”

Harry said nothing at that, simply glanced back out at the bullpen where the celebration continued. Someone had opened a new bottle of cherry champagne; he could smell its dizzyingly, fizzy sweet smell from here.

“Harry?” Hermione moved closer, sounding concerned. “Isn’t that- I thought that’s what you wanted?”

He glanced back at her with a grin. “Yeah, of course.”

“Are you fake smiling at me?” Hermione demanded, scowling. “Really? Me?”

He dropped the expression, wearily. “You know, it’s rude to call me out on it.” Harry said, idly.

“It’s rude to fake smile at me like I’m a- a- stranger!” She retorted, saying the last word as though it were the very worst one she could think of, which for Hermione it probably was. Harry cracked a much smaller but thankfully real smile at the idea.

“Don’t worry about it, Mione,” he said instead. “I came to see how your coup went so let’s focus on that.”

“Or we could focus on how keen you seem to be to throw away the career you’ve spent years working on down the toilet.” Hermione rebutted, tenaciously.

Harry let out a vaguely annoyed sigh but a part of him actually relished the chance to really get into the subject, that itchy feeling sneaking up through his spine at the opportunity to hash it all out. But the conversation was broken by a startled oh at the door. They glanced around to see one of Hermione’s staffers standing with two glasses of cherry champagne.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t realise you had company-” he said, uncertainly. He looked appallingly young, which made Harry feel appallingly old just thinking it. “I just thought-” he gestured to the champagne glasses.

“None for me, thanks Michael.” Hermione replied, politely but warmly. She tilted her head towards the bullpen. “How many bottles have they gone through?”

“I-I’m not sure, ma’am.” Michael flushed pink the cheeks. “I could check-?”

“Never mind. Go on, enjoy.” She waved a hand. “You’ve all done exceptionally well, take the win.”

As the young man left, Harry smothered his smile. “Not much of a liar that one.” he told Hermione.

“No, but he speedreads at eight thousand words a minute.” She replied back, without missing a beat. “And Croker had him working the desk at the International Customs Office for Magical Curiosities and Confiscations. What a bloody waste.” She said rolling her eyes.

“Look at you, poaching young geniuses, trampling governmental injustice.” Harry said, feeling immeasurably proud of his friend’s success.

Hermione shrugged. “They needed trampling.”

“He calls you ma’am.”

“They all do. I tried doing the first name thing my first week but it didn’t go so well.” Hermione grimaced. “They’re stubborn.”

“That’s not the worst thing in the world.” Harry pointed out.

“You’re right.” she said with a small smile. “Besides, they’ll need to be for what comes next.”

“And what’s that then?” Harry asked, a little too brightly. The change in subject had arrived at precisely the right time to keep Harry from saying things he might regret and he was loathe to give it up. Hermione eyed him for a moment, as though weighing her options on whether it was worth demanding answers. Thankfully – miraculously -  she let it go.

“Well, like I said, the precedent is set now. We’re planning to roll out new legislation guaranteeing equal representation across all sub-councils but that won’t be for a few months…” she gracefully accepted the olive branch, explaining the future plans that had been set into motion by the day’s win.

Harry took special care to throw himself into the conversation, studiously avoiding the mess he’d created for himself which loomed just outside the department’s warm triumphant atmosphere.

After all, he was sure it would be patiently waiting for him as it had been for past three weeks since the whole thing had started in the dungeons of the Wizengamot’s criminal chambers.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

^^This is an apology for taking so long to update so enjoy!! More questions than answers in this chapter but all (well, most?) is revealed next chapter when we get our first look at What Happened At The Trial before we skip back over to Dursley Land ;)

Chapter 8: THREE WEEKS EARLIER

EIGHT.

THREE WEEKS EARLIER.

Despite having attended countless trials in the Wizengamot criminal chambers in his career, Harry had never found himself completely comfortable in the dungeon courtrooms.

They called up memories he’d rather forget: of being on trial for defending himself against a Dementor attack, of the mounting suspicion that the Ministry had been infiltrated by Voldemort supporters, of being truly fearful that he might lose his wand.

He put the thoughts out of his head as he usually did, concentrating instead on the job in front of him. Or rather, beside him.

Pale-faced and thin, Sasha Tiltenhaus looked much younger than her ten years of age. Clad in a dark blue sweater, she sat on the benches to one side of the court, flanked by Harry and another Auror on his squad, a witch by the name of Gylda Gros, who was inspecting the wizards across the hall with narrowed eyes.

“Mr Potter, I don’t feel so good.” The girl whispered. Though she had never lived there, she’d inherited just a hint of her father’s German accent in her vowels.

“Do you need to take a minute outside?” Harry asked in a quiet voice, making it clear there would be no punishment for doing so. “We can wait.”

The tall benches at the head of the court were slowly filling with members, clad in dark plum robes with elaborate silver W’s glowing on the chest. In the front row, the familiar solemn face of Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken up his seat. In the eastern corner of the dungeon, one man, his long spindly moustache matching his equally spindly fingers, had taken up at some kind of twisted, multi-limbed typewriter, though it had far more keys than there were letters in the alphabet. He adjusted it carefully as if he were a musician tuning his instrument before a performance.

Mirrored on the other side of the dungeons was the benches for the defence, a few wizards hovered about, including one man who was thumbing through a few pages of parchment. Every now and then, he exchanged words with his colleagues.

Sasha shook her head slowly. “But I won’t have to sit in that chair, right?” she asked in a whisper, looking at the defendant’s seat. Its chains twitched menacingly as though it could hear the question.

Harry scowled at it. More bad memories. “No. He’ll sit there. You’ll be over there,” he pointed instead to a small podium set to the left side of the dungeon floor, just behind the eye line of the defendant seat. “He won’t be able to look at you, even if he wanted to, remember?”

“I remember.” Sasha echoed, with a shaky breath.

Above the girl’s head, Gylda caught his eye. “Talbins looks pleased with himself.” She said under her breath. Sasha began to pick at a loose thread on her skirt.

“Don’t know what he has to be pleased about,” Harry remarked in a low voice, coolly. “Having to look at that smarmy mug in the mirror every morning.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Gylda’s face, dimpling her cheek slightly. She tossed the blonde curls cut neatly at her chin as she leaned back against the bench so they could chat quietly over Sasha’s head.

“Navi’s on prisoner duty.” She said casually.

Harry smothered his smirk. “It’s Navi now, huh?”

“Shove it.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

"You don't have to." Gylda threw him a baleful look before she continued. “I told her to keep an eye on him.”

“Who? Tiltenhaus? You’re expecting him to make a break?” Harry frowned.

Gylda shook her head slowly, still eying the defence team opposite them. Only one or two dared to stare back. “Not Tiltenhaus.”

Before Harry could enquire further, Sasha began to quiver. “Sasha, any time you need a break, let me know.” Harry told her in a gentle tone.

“I keep holding my breath, what if I get faint again?” she muttered, nervously.

Harry leaned against her gently. “It’s okay. Everyone gets nervous. How about I nudge you to remind you to take a breath?”

Sasha considered this and nodded slowly. “Okay, Mr Potter.”

“Harry.” He reminded, gently.

“Harry.”

When the members had settled, Kingsley nodded once. The man in the corner began, his typewriter clicking with a chittering sound like a hungry baby bird.

“The court is in session to consider a witness testimonial hearing of the fourth of May.” Kingsley began, in his customary booming voice. “The court will hear the testimony of Sasha Tiltenhaus in the matter of the criminal charges laid against her father, Wilbur Tiltenhaus.”

Beside Harry, the girl quivered at the name. He nudged her gently and she took a deep breath, obediently.

Kingsley continued: “Interrogators include myself, Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic, Edgar Bridewell, interim Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Rebecca Zhao, Senior Auror Head of the Investigations Department. Court scribe Deodas Sampson will record. Member Jeremy Talbins will question on behalf of the defendant.”

As soon as he concluded, the doors to the back of the court opened. Tall and athletically built, her hair arranged in its customary long thick braid down her spine, Junior Auror Navita Khatri was the picture of Auror discipline and professionalism as she ushered the defendant inside.

Harry had gotten to know his latest trainee quite well in recent months since she exited her Training phase, but even he couldn’t judge her expression. It was concealed in mask of careful neutrality as she escorted her charge. Though if Harry had to guess, he suspected there may have been a flash of disgust in her face.

Her charge shuffled forward weakly, clad in manacles and shivering. Tiltenhaus could play the innocent old man card as long as he liked but Harry refused to buy it. His fine hair was scraggly and ungroomed, his clothes in tatters; a far cry from how he’d looked when Harry had arrest him. He’d been spending his nights in Azkaban since his arrest. Though not the horror it had once been since the Ministry had dismissed the Dementor guards (which Harry had been vocally and aggressively in support of), the wizarding prison was hardly prone to providing its occupants a good night’s rest.

But despite all this, Tiltenhaus’ eyes were still sharp and clear, scanning the courtroom with the focus of a bird of prey. When he found Sasha, he flashed a tiny smirk until he passed them and could no longer hold his gaze.

The girl quivered. Harry nudged her.

Khatri sat the man down in the defendant’s seat, letting the thick black chains snap into place with audible ferociousness. Tiltenhaus let out a pathetic whimper of discomfort.

“The defendant is discharged to the courts, sir.” She informed Kingsley crisply.

He in turn nodded to the wizard opposite Harry and Gylda. “You may begin Mr Talbins.”

Talbins was an average looking wizard with his thinning, brown hair and slightly hooked nose, though his jaw was weak and he had a habit of squinting as he spoke. He stepped forward, plum robes flaring as he pointed with unnecessary dramatic emphasis towards Sasha. “I call Sasha Tiltenhaus to testify.”

Harry nudged the girl once more as they stood. As he guided her to the stand, Talbins scowled. “Auror Potter has not been called by the courts.” He snapped.

Harry ignored him, instead focusing on helping Sasha to the podium. One more look at the brave girl before him and Harry retreated to the bench, keeping as close to her as possible. He made sure to catch her eye as he sat, to be sure she knew he was here to support her.

The wizard squinted. “Full name for the record, if you would.”

“Alexandra Cläre Tiltenhaus.” She said in her quivering voice. “I-I like Sasha though.”

Talbins ignored her. “You are the daughter of the defendant, Wilbur Tiltenhaus.” He announced, gesturing to the man in chains. He could not turn his head to see her but Sasha flinched all the same.

“Yes.”

“You told the Aurors that you witnessed an incident at your home in Myrtlebeak in October of last year, is that correct?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You will recount to the court your testimony of those events.”

Sasha began. In halting breaths and unsteady words, she explained what she had told Harry months ago. How she had been upstairs in her bedroom asleep one night, sent there without supper by her father, she explained, because she’d broken a window that afternoon.

“How did you break it?” Talbins interrupted.

“Ex-excuse me?”

He repeated, slowly as if she had not understood him. “How did you break the window?”

“…I threw a rock at it. It broke.”

“Deliberately, I assume.”

“No! It was an accident-”

“I see and you explained this to your father?”

“Yes, I-”

“And he punished you by sending you to bed without dinner.”

Sasha looked ashamed. “Yes.”

“Is that the truth, Miss Tiltenhaus?” Talbins gestured to her father. “In his own statement to the Auror Department, your father said he wasn’t punishing you for breaking the window but rather for lying about it.”

The girl swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “Yes, that’s true. I-I forgot.” There was a small murmur in the benches.

“You forgot. I see.” Talbins continued, dryly. He made a note of something on a sheet of parchment on a nearby table. Harry scowled. “Continue with your testimony.”

“I woke up when I heard voices downstairs.” Sasha continued, slowly. “They were shouting-”

“What time?”

“What?”

“At what time were you awoken?” Talbins repeated.

Sasha was clearly caught off guard by the question. “I-I don’t know. It was dark.”

“Seven o’clock? Eight o’clock?” he pressed, impatiently.

“Maybe…midnight?” she turned backwards to glance at Harry, panicked. “I don’t know what time.”

Harry threw a glare towards the man sitting on Kingsley’s right. But Bridewell remained close lipped. Kingsley on the other hand openly frowned, unimpressed. “Mr Talbins, get to the point.”

“Of course, Minister.” Talbins inclined his head politely. “Please, continue, Miss Tiltenhaus. We’ll make a note that it was dark at the time.” He added, in a tone that was just shy of sarcastic.

Sasha took another deep breath. “My dad was shouting at someone.” She said, slowly, forcing her voice to calm. “I went to the stairs, to see what was going on. Mr Belgrave was there. He’s my dad’s business partner. We went to his birthday party last year.” She added, in a gloomy voice.

“Only the relevant details, if you would, Miss Tiltenhaus.” Talbins reminded her carelessly.

Her shoulders shuddered. “There was a woman as well. She was old but she looked really angry with my dad. She said she’d make sure he went to prison.”

Another murmur swept through the Wizengamot gallery. Talbins frowned. “Do you know what they were accusing your father of?”

Sasha shook her head. She was gripping the podium with both hand, knuckles white with strain. “I didn’t hear. But dad told them-” She gasped, as though summoning the words. “He told them they weren’t going to leave the house alive.”

The gallery burst into whispers, so much so that Kingsley raised his palm, asking for silence. “My, it sounds like quite a scene.” Talbins remarked, casually. “And then what happened?”

Sasha looked near tears. “Mr Belgrave took out his wand but Dad- There was a flash of green and he- he killed him. Dad killed Mr Belgrave.” More whispers. Hisses as well, that echoed about the room.

“And the woman?” Talbins pressed. Harry bristled at the man’s tone.

“Dad told her to shut up and then she flew backwards-” Sasha cut herself off again, wilting slightly. When she spoke, her words were wet. “She hit our front door. Dad used this spell I’d never seen before and then she was bleeding, from everywhere-”

“Miss Tiltenhaus, are you aware that no blood was found at the scene by authorities on their visit to your home?” Talbins asked, squinting again.

The girl trembled. “Dad cleaned it up with magic. Then he took the- the bodies outside. I don't know- there was this awful smell. And smoke. And when he came back in, he looked up at me but he wasn’t surprised he just- he said I should just go back to bed and forget about it.” Sasha let out a final shaky breath, as if she’d finally unburdened the horrible moments from her shoulders and was weak with the effort. But Talbins wasn’t finished. Not even slightly.

“Miss Tiltenhaus, you attend pre-Hogwarts tutoring, is that correct?” he enquired.

Sasha frowned, confused but nodded.

“And your tutor Miss-” he paused, checking his notes as though the name had escaped him. “-Jemima Gilly had a meeting with your father a few days before this alleged incident occurred, correct?”

As if he hasn’t been memorising every detail of the case to make it worth his fifteen minutes of fame, Harry thought to himself, irritably. As if this isn’t the most impressive thing he’s ever been asked to do in his worthless career.

Meanwhile, Sasha’s face turned pink. “Y-yes.”

“Do you know what the meeting was about?” Talbins asked, archly.

Sasha shook her head but she refused to meet the wizard’s eye. Harry tensed all over. He knew where this was going.

“Wasn’t it to discuss how you’d lied to her about a project you hadn’t completed?” Talbins poked, hardening his tone.

“I-I didn’t lie, I told her it was at home.” Sasha’s voice was small.

“But you couldn’t find it at home.” Talbins countered, almost mockingly. “In fact, Miss Gilly came to your house to check and she and your father couldn’t find a shred of evidence that you’d done the work.”

“But I did do it!” Sasha pleaded. “I don’t know what happened to it-”

“It seems to me you have a habit of making things up, Miss Tiltenhaus.” Talbins concluded as though he hadn’t heard her.

Like a poisonous mist rising from the unknown depths below the courtroom, a memory teased its way through Harry’s rising anger. It had a voice tinged with fear and a slight Irish accent, shouting at him from across the Gryffindor boys’ dorm: "You believe all the rubbish he’s coming out with about You-Know-Who, do you? You reckon he’s telling the truth?"

Then it was honey sweet and vile and it made his hand rock with tremors: "This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter."

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t lie? You’ve already admitted you lied once Miss Tiltenhaus, should I ask the court scribe to read it back to you? Mr Sampson-?”

This time the stern faced woman on Kingsley’s right spoke up, her frosty tone edging into hostility. “Mr Talbins, you would do well to remember that the witness is not on trial.”

Talbins immediately bowed slightly. A ridiculous, overspun gesture. It set Harry’s teeth on edge. “Of course, Madame Zhao. I’m simply establishing the witness’ credibility for the court, as is my responsibility.” He assured.

Still, Bridewell remained silent, watching the proceedings with a blank expression. As the Head of Law Enforcement - even interim head – it was under his purview to keep interrogators in line but in this instance, he seemed content to allow Zhao and Kingsley to do his job for him.

 “You are on thin ice, Mr Talbins.” Kingsley warned, with a scowl. “You will treat the witness with respect or I will remove you as the attending defence interrogator is that clear?”

“Crystal, Minister.” Talbins bowed again. He turned back to Sasha. “Did your father take you to a Healer recently, Miss Tiltenhaus?” he asked, in a voice as calm as anything.

“A Healer?” she echoed, voice high and reedy. She looked panicked and uncertain, like she wasn’t sure this wasn’t another trap.

“For your…condition?” he prompted. When she said nothing, he snatched a scrap of paper from the desk, as though scanning it for the correct term. Harry narrowed his eyes. The paper was probably blank. The melodramatic prick. Talbins was clearly performing in the leading role of the play he’d wrote himself, in front of a captive audience who literally couldn’t leave. “…Nocturnal eneuresis? Isn’t that correct?”

Sasha’s brow furrowed, completely lost. “I- I don’t know.”

“Nocturnal enuresis?” he repeated, pointedly annunciating each word.

When she continued to looked bewildered, Talbins made a tiny noise of exasperation with a glance towards the members on the bench as if to say, I’ve tried to ask nicely but she’s simply not cooperating.

“Fine. Is it true you still wet the bed, Miss Tiltenhaus?” he said, loudly and openly in front of nearly three dozen strangers.

Sasha’s blush turned full crimson red with humiliation. “Wh-what?”

“Is it true-?” he seemed ready to repeat the question but Sasha cut in, urgently.

“N-no! It’s not- I mean I have d-dreams- sometimes-”

Talbins ignored her, winding up for his big finish with a put-upon air.

“Miss Tiltenhaus, you can be honest here,” he sounded almost kind. “If this is simply another cry for attention-”

Fame clearly isn’t everything, is it Mr Potter? The voice, like liquid poison, spoke again. It wore his old potion master’s voice this time.

“Enough.” Before he was even aware he was the voice who had spoken, Harry had launched to his feet, striding forward until he stood between the podium.

The Wizengamot member looked taken aback. “Auror Potter! You, you have not been called by the court-!”

Kingsley had risen in the stands. “Auror Potter, I have to ask you to return to your seat.” He said, reluctantly.

Harry ignored them all. He glared down Talbins, drawing himself up to his full, not inconsiderable, height. “She’s ten years old. Back off.”

“I am a Member of the Wizengamot Courts charged with a duty to interrogate witnesses on behalf of the defendant-!” Talbins blustered, unsure of how to respond to his one-man-show being disrupted by a rude audience member.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you talk to her again.” Harry snapped, filled with an anger so old, buried so deep inside him that it was practically dusty but it burned through his gut like a wildfire all the same.

“Mr Potter, return to your seat.” Shacklebolt boomed above them. “Now.”

“Harry.” Gylda hissed behind him in warning.

Talbins swallowed, thickly. Out of habit or instinct or perhaps even genuine fear, he reached for his wand.

In an instant, Harry’s wand was drawn as well.

The mood of the chambers went tense to practically electric in a matter of heartbeats.

“Mr Potter, you will disarm immediately!”

“Harry, sit down-”

With the hand white-knuckling his wand, Talbins waved his arm towards the commands being issued from the benches.

“You heard them!” he said, though his voice was pinched. “Stand down, immediately! This is in clear violation of the Wizengamot chamber rules! That girl-”

He couldn’t see Sasha behind him but he thought he could hear her whisper his name. It didn’t matter if she said anything or if Talbins had intended to use his wand for anything more than a weak attempt at intimidation because in the next breath, Talbins was waving his wand again in gesture, but this time he was pointing at Sasha, just a little girl, a girl terrified of the person who supposed to protect her and Harry couldn’t just stand by, he couldn’t just watch, he wouldn’t-

“Expelliarmus!”

The wand flung itself from Talbins’ grasp with such force that it nearly smacked the court stenographer in the forehead on the other end of the room.

(Luckily Deodas ducked.)

The chamber fell silent, breathless with anticipation.

“Minister-!” Talbins cried, looking outraged and frightened in equal measure. He pointed a finger at Harry. “I-I demand this wizard be removed from the court! Immediately! He has attacked a Member of the Wizengamot -!”

“Mr Talbins, compose yourself.” Kingsley boomed with audible fury. “Mr Potter-”

“Minister, Miss Khatri and I will escort Mr Potter and the witness from the chambers.” Gylda had appeared beside him, her body radiating tension.

Kingsley nodded and turned to face the rest of the court who had begun to emerge from their stupor and were now playing the dangerous game of exchanging whispers and opinions.

“-just as well-”

“-attacked a member-”

“-was he meant to do-?”

“-no hesitation-”

“Harry, stow the wand and let’s get Sasha out of here.” Gylda ordered under breath, nudging him none too gently. He hadn’t even realised his arm was still raised. Every movement felt heavy and mechanical as he put his wand away.

Distantly, he listened to the goings on around him. Kingsley was addressing the Wizengamot - arguing that clearly the situation had gotten out of hand, mostly due to the unethical handling of the witness by Member Talbins - but Harry could not hear him, not entirely. The full scenario which had just plaid out was beginning to settle across his shoulders, the weight of it sinking through the muscle, applied to the bone like liquified candle wax. He felt heavy with it.

Harry watched Gylda retrieve Sasha from the podium while Khatri flanked him on the left. The Junior Auror threw him a hesitant glance from beneath her lashes as she did before she straightened and recomposed herself.

“Sir.” She addressed, under her breath.

But Harry barely paid her a glance as the four of them left the court. His last look backwards only caught the edge of a smile on Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ face.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

HARRY MAY HAVE SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA TO WORK ON HMMMM?

So there's the trial and Harry's little outburst- very justifiable methinks but unfortunately, if you're a law enforcement officer and you pull a weapon in a courtroom you tend to get in trouble so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

More Sasha next chapter and THEN I'M COMING FOR THE DURSLEYS.

Chapter 9: LIKE GIVING A MOUSE TO A TWO HEADED ADDER

NINE.

LIKE GIVING A MOUSE TO A TWO HEADED ADDER

Only a short walk east from Monument Station along the Circle and District lines of the Muggle Tube, lay the ruins of St Duncan in the East.

Named for the titular saint (who, though accused of witchcraft, was in fact only a Squib), the large, spacious church was bombed severely by German aerial raids over London during the war. Since then, what remains - half toppled walls, fragments of formerly glorious windows, the slightly ashy bones of the church- has been overtaken by lush, thick greenery. The space has been reclaimed by nature and transformed into a little piece of quiet in the middle of one of the busiest cities on the planet.

Though it had the potential to be somewhat eerie, what with its history and partially decayed state, Harry found it rather peaceful and, most importantly, empty.

Which is why he had suggested it for his meeting with Sasha, away from the eyes of the press and the Ministry and the Auror Department. It was another overcast day, with a mild hint of mist in the air. Harry had found himself a spot on a park bench to wait, with a good view of the entrance from St Dunstan’s Alley.

No more than fifteen minutes had passed before there was a faint crack and a head of blonde curls appeared, glancing around suspiciously. The witch peered through the ruined windows at Harry and, satisfied, was soon joined by a smaller figure wrapped in a pale blue coat with dark hair tied back neatly. Sasha was far less circumspect than Gylda had been; the moment she caught sight of Harry, she broke free from her Auror guardian’s grasp and raced towards him.

Harry barely had time to stand before she collided with him, tightly hugging him with her skinny arms. “Harry!” she gasped, sounding breathless with excitement and nerves and emotion. “You’re alright! I’m so glad you’re alright-”

He made sure to smile slightly, sitting back down on his seat so he could meet her eyelevel. “Of course I’m alright, Sasha.” Harry reassured her. “Nothing to fear, I’m fine, I promise.”

“I was worried and Miss Gros said I wasn’t allowed to speak to you and Miss Khatri told me you were in trouble and then Miss Gros told her not to tell me that but I already heard-” Sasha babbled, frantically.

Harry sighed internally. “Miss Khatri shouldn’t have worried you, I promise I’m alright. See? All four limbs in tact.” He said, patiently, neatly avoiding having to explain that Miss Khatri was in fact quite correct.

Sasha’s big brown eyes flicked to all four of his limbs, as though to check for herself. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” she said, her voice shrinking. “It’s all my fault.”

He frowned but at that moment, Gylda joined them, one of her brows raised pointedly. “Sasha, what did I say about running off?” she said, sternly.

The girl looked down. “Not to.”

“Right.” Gylda grumbled but let the matter go. She turned to Harry instead. “Sir.”

“Gros.” Harry greeted with a small smile. “How’s things?”

“Oh you know,” she said breezily. “My good for nothing boss’ taken a vacation and I’m stuck with all his work. The usual.”

“Well he sounds like a proper pri-” Harry began but then caught sight of Sasha’s curious face and quickly cut himself off with a cough. “Well. Sorry to leave you with all my mess.”

Gylda shook her head. “All in a day’s work. Even if it left me trying to persuade this one,” she added, throwing Sasha a pointed glance. “That you hadn’t been spirited off to wherever they send naughty Aurors.”

Sasha frowned, obstinately. “Miss Khatri said-”

“Miss Khatri misspoke.” Gylda interjected, not unkindly but firmly. “See? Harry’s fine, like I told you.”

“People lie.” Sasha said, flatly. Though she usually struck him as especially young, it was in moments like this that Sasha Tiltenhaus appeared immeasurably older than her ten years. (It reminded him, uncomfortably, of himself at that age.)

“Gylda doesn’t lie,” Harry responded quickly, pushing his discomfort aside. “I mean, she might be fibbing a little about her overtime-”

“Un-bloody-likely.” Gylda muttered.

“-but she doesn’t lie.”

Sasha’s scowl drooped, replaced by a grimace. “I’m sorry Harry.” she said, solemnly.

“Sorry? What for?”

The girl sniffed. “It’s like Mr Talbins said,” she said, wetly. “I lied while I was in court. That’s a crime, isn’t it? Lying when you’re in court?”

Gylda visibly supressed her scowl. “Sasha, Mr Talbins had no right to talk to you like that.”

Harry nodded immediately. “Gylda’s right, Sasha. He shouldn’t have called you a liar. That wasn’t right.”

“But he was right, wasn’t he?” she cried. Her shoulders were locked, her head braced as though she were expecting a blow. “I did lie! He asked me about the window and- and the homework assignment and- then he asked about-”

“Sasha,” Harry interrupted, easing her to the seat beside him. He conjured a striped handkerchief to offer her, though her tears were tiny, squeezed out of the very corners of her eyes like she was trying her hardest not to let them fall.

“Talbins was wrong to bring those things up, especially in front of everyone. He was trying to embarrass you because he’s a weak, selfish man who likes to hurt other people to make himself feel more important.” Harry pushed aside his own vision conjured by the description. (His had a moustache and a belt.)

Sasha refused to look at him. “But he was right.” She repeated, waveringly. “About the- the stuff with the Healer.”

“Sasha, listen,” Harry said, firmly, waiting until she was watching him. He wanted to be clear about this, as clear as it was possible to be. “No one has the right to speak to you like that. Just because it was true, doesn’t mean it was relevant. Talbins didn’t bring those things up because they were important, he brought them up specifically to hurt you and that’s not okay. Do you understand?”

He waited until she nodded, although she still appeared unconvinced. Gylda watched over the pair of them silently. When Sasha spoke, her voice was hard and miserable. “I think my Dad told him to say those things.”

Harry cast his eyes at Gylda but she was already watching him evenly. Clearly they had had the same suspicions. “Why do you say that?” Harry asked, carefully.

Sasha gave a great sniff, wiping her cheeks with his hanky. When she looked up, she looked older again, more jaded than a ten year old should. “Because Dad’s the only person who knew about them.”

What made Harry’s stomach turn was that she didn’t even sound surprised by it.

“No one has the right to hurt you, Sasha.” Harry repeated, firmly. “Not Mr Talbins, especially not your Dad.”

“He was meant to go to prison.” Sasha said, wrenching the hanky in her grip. “He was in prison. Why didn’t he just stay there?”

“We’re going to put him away, Sasha.” Gylda assured, a dark expression crossing her face. “For good. You won’t have to see him ever again.”

“I had to see him in court.” The little witch pointed out, flatly. “He’s too clever. He’ll just get out.”

“Not,” Harry began, casting a glance at Gylda. “If we have your help, Sasha. Has Gylda explained what’s going on? About the Wizengamot?” He knew she had. Gylda had sent him a terse message scribbled on a scrap of what might’ve once been a case file, explaining her progress as Sasha’s appointed Auror protection, since Harry had been removed.

Sasha bit her lip. “She says I have to go back. To testify again.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Sasha, I owe you an apology.”

The girl looked up, mystified. “What? Why?”

“I’m the reason you have to go back. I made you a promise that I was going to do everything I could to make sure you were safe and then-” Another deep breath. Expelliarmus. Talbins shouting. The edge of Tiltenhaus’ smile. “- I really messed up.”

“But you were helping me,” Sasha defended, immediately. “You were the only one who helped me!”

Harry threw her a weak smile. “I think in this case I did more harm than good.”

“That’s not true!”

He sighed. “Sasha, I’m not sorry for what I did.” He said, frankly. “But I am sorry that because of it, you’re in this situation. It’s not fair on you and that’s my fault.”

She shook her head, almost angrily. “That’s not true!” she repeated, nearly shouting the words. “You were the only one who made him stop! No one else said anything!” here she cast a somewhat dark look towards Gylda who stiffened but said nothing.

“Even so,” Harry allowed, his gut wrenching with his own guilt. “We need you to testify again.”

Her anger deflated immediately, replaced by fear. “Is Mr Talbins going to be there again to ask me things?”

Harry shook his head immediately. “No. No, absolutely not. Sasha, if he was-” he said, grinding his teeth slightly at the thought. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if he was.”

Sasha sighed, with a hint of relief. “So who’ll be there instead?”

“He might be in the room,” Gylda explained. “But Mr Talbins won’t be allowed to speak to you. The Wizengamot have arranged for a new interviewer. She’s been given very clear instructions, Sasha. It won’t be like last time.”

This seemed to mollify the girl a little more. “But my Dad, he’ll be there again won’t he?”

Harry forcefully released the tension in his body. “I’m afraid so.”

But Sasha, as in most things, surprised him. Instead of fear, she looked up at the pair of Aurors with a scowl. “Good. I want him to see me.” Harry marvelled at the girl in front of him; she seemed nothing like the quivering, pale face he’d glimpsed through a crack in the door all those weeks ago.

“And you’ll be there, right Harry?” she added, unthinkingly.

Here, Harry winced. “Sasha-”

Her bravery faltered; he could see the nerves creeping up on her. “You’ll be there? Right?” she repeated, urgently.

“Harry’s been asked not to attend the trial, because of what happened.” Gylda interjected, calmly.

“That’s not fair!” Sasha cried. She tossed her head between the two of them, pleading. “They can’t-! It’s not fair!”

“I’ll be right outside the whole time.” Harry said immediately. Whether it was permitted or not, he didn’t care. He’d find a way to camp out on those awful, uncomfortable benches if it killed him. What good was that stupid cloak otherwise? “If anything happens, I’d be the first one inside.”

“And I’ll be right where I was last time.” Gylda added, crouching a little to make sure she held the girl’s full attention. “The second that woman sets a toe out of line, I’ll do whatever necessary to keep you safe, Sasha.” she promised, sombrely. “So will Miss Khatri.”

“Miss Khatri will be there?” Sasha said, quietly.

“She told me so herself.” Gylda said and Harry guessed that if Khatri hadn’t been included in trial duty, she was about to be.

Sasha looked slightly mollified. “Miss Khatri said she had to testify once.” She said slowly. “So she could live with her dad, not her grandma.”

“That’s right.”

“She said it was really scary but that she didn’t have to see her grandma after that and that made it all worth it.” The young witch fidgeted with her hands. “I won’t have to live with Dad after this will I?”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from scowling outright. Instead he let out a deep breath. “Sasha, whether you testify or not,” he said, sombrely. “If you don’t want to live with your Dad, I’ll make sure you don’t have to.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

“You really think you’re going to be able to keep that promise?” Gylda asked him, as they watched Sasha’s temporary guardian Apparate away with the young girl in hand. The pair of them waved as they disappeared.

Harry kept his eyes on the spot where they had vanished. “I’ll find a way to do it.”

“If Tiltenhaus is acquitted, he doesn’t forfeit his parental rights.” his protégé pointed out calmly.

“I know.”

“There’s no reason he won’t be able to take Sasha back.”

“I know.” Harry ground his teeth, soaking in his own frustration. “I’ll figure something out if it comes to that but it won’t. They’ll convict him.”

Gylda looked unperturbed by her boss’ terse tone. To be fair, she was unperturbed by most things. Her game face had been the downfall of many a suspect who underestimated the golden haired, pink cheeked, youthful looking witch. “You’d be pleased with Khatri,” she said instead, changing tracks so quickly Harry blinked in confusion.

“I’m always pleased with Khatri.” Harry said dismissively.

“She’s taken to going through the case file every second she gets, looking for something she missed.”

Harry let out a sigh. “She puts the rest of us to shame.”

“She also nearly hexed Haider’s new moustache off yesterday.”

“I’m nearly always pleased with Navi.” He corrected himself, then paused. “Haider has a moustache?”

Gylda’s brows raised a fraction. “It’s given him a rather wizard at the end of his rope with nothing left to lose sort of look.”

Harry snorted. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“The current theory is hair potions.” She hummed. “Of course, maybe that’s just what he looks like when he gets so caught up he forgets to check the mirror.” At his questioning glance, she continued, breezily: “He’s been going through the case every second Khatri isn’t looking at it and trying to make them share is like giving a mouse to a two headed adder so…” Gylda drifted off with a what-can-you-do sort of head tilt.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You must have other cases. Whittaker must’ve assigned someone to watch you.”

“As if they’d deign to accept a new babysitter.” She rolled her eyes but despite the mockery in her voice, it rang true all the same. What a fine, stubborn squad of Aurors he’d raised.

He glanced over at his colleague with a scrutinising eye. “How are they holding up? Really?”

Gylda finally sighed, her stoic façade cracking slightly. “Things are tense.” She said, simply. “They’re frustrated. If Zhao hadn’t specifically issued an order to ignore the press, they’d have hosted a dozen interviews decrying your innocence by now.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Merlin help us all.”

Gylda hummed in agreement. “Lang’s written several letters to the editor in protest.” She paused, thoughtfully. “One of them may have been a Howler, actually.”

Harry felt a tiny smile wriggle onto his face despite his best efforts. A fine squad, indeed. “No interviews for you though?”

The witch outright snorted. “I watched you hex him, sir. I know you’re not innocent.”

“I was provoked.” Harry said, only half joking.

Gylda turned to look him full in the face, her eyes alert. “Yes. You were. You know that right?”

The words seemed to roll out between the two of them, heavy and waiting. He let out a noisy breath, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing I can prove.” He finally said.

“Look, I’m sure Talbins was caught up in having his own little moment, bullying a ten year old child,” Gylda sneered before continuing in a flat tone: “But you know Tiltenhaus put him up to it and he wasn’t trying to break Sasha, he was trying to get the case thrown out. He was baiting you.”

“And it worked.” Harry said bleakly. He scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk. “I should’ve known better.”

“Sir, they literally pressed every single button you famously have.” Gylda pointed out. “And Talbins did point his wand at Sasha, whether he intended to or not.”

If Harry closed his eyes, he could see it so clearly in his head, exactly as Gylda said: the wand pointed at Sasha, her face quivering, wet with tears and so small, so much smaller than Talbins and all that time her father is just sitting there-

“I should’ve known better.” He repeated anyway, his voice tight. “I am sorry to leave you all in a state though.”

Gylda waved a hand, blithely. “Don’t worry. I make sure they all brush their teeth and go to bed on time. Though if I catch Khatri sleeping at her desk one more time…”

“Now, now Gros,” Harry smirked. “You mustn’t play favourites.”

The blonde scowled, a faint blush just visible on the apples of her cheeks. “Piss off.” She grumbled as she began to walk away, preparing to Apparate back into the mess Harry had made for them all no doubt. “Just for that, I’m telling Haider you like his new look.”

“I’m eager to hear if he grows a beard to match.” He called out after her.

“You’ll see it soon enough.” Gylda remarked, casting Harry one last glance – this time, oddly reassuring, as though she were making him a promise - before twisting on the spot and vanishing away.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

hello yes im still alive and barely clinging to combined threads of my sanity, grip on reality and patience, tune in for more <3

also um i know it's not cool to love your own ocs but i love my ocs

also also fuck jkr's terf bullshit

Chapter 10: I THOUGHT THE CHICKEN WAS EXCELLENT

TEN.

I THOUGHT THE CHICKEN WAS EXCELLENT

When Harry turned up at Keller Circle that evening, his heart wasn’t really in it.

His mind was still stuck on his promise to Sasha, on how he could keep her out of the hands of her father even if the case did fall through. His own guilt gnawed at his stomach: he’d made the situation they all now faced and in the same breath, he’d excluded himself from helping to fix it. He couldn’t attend the trial in support of Sasha, he could barely walk outside his apartment without being hounded by reporters, and although others might have appeared confident, he was still, technically, suspended. To put it mildly, things were not looking in his favour.

All the same, Harry tried to shake off his concerns as he knocked on Dudley’s door twice. The tiny dragon Nullifying Knickknack was tucked in his cloak pocket, as well as clear instructions he’d written for Dudley in the simplest of terms: hang over crib. Do not touch.

Even Dudley couldn’t get it wrong.

He waited a few moments but as the seconds ticked past, his impatience grew. It was just before seven o’clock; not exactly visiting hours but certainly not late enough that they should all be asleep, surely? He was in the middle of wondering if he could get away with leaving it in the letter box when the door cracked open a few inches.

“What’re you doing here?” Dudley demanded, his face paler than usual.

Harry restrained an eye roll. Another warm welcome. What else was he expecting? “I have something. For Clementine.”

Dudley swallowed, glancing back over his shoulder nervously. “Now’s not a good time, come back later-”

“Dudley? Who’s at the door, love?” a cheery voice called.

Harry raised a brow as his cousin visibly shuddered. “You know she’s already met me right?”

“It’s not that, it’s-” Dudley started but before he could finish, Karen had appeared, swinging the door open fully. She was a little more dressed up than his last visit, in a modest pale blue shirt and skirt combo. The strand of pearls at her neck reminded him eerily of his Aunt Petunia.

“Oh, it’s Harry, right?” she said, with a slight furrow to her brow as she matched his face to a name. She too appeared tense, though she covered it better. “What a lovely surprise.”

He flashed her a tight smile. “Sorry to bother you Karen, I just had something to give Dudley, just a little memento from the old days, you know.”

“How kind of you!” Karen trilled, though she too glanced over her shoulder. Clementine acting up again? Harry wondered but he couldn’t hear any giggles or crying. “Have you eaten yet? We’re just sitting down-”

“No!” Dudley choked, his gaze whipping back and forth between his wife and his cousin. “No, Harry can’t.”

But unlike his earlier visit, Karen’s smile tightened a fraction too far to be natural. “Dudley, don’t be rude.”

“He. Can’t.” Dudley repeated, his teeth gritted though he didn’t sound angry. Perhaps just pleading.

“I insist.” She snapped back.

Harry wondered what sort of domestic spat he’d unwittingly stumbled upon. Whatever it was, it seemed Karen was winning.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Harry blustered, awkwardly. “I have, er…my parrot you see…Millicent-”

“I thought her name was Mildred.” Karen’s smile was now so tight it looked like her jaw had been wired that way. “You really must stay for dinner.”

“He really mustn’t-”

“Oh he simply must-!”

Dudley’s protest was in vain. In one smooth move, Karen had pried the door from her husband’s meaty grip, swung it open and began ushering Harry inside, directing him to the coat closet for his, er, cloak and the dining room is just through here-

Harry froze.

So did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

“Harry, I’m sure you know Dudley’s parents,” Karen introduced, cheerily as she followed behind him. Dudley loomed behind her, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere but there.

“Harry.” Aunt Petunia acknowledged, faintly. Within moments, she’d turned three shades whiter.

Uncle Vernon meanwhile had turned three shades more purple. His moustache, now threaded with bristly silver hairs, quivered. “Potter? What in the devil are you-?”

“Karen invited Harry for tea.” Dudley said, miserably.

“Yes, well, any old friend of Dudley’s is welcome, of course!” Karen said breezily, quickly gathering together an extra place setting and seat.

Harry sincerely considered Apparating on the spot. “Vernon. Petunia.” He greeted, stiffly. He meant to say Lovely to see you again but the lie just wouldn’t quite slip off his tongue.

“Old friend.” Petunia echoed Karen, eyes quickly flitting between her daughter-in-law and disgraced nephew.

Harry realised with a jolt as he took stock of the room that Karen was the only one who had no idea who he was. And it seemed the Dursleys were desperate to keep it that way.

“Yes,” Aunt Petunia said slowly, calculatingly. She narrowed her gaze at Harry. “Harry is an old friend of Dudley’s. From Little Whinging.”

“Wha-?” Vernon began to bluster but Aunt Petunia must have dug something sharp into her husband’s side (Harry placed his bets on those bony elbows of hers) because he shut up quickly, similarly taking stock of the situation. His veiny face began to loose some of its raspberry hue. “Yes, of course. Harry. Good to…see you again then. Boy.”

In an act of unsuspecting cruelty, Karen had positioned Harry at the head of the table, with Karen and Dudley on his left and his aunt and uncle on his right. Surrounded by Dursleys, with no escape. What a way to bring back memories.

“Would you care for some wine, Harry?” Karen asked, brightly, already holding the bottle out.

Aunt Petunia raised an eyebrow, her mouth curled into a sneer. “Karen, really, why don’t you go get the bottle we brought, that merlot isn’t suited to chicken.”

Karen’s smile dimmed slightly but Harry, who was not much of wine drinker normally, didn’t flinch. “I’d love some, Karen, thanks.” In lieu of offering his glass, he took the bottle from her hands to pour his own.

“I know I have mentioned it before but Dudley prefers red meat, Karen, it suits his constitution better.” Petunia offered her usual unsolicited commentary.

“Mum, chicken is fine.” Dudley said, tiredly.

“I hope chicken is alright, Harry.” Karen said, in a tone that suggested he ought to keep his comments to himself if it wasn’t.

“Er, it’s good.” Harry said, wondering why he could speak calmly with murderers, Ministers, wizards and witches from all walks of life but a five foot three blonde Muggle in pearls had him completely flustered.

Petunia continued as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “I’ll bring round my beef casserole this weekend for you, darling, I know it’s your favourite.” She informed Dudley, warmly.

Dudley sighed in defeat. “Thanks Mum.”

“So how did you know Dudley, Harry? School was it?” Karen changed the subject with no attempt at finesse.

Vernon’s cutlery clattered to his plate. All eyes snapped toward the Muggle man who harrumphed under his breath but did not explain himself further.

Harry and Dudley exchanged a rare look of mutual consternation. “No, we just lived in the same area.” Harry said, lightly as he glanced toward his uncle who was cutting into his chicken with laser like focus. He couldn’t help himself, adding: “Sometimes I was around so much it’s like I lived there myself.”

Vernon sawed at the chicken like cracking it open might reveal a hidden exit from the situation.

“Karen, where are the dishes we bought you and Dudley for your wedding?” Aunt Petunia cut in, inspecting her plate.

Karen coughed. “Er, well, we don’t get those out for every day Petunia, they’re far too nice.”

“Nonsense, isn’t a dinner party with your in-laws a special enough occasion?” Petunia demanded, rising from her seat. “Never mind, I’ll go find them-”

“Oh, Petunia, really, they’re packed away-” Karen rose immediately, following after her mother-in-law on a mission.

As they left the room, Vernon leaned in immediately, gripping his knife fiercely. “You listen to me, Potter,” he spat under his breath. “I won’t have you revealing all your funny business in front of Dudley’s family, I won’t have them embarrassed, not like you-”

“Dad, would you shut up?” Dudley hissed. “Karen’s going to hear you!”

“What, embarrassed you?” Harry cut in smoothly. He took another sip of wine and casually set his wand on the table beside him. The sight stilled Vernon and Dudley immediately. “Never fear, Vernon, I won’t be here long.”

Petunia emerged at that moment, guided back to the table by a harried Karen. “-just don’t know why you’d leave them in the attic, it’s not a sensible place to put them.” She was complaining.

“I told you Petunia, it’s so we don’t accidentally break them, you know with Clemmie up and about, getting her hands on everything.” Karen babbled as she took her seat once more. Harry wordlessly passed the bottle of wine back down the table.

“I would hope you were raising Clementine to treat your home more carefully, Karen.” Petunia sniffed.

Karen’s smile took on that brittle quality again. “She’s just at that age, I suppose.”

“Dudley was never so destructive that we had to put away the fine china.” Petunia shot back, clearly sulking.

“Oh so I suppose the kitchen window broke itself when we were six then did it?” Harry commented, unthinkingly.

“Dudley was a vigorous child.” Petunia said tightly, in the tone of a woman who had spent many years defending her son’s poor behaviour.

“He threw his shoe directly at it.”

“Robust play is a sign of early leadership qualities.”

The son in question grimaced. “Shut up Harry.”

Karen blinked. “Goodness, it sounds as though you’ve known the Dursleys for a very long time, Harry.”

Harry smiled, enjoying the way Dudley squirmed. “Oh it feels like they practically raised me. Doesn’t it, Duddikins?”

Dudley let out a noisy breath through his nostrils as Karen giggled at the nickname. “Tell me, what was Dudley like as a teenager?” she asked, clearly pleased to get the conversation off the in depth critique of her parenting.

“A fine, strapping young man.” Vernon pronounced, loudly as though that ought to end the discussion.

“I went to boarding school actually,” Harry replied, ignoring his uncle. His wand was still at the table but so far Karen had yet to notice it. “So I only really saw him on the holidays.”

“And your parents, are they from Surrey as well?” she asked, politely.

Harry coughed. “They died when I was a baby actually.”

“Oh, bu-I- I’m sorry,” Karen said immediately, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t mean-”

“Karen, it’s impolite to needle guests about dead family members at the table.” Petunia huffed.

The muggle woman looked chastened. “Of course, I’m sorry to bring it up, Harry.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Harry levelled a stare at Aunt Petunia. “How could you?” It’s only your husband’s aunt and uncle, after all. Why should you know?

“It must’ve been lovely then, having Dudley as such a close friend,” Karen said, desperately trying to save the conversation. “Almost like having a brother in a way?”

Vernon’s fist hit the table with a slam! Clearly the suggestion of Harry as family was too much. “My son and that boy were not brothers.” Vernon growled.

“Perish the thought.” Harry drawled back, feeling his hackles raise in anticipation.

“I won’t have you slithering your way into this family again, Potter.” Vernon continued in a loud, grumbling tone, fists waving about like a child in the height of a tantrum.

(But Harry wasn’t seven years old any more. Those fists couldn’t touch him now.)

“That’s what brought us to this mess in the first place!” Vernon continued, rising from his seat.

“Vernon-” Aunt Petunia tried in vain to silence her husband while Karen looked on in utter confusion.

“No, no, let him speak,” Harry cut in, silkily. He finished his glass of wine and stood from the table to meet his uncle’s challenge. “I’d love to hear what Uncle Vernon has to say.”

“Uncle…?” Karen echoed, bewildered.

“You ungrateful brat,” Vernon snarled. “We gave you a home, fed you, clothed you and all you did was bring trouble to our door!”

“You gave me a cupboard to live in while I took care of your house, your cleaning and your cooking, Vernon.” He shouted back instead, the anger in his gut ballooning the more he fed it. He felt positively swollen with it. “I was one step up from a live-in maid service.”

“What an exaggeration!” Petunia scoffed. “All we did was try to teach you some personal responsibility!”

Vernon snorted. “Lord knows, those wastrel parents of yours wouldn’t have known a thing about that-”

Two swift steps towards the vermillion cheeked man was enough to shut him up. Harry outstripped Vernon in height by a solid foot and a half. He imagined he now loomed large the same way Vernon had once loomed over him.

“You keep my parents out of your mouth.” Harry said in a quiet, deathly calm voice. “My parents were heroes. And it’s only out of respect for my mum that I even bothered to answer your wife and your son when they came to me asking for help.”

“What help could you possibly provide, Potter?” Vernon sneered, desperately trying to conceal the way he’d lost ground when Harry approached. “All you’ve ever done was spit our generosity back in our faces!”

“Generosity?” Harry roared back with such fury that Vernon fell back against his chair. “You made every single day in that house a fucking nightmare. I’ve spent time in literal dungeons I’d have preferred to live in than spend one more second under your roof!”

“Harry, shut up-” Dudley shouted, frantically. “Karen, please, I-”

“We should’ve left you on the street, where you and your kind belong!” Vernon bellowed back.

“I think you mean your kind now Vernon.” Harry snapped, enjoying the way Vernon’s eyes bulged. “More witches in the family, what a disappointment for you.”

“Harry Potter, don’t you dare!” Petunia shrieked.

Harry ignored her. “But then again, maybe you’ll be able to beat it out of Clementine early. Merlin knows it didn’t work on me but second time’s lucky, right?”

Somewhere behind him, something crashed to the table.

Vernon shook a fat, sausage finger at him. “You watch yourself, Potter-“

“No, I think I’ll watch you, Vernon.” He said, his voice back to the silky calm he’d used on suspects and criminals countless times. Harry took another step forward.

“You’ll- you- I-”

Harry ignored him. “I think I’ll watch you and how you treat that little girl very closely,” he continued, slowly, keeping his eyes on Vernon’s beady gaze. “And if I think you’re about to lay a single hand on her, I’ll have you thrown in the deepest, darkest pit I can think of for as long as you live.”

Vernon shuddered. “You lot can’t do anything to me,” he said, with a forceful, hollow kind of arrogance. “It’s in your laws not to hurt us regular folk, remember?”

Harry thought about Sasha and Tiltenhaus and the case. He thought about how he sometimes woke up in the bathtub after a hard case, chasing the narrow confines of his childhood bedroom under the stairs.

He thought about bars on his window and practising his holiday homework under his covers, he thought about walking three steps behind Aunt Petunia and Dudley at the grocery store, pretending she didn’t know him. He thought about Dudley holding his head in the toilet at school and telling his friends it was okay because his parents wouldn’t care as long as it was Harry. He thought about Vernon telling him it was just as well they’d taken him, because his parents had been useless, despicable, unfit for society.

Harry thought about all this and then he waited until he had his aunt and uncle’s full attention. He caught Dudley’s eyes too, for good measure.

“You all ought to think very carefully about what laws I’d be willing to break to keep another child from growing up like I did.” He said slowly.

Then he whipped his wand in a fierce motion, Summoning his cloak from the closet. He ignored the gasps as it settled about his shoulders.

Harry turned to Karen, who had simply frozen in place with a look of complete shock. “Thank you for dinner, Karen. I thought the chicken was excellent.” He remarked, with a last spiteful look towards his aunt.

And then Harry did as he had always wished he’d been able to and magically vanished from the Dursley’s presence in the blink of an eye.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

Harry uses Apparating like the rest of us would use a mic drop.

Chapter 11: SIX WEEKS EARLIER (I)

ELEVEN.

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

I

The party of wizards had been settled into the corner booths at the Leaky Cauldron for the past two hours. They were a drunk but joyous sort, although any who chanced to peer closer could be sure that there was certainly some magic afoot which meant all who noticed their jubilant merrymaking were immediately drawn to focus elsewhere.

Although, Harry was frankly uncertain how long his spellwork would hold considering they had evidently moved on to the performing portion of the evening.

“For he’s a jolly good wizard! For he’s a jolly good wizard!” they roared, arms looped around the wizard in question’s neck as he tried desperately to hide his face. The remainder of the group cheered and applauded loudly, egging them on further.

“Merlin make it stop.” The wizard moaned miserably.

Unsympathetic, Ron only laughed. “Oh perk up Neville, they’re only teasing.”

“For he’s a jolly good wi-iz-ard!” the group bellowed back, undeterred. “And so say all of us!”

“Oh finally.” Neville sighed with relief.

Harry was only slightly apologetic when the second chorus began (“And so say all of us! And so say all of us!”) but he nudged his friend with another Butterbeer all the same.

“You couldn’t expect to leave without a proper farewell, mate.” He said with a shrug. “You should’ve expected this.”

“We’re never going to be allowed back.” Neville sighed, glancing over to the bar.

Ron snorted into his beer. “I think Hannah would make an exception for you.”

“-And so say all of us!” Dean, Ginny and Seamus finally sank back in their seats, uproarious with laughter. The rest of the tables applauded wildly, their laughter quickly dissolving into conversation.

Ginny shimmied out of her side of the booth to sit beside her boyfriend and steal a sip of his drink. Her hair glinted in the firelight. “Well at least I’ll have a back up plan if Quidditch doesn’t work out.” She announced.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Bit early to change your name to Celestina Warbeck, Gin.”

She nudged Harry pointedly. “Oh yeah? And what do you have to say about my dulcet tones?”

“I’ll let you know when my ears stop ringing.” Harry replied, wryly. “And if you wanted a drink, I could just get you one, you know.”

Ginny snickered. “More fun taking yours.” Spying Neville’s wandering gaze, she sighed. “Oh Neville, why don’t you just go talk to her?”

He coughed, sharply. “Talk to who, I don’t- there’s no one I’m talking to, I’m- I’m talking to you.” he stammered, steadfastly refusing to look over at the bar. “Shut up.”

“But you’ll be gone for months!” Ginny threw up her hands, exasperated.

“Six months.” Neville corrected, crisply. “And I have to go, it’s the only way to finish the certification for my apprenticeship and Professor Sprout put in a word with the Brazilian Botany Association for this incredible study-”

“Who knows what could happen by the time you get back!” Ginny continued, dramatically.

“Stop it!” Neville insisted. “It’s nothing!”

“I don’t know, a lot can happen in six months.” Ron mused, idly.

Neville cast them both exasperated looks. “You two are the worst. Just leave it, Gin.”

Sensing her friend was in no mood to be persuaded, Ginny simply caught eyes with Ron and they shrugged in a I tried sort of way. Settling back in beside Harry, Ginny frowned. “Are you alright?” she asked in a low voice. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

He smiled, half-heartedly. “Just thinking about today, that’s all.”

“The case with the missing banker right?” Ginny’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Well, the murdered banker now, we’re pretty sure.” After a quick glance about at the other tables, Harry continued. “I met with his daughter again today.”

“The banker’s?”

“No, my main suspect.”

“Oh?” Ginny asked, curiously. “What for?”

“She persuaded her tutor to bring her in to the office.” He thumbed the condensation on the side of his beer. “As soon as she sat down, she says her dad did it. Killed them, I mean. Says she saw the whole thing.”

“And this isn’t a good thing?” Ginny said, uncertainly.

Harry took a sip. “She’s ten.”

“Godric, the poor girl.” Ginny said, sombrely. “So what happens now?” she wondered aloud.

“Ordinarily, we’d arrest him.”

“Ordinarily…?” Ginny repeated, probingly. Harry threw her a weary look and her expression dropped from confusion to disdain faster than a Seeker following a Snitch. “Bridewell? Again?” She let out a slight growl of frustration. “Merlin, the man’s a pest.”

“A pest who controls the warrants across the entire department.” Harry agreed, flatly.

Overhearing the conversation, Ron turned his attention to the pair. “I thought you said Bridewell granted the Tiltenhaus warrant?” he said, tapping on his pint glass with his index finger. It began to refill immediately.

“On a conditional basis.” Harry replied, flatly. “Limited to the yard and outer perimeter, so anything found inside the house is void.”

Ron grimaced, though Ginny appeared confused. “Isn’t that something though? The Department Analysts aren’t that bad, surely.”

“Their detection spells work better in dwellings.” Ron explained with a scowl. “Not to mention, defence counsellors are always keen to throw that sort of evidence out as circumstantial.”

“Besides, everything we have on Tiltenhaus suggests whatever he did, it happened inside the house.” Harry leaned back in his seat with a thump.

“Did the girl say that? The suspect’s daughter, I mean?” said Ginny.

Harry tilted his head. “Sort of. Khatri rustled up a few neighbours who saw two figures matching Marrows and Belgrave’s description approach the house that night but it’s not conclusive. They also reported seeing a few odd lights, but no loud noises. Thought nothing of it at the time.”

“Silencing Charms on the house,” Ron said, thoughtfully. “You think it was premeditated?”

He shrugged back at his old partner. “I think Tiltenhaus is careful enough to keep his crime scene contained. The house was perfectly put together when Khatri and I went. Not a thing out of place.”

“Not so contained if his daughter saw the whole thing.” Ginny retorted.

Harry winced. “Well, Sasha’s testimony is pretty scattered. We think he might’ve used some sort of memory charm on her.”

“On his own daughter?” Ron scowled. “Bastard.”

“That’s horrible!” Ginny said, outraged. “If that’s the case, why didn’t Bridewell grant a full warrant?”

“Conditional warrants are meant to be less intrusive, so suspects don’t gain grounds for counterclaims over invasion of privacy and property if the analysts don’t find anything.” Ron sighed, moodily. “It means he doesn’t think they’ll turn anything up.”

It means he doesn’t believe her. Harry sipped his drink. “Pretty much.”

His head ached, all the cogs still grinding madly even though he’d been out of the office for hours. Sitting across from Sasha Tiltenhaus with Navita, listening to the little girl try to string her memories together, was harrowing. He couldn’t get her enormous eyes out of his head. She’d looked scared but somehow resigned. As though she’d already decided they would let her down. Harry wondered how many adults in her life already had.

This case was starting to get to him, the deeper he sank into it. Technically, Navita was still lead but he’d been helping her out, going through her notes and sitting in on interviews. She’d been even less pleased about the conditional warrant than he had.

Between the two of them and Sasha’s statement, the case had emerged, from circumstantial evidence, witness statements and spell trails. It told the story of the last hours of Boris Belgrave and Leonie Marrows lives and led to two, infuriating conclusions:

The first: Wilbur Tiltenhaus murdered two people in front of his own child.

The second: he was about to get away with it.

Harry had done his best to shake these conclusions off for his friend’s farewell but it lingered, sticky and odious.

“Bloody bad luck, Vashnakov kicking it when he did.” Ron mused. “He’d have been all over this sort of thing.”

“Very rude of him.” Ginny agreed and the pair clinked their bottles together in grim reverence.

Harry couldn’t help but agree. When Ezra Vashnakov passed away unexpectedly last year, the entire department had been in a state of panic. The Head Auror had not left an immediate, obvious successor and Harry personally wondered whether Rebecca Zhao, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, might take the role, although that then of course led to the question of who might take her job.

Head Auror was as much a position of power as it was political. Various candidates vied for consideration, factionalising the Department between teams, making it almost impossible to work. Harry had been approached and harassed by dozens of memos, owls and outright nosy Aurors, asking if he’d consider making a pledge or endorsing one candidate over another.

(Several had asked if he’d considered running himself. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered what it would be like as Head Auror. He’d be the youngest in history. In the end, he’d decided it was a fleeting thought, nothing more and had forcefully put those rumours to rest.)

There had been about a week’s worth of muddled, panicked mess, at the end of which the absurd bureaucracy of the Ministry kicked in, appointing a neutral interim Head while the whole palaver was figured out. Which was how they’d been saddled with Edgar Bridewell, the dullest, most useless wizard alive.

“We have a team prepared to execute the warrant tomorrow.” Harry finally said, tiredly. “If the Analysts don’t turn anything up, Bridewell’s about ready to give up on the case.”

“What’ll happen to her?” Ginny asked, quietly.

“Department of Magical Wards and Foundlings will remove her to a temporary guardian while we investigate.” Harry said, not meeting her eyes. “But if we don’t find anything…”

At that moment, Neville who had recovered from his earlier embarrassment, emerged from conversation with Dean. He shuffled into the opposite side of the booth, noting the slightly sober mood with a confused frown. “What’s going on over here then?”

“Just discussing how terribly dull things around here will be with you off in South America.” Ron quickly replied, reaching over to clap the man’s back in a comradely sort of way.

“Of course,” Harry continued, grinning at his friend. “Who else will steer us away from the hallucinogenic properties of the Marble Mab Vine?”

Neville rolled his eyes. “That’s not a real thing.”

“You seemed to think it was last Wednesday.”

“I was refuting an article!” he complained.

“While drunk off your arse on Pixie Rum.” Ginny pointed out with a snort.

“It was shoddy authorship! They have no evidence that the Mab processes any substantial amount of scopolamine!” Neville continued, growing more fervent. “All it’s going to do is encourage some stupid twat to take a bite out of any old Mab he finds-”

“Are you telling the bite marks on my garden aren’t caterpillars after all, Longbottom?” Ron deadpanned.

“-which is ridiculous because Marble Mab Vines are famously known for their use in Ever Sleeping Draughts-!”

“Oh no, a pack of sleeping idiots with vine in their teeth, how ever will the department cope with such an influx?” Harry mused, conversationally. Ginny cackled.

Neville huffed, though the effect was ruined by his twitching smile. “This is the thanks I get for trying to teach you all something.”

"You should know better than trying to teach this lot by now, surely." Came a voice from behind them. Neville shot up from his seat so quickly, he nearly tipped the table and all the drinks upon it.

“Hannah!” he blurted out. “Hi! Hi, Hannah.”

Harry, who considered himself a good friend, did not laugh.

Ginny and Ron, who were by all accounts terrible friends, could barely contain their snickers.

The curly haired witch simply smiled back at them all. “Just seeing how you’re doing,” she said, kindly. “The Diversion Incantation seems to be holding up well. Nice work Harry.”

He cracked a wry smile. “Thanks, I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years.”

“Oh yeah, between that and expelliarmus, you’re all set.” Ron said, idly.

“I know other spells!” Harry said, exasperated. “Ginny, tell your brother I know other spells.”

“I’ve never seen proof of that.” She said, crisply without blinking an eye. “You still light the stove with the knob.”

“It’s easier!”

“Easier? You’re a literal wizard-“

"And where did Hermione get to tonight then?" Hannah said, obviously trying to get the conversation back on track. 

"She was a little out of sorts, didn't feel up to a big one." Ron replied, friendly as ever with a gentle smile he reserved solely for his better half. "Bit burnt out from work I think."

"Oh that's right, she mentioned something coming up soon last time you lot were here. Some sort of project?" the blonde witch said politely.

"Ah yes, the coup." Ron said sagely but neglected to explain himself further.

“How...lovely. Right then, I’ll leave you to it.” Hannah said, a touch uncomfortably. Since she'd started managing The Leaky Cauldron, she’d become more familiar with their group since their Hogwarts days but she’d found it best never to test those limits too far.

(Privately, Hannah had always prided herself for having a good, sensible head on her shoulders and she’d always made sure she stayed out of whatever drama Harry Potter and his friends caught themselves up in, always causing such a fuss every year, right around exam time when things were stressful enough-)

“Oh, before I forget, Ginny, there was an owl earlier, it left a note for you at the bar.” She added, casting Neville one last smile before departing.

Ginny sighed as she crawled out from the booth. “It’s probably from Jo.”

“Jo?” Ron echoed, confused.

“Harpies’ general manager.” Harry chimed in.

Ginny nodded with a withering eye roll. “We’re coordinating on the reserves’ training for camp. Merlin help her, she ought to be more concerned with getting stuck with Dorothea for eight weeks.” She added with a snort.

“Bye Hannah!” Neville finally said and then slumped into his seat, thumping his head against the table just as Ginny left. “Why,” he said slowly. “Am I like this?”

Ron patted his shoulder in a vaguely consoling matter. “I mean, and I could be wrong here, but have you tried just, you know, talking to her?”

Neville scowled into the tabletop. “We've talked. About stuff. Sometimes.”

“Racy.” Ron quipped, dryly with a sip of his drink.

Harry raised his brows. “You're going to be gone for what? Six months?”

Neville nodded, absently. "The study follows two lunar phases, back to back to analyse the process of photosynthesis in lunar lumen-responsive plants.”

“Tell me that's not the 'stuff' you talk about 'sometimes'.” Ron interjected. "Merlin's balls, Nev, she's a pretty woman, not a lecture theatre."

"Neville. Do you like her?" Harry asked bluntly.

"I...Sort of." Neville said shyly. "She's got a great laugh. But what am I meant to do, start something the night before I'm meant to leave? That's not fair."

"No one's telling you to propose." Ron pointed out breezily. "Just go strike up a conversation. About something other than root patterns."

“Casual. Just a conversation. Yeah. Yes.” Neville finished his drink and nodded, firmly. “Right then.”

“Off he goes.” Ron said, watching the wizard manoeuvre through the tables to the bar.

“Professor Longbottom in the making.” Harry agreed, as Ginny suddenly re-joined the table, looking shocked. “Ginny? You alright?”

“Louise just signed a deal with the Catapults.” She blurted out.

Ron nearly spat his beer. “McGregor? But she’s captained the Harpies for years!”

“Jo just found out.” Ginny looked up at him stunned. “I had no idea she was even thinking of leaving.”

Harry winced. “Merlin, that’s awful, Gin I’m so sorry.”

“Blimey, so who’s taking over then?” Ron said. “Dia Munroe is vice, isn’t she? She’s not too bad. Good defender.”

“Well that’s the thing,” She said slowly. “Dia doesn’t want captaincy.”

“Wait, what?” Harry’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Her arm is fucked from last season,” Ginny explained, bluntly. “She was planning on taking leave this year for some sort of treatment plan in Madagascar. Her girlfriend has an OT contact there apparently.”

“So…if Dia’s not stepping up as captain, who is?” Ron wondered aloud.

“Well, apparently…me.” Ginny said, her expression caught between shock and ecstatic joy.

“Holy sh-!”

Harry was out of his seat and hoisting her into his arms before Ron could finish his sentence. He spun her about while she cackled with joy.

He set her down and squeezed her tight, overcome with excitement for her. She’d been working like a dog since joining the Holyhead Harpies but to see her talents recognised was just incredible. “Of course, you are, you’re amazing,” he told her quietly. “They should be so fucking lucky to have you as captain.”

“It hinges on the camp,” she explained, her excitement winning out in her voice. “Like a trial but Jo says if it goes well, I’d be up for election before the new season!” Ginny nearly shrieked, almost vibrating with happiness. “I mean, I’ll be gone for eight weeks not five, and I’ll be in planning and strategy meetings but-”

“Ginny, this is your shot at captaincy! You have to go!” Harry cut in, insistent.

“I know! I just-!” she let out a noisy breath. “My head’s all over the place. I can’t believe it and you know, it’s awful news about Louise but-”

“You’re twice the Chaser she is.” Harry interrupted. “And you’ve more than earned this.”

She laughed, staring at him with love in her eyes. “I’m away, Neville’s gone, it’ll just be you and this joker,” she jerked a thumb at Ron who squawked (“I’m the one buying you a bloody celebration drink!”). “Who knows what trouble you’ll get in to?”

Harry waved a hand, breezily. “It’s only a few weeks,” he shrugged, as the good news began to spread to the rest of their group, mainly due to Ron (“My sister, captain for the Harpies!”). “What could go wrong?”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

*bangs pots and pans together* I LOVE NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM.

Chapter 12: FIVE WEEKS AND SIX DAYS EARLIER (II)

TWELVE.
FIVE WEEKS AND SIX DAYS EARLIER
II

Despite the overwhelming urge to rub his forehead, Harry forcibly kept his arms crossed, even as the second wizard from the Analysis and Abstraction Team appeared from the back garden with a shake of his head.

He could feel eyes on him: Navita Khatri, who buzzed anxiously by his side, the rest of his squad, the Hit Wizard team who was on site to restrain Tiltenhaus should he prove hostile, even the man himself.

But it wouldn’t do to show any signs of concern. Not yet at least.

Any joy he’d had from the night before had left him the moment he woke. He’d done his best not to rain on Ginny’s parade so to speak but she seemed to sense his anticipation all the same. He’d coordinated the arrest with his team prior but even the small burst of pride at seeing them Apparate into Myrtlebeak early that morning (ready for action, game faces on, wands at their sides) could not soothe him entirely.

“That’s not good.” Gylda Gros appeared on the opposite of Khatri, who jumped a little at her approach.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “It’s too early. Everyone knows the preliminary detection spells never pick up anything useful.”

“They’re on secondary spells now.” Khatri pointed out, needlessly. Her voice, deep and ever so slightly husky, was fraught with tension. She seemed determined to ignore Tiltenhaus, eyes fixed on their would-be crime scene. Their warrant, signed and sealed by Bridewell himself, was now mildly crumpled in her grip. She’d been the one to serve Tiltenhaus that morning when they’d arrived on the doorstep of the Tiltenhaus home (“Mr Tiltenhaus, we have a warrant to search your property. Please step aside.”), and despite her age, she’d cut an impressive and intimidating figure

But as the third hour dragged on, the tension in her spine wound ever tighter the longer they went without results.

“Harry’s right, it’s too early to tell.” Gros said quietly to her colleague. “They’re not nearly finished yet.” He’d assigned her to coordinate and supervise the various teams on site and she’d taken to it with ruthless aplomb. But it had been almost three hours now and with the Analysists working through their wards and spells, and the Hit Wizards on stand by, even Gylda was struggling to find tasks to keep busy.

 “They should have found something by now, surely.” Khatri hissed back, anxiously. “Why haven’t they found anything?”

“Because real crime scenes aren’t like they are in the novels.” Harry replied, bluntly. “And Tiltenhaus is an accomplished wizard. He’s more than capable of cleaning up his own mess.”

“So there’s just nothing to find?” she demanded, heatedly. Harry allowed it. This was her first major case and it had just about chewed through every nerve she had. “Then what’s even the point?”

“The point, Khatri,” Harry interrupted, coolly eying Mr Tiltenhaus who looked rather unfazed by his circumstances. “is that we’re betting more on his arrogance than his skill.”

Tiltenhaus caught his gaze placidly but Harry refused to give the wizard the pleasure of seeing them squirm. Greater wizards and witches had tried; Harry had long since mastered his poker face in response. Internally, his gut felt caught between rising agitation and creeping dread. While Navi served the warrant and Gylda supervised set up, he’d taken the lead in removing Sasha from the house.

It was standard protocol to remove children and dependants from the immediate vicinity before analysis but Harry had gone a step further and arranged to have her taken directly into custody of the Department of Magical Wards and Foundlings. It was the only moment Tiltenhaus showed the slightest shred of anxiety.

“You have no right to take my daughter anywhere.” He’d snarled, scowling as Harry guided Sasha away. “I am her father.”

“We have a responsibility to remove your daughter from an active crime scene.” Harry corrected, gently moving the girl out of sight. She’d been positively breathless to see him, her eyes larger in her pale little face than he’d ever seen.

“Alleged crime scene.” Tiltenhaus corrected, coldly. Then, in a voice sweet as tears, he added: “Never fear, liebling. Papa will come for you soon.”

Behind him, Sasha’s uneven breaths stopped entirely.

His chest felt suddenly full of fire. “That’s enough, Mr Tiltenhaus. Sasha, it’s time to go, come on.” Her hand was completely limp in his until they’d left the house, passing the Hit Wizard team on their way in to clear the site of other persons.

She was practically dead weight as they left, Harry guiding her past his team and the Analysis department who had begun to set up their testing kits. It wasn’t until they’d left the premises that Sasha finally spoke, her voice high and quivering: “I don’t-”

And then she’d puked right then and there. Her body shook. Her eyes filled with tears, a high pitched whine erupting from her mouth like a siren. Godric, she was ten years old.

“He will kill me,” she gasped, eyes red, nose dripping as though every part of her body had been delaying its terrified reaction until the precise same moment. “He is going to kill me-”

“Sasha, hey, it’s okay,” Harry soothed, waving off the Magical Wards official who tried to approach. He crouched next to her, Vanishing the sick from her jumper with a wave of his wand. “It’s okay, just take a breath, that’s it.”

“He is going to kill me, just like that lady!” she wailed, hysterically.

“Sasha, that’s not going to happen.” Harry said, in a voice that was more firm than kindly because he knew firsthand that sweetness and platitudes didn’t do much in the wake of fear like this. “I won’t let it happen.”

“It will!” her sobs continued.

“Auror Potter, perhaps I should…?” the witch with the Wards office began to suggest. He ignored her.

“It won’t.” Harry insisted. “Listen to me Sasha. He’s only strong because he frightens you. But he doesn’t frighten me.” Unbidden, the voice rose in his mind, reminiscent of a long ago memory. That suggests that what you fear most of all is fear. “He can’t.”

Sasha hiccupped, miserably. “He should.”

“But he doesn’t.” Harry repeated, slowly so he knew she’d heard him. Her wails subsided slowly. Her breaths came shakily but they came. “He can’t hurt you now. I’m going to make sure of it.” He flicked his eyes up at the Wards official as he stood. “Miss…?”

“Aster Fentley, Auror Potter. I’m Alexandra’s court appointed guardian.” She introduced, quickly reaching out.

Harry ignored the outstretched hand. “Miss Fentley, I want you to take her directly to the guardian home, understand? She is not to be put in the custody of her father under any circumstances.”

The witch looked a little uncomfortable at that. “Auror Potter, Mr Tiltenhaus has not yet been formally charged. This is highly unusual.”

“It’s not a usual case.” Harry replied, bluntly.

She frowned. “He has parental rights to his own child.”

He felt his grip on his frustration start to slip. “And he has clearly violated those rights, Miss Fentley. So until you receive an order signed by Merlin himself, you are not to release Sasha into Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ custody. Even then, you will confirm with myself first. Am I understood?”

Fentley finally nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Harry watched as Sasha reluctantly moved to the witch’s side. “Also, her name is Sasha.” He added, glancing at her. Her mouth quirked slightly at that like he’d hoped.

Once they’d Apparated away, Harry returned to the scene to supervise the Analysis team, his expression flinty and cool. But with each negative test or spell application, the tension around him ratcheted higher. He’d promised Sasha she was done living in fear from her father but how long could he keep that promise if they couldn’t find the evidence to send Tiltenhaus to Azkaban? His sway as the Saviour of the Wizarding World was strong but even he doubted it extended to unlawfully separating an uncharged father from his child.

A third Analyst returned to their set up site with a potion vial, emptying something into a cauldron which burned bright blue. Another negative result.

“There has to be something.” Khatri repeated, furiously. “He can’t have cleaned it all up, Gylda! You heard the kind of spells he used on those people, there’s no way he cleaned it all up.”

Gros flicked her eyes at the Junior Auror, a hint of concern in them. Side by side, she appeared even shorter and lighter in comparison to Khatri’s striking height and dark skin but there was a mutual fierceness to their expressions. “You know that’s not how this works.” She hissed back.

“Enough. Both of you.” Harry ordered sharply.

Gros retracted her hand from Khatri’s shoulder, slipping back into the blank mask she’d perfected. “Yes sir.”

Khatri straightened her spine. “Yes sir.” She repeated, tersely.

Harry felt a slight twinge for berating his team when his own tension felt almost palpable. Khatri was only articulating out loud the same thoughts as the rest of them.

As if that weren’t enough, Haider appeared in the doorway to the house with a grim look. “Sir, they’ve finished their sweep of the back garden and veranda, right up to the boundary line.”

“Including the back exits?”

“Yes sir.”

“And?”

“Nothing, sir.” He said, scowling a little.

“What sort of wards are they using then?” Khatri sunk her claws into Haider. “Did you tell them to check the thresholds? The witness said he took the bodies out the back-”

“Of course I told them to check the threshold but the warrant doesn’t include so much as inch over the actual dwelling line!” Haider snapped, irritably. “Look, either he’s cleaned it up too well or nothing happened back there.”

“Of course something happened, Haider, two people are dead.”

“Missing.” He corrected. “And if this was a crime scene, we’d know by now.”

Khatri scowled. “It is a crime scene. Just because there’s no sign of it, doesn’t mean-”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“I s’pose you think his kid was just having a laugh then when she came into our offices?!” Khatri demanded.

"Of course not! But you're the one who said it looked like she might have been under some kind of memory charm! Maybe she's misremembering the details of what she saw."

"Careful Haider, you're definitely within nose-breaking distance." Gros cut in, icily.

“So now she’s misremembering it? What else did she misremember, I wonder? Maybe this is all just a bit of an overreaction.” Khatri seethed.

Haider's scowl broke at that. "Navi, you know that's not what I mean.” The wizard took a deep breath. "I'm not saying he’s not the right wizard, I’m just saying whatever you want to find, it’s not here.”

Khatri’s expression darkened but Gros cut in before she could speak. “Haider, I swear to Merlin I will hex your bollocks to the back of the Hogwarts Express if you don’t get out of my face in the next five seconds.” She sounded almost bored by the prospect.

Haider gaped at her. “It’s not my fault they didn’t find anything!”

“Four seconds.”

“Enough!” Harry let out a sharp, impatient sigh through his nose. "Khatri, with me. Now. Gros, take Haider and check in with the Analysts.”

Khatri’s jaw almost twitched as they stepped aside. “Sir, I-”

“Muffliato.” A few wandering-eyed Hit Wizards looked away suddenly. “Navita, I know this case hasn’t been easy but save the bickering with Haider for the office. Not here in the field, in front of our suspect.” Harry said, firmly.

“I know. I apologise.” She replied, flatly.

 “Look, if you need to excuse yourself, this is your chance.” He added, a touch gentler.

“I don’t need to walk away, I need to- I have to stay okay?” Khatri said, flatly.

“Not if you can’t keep yourself together.” Harry shot back. “Not just for the investigation but for your own sake.”

Khatri didn’t respond for a few moments then finally, she looked him square in the eye, the two of them at a height almost to the inch. “I know what it looks like when you let your personal feelings get in the way of what you have to do. That’s not what this is.”

“Navita, there’s no shame in admitting some cases hit closer to home than others.” Harry admitted.

She was quiet for a few long moments. “When my mum died, my dad wasn’t…he wasn’t in a place to take care of me. And my nan took custody and those years in her house, I…let’s just say, there was a lot of things I couldn’t do. Or be. It took my dad years to get me back. But it took years after that before I felt like I had someone on my side.” Her voice quivered slightly. “It shouldn’t take years for someone to look out for Sasha.”

“You’re not the only one looking out for her, Navita.” Harry promised.

“I know, sir but…you understand then? Why I can’t excuse myself?” she looked almost pleading.

“I do. I understand.” He let out a long sigh, staring up at the house again. They were nearing on four hours and no closer to any sort of answers. “I used to live in a house like this, you know.”

“In Myrtlebeak?”

“No, just,” he waved a hand. “It looked a lot like this.”

“Yeah,” Khatri finally said. “My nan’s did too. They don’t look so bad from the outside.”

“No, they don’t.” Harry agreed, tiredly. His gaze caught on the window to Sasha’s bedroom, which overlooked the west side of the property. The scene was just as picturesque as it had been the first time he’d arrived: a big window with pale pink curtains, the house painted tidily in white, the garden beautifully manicured. A line of short, lush green bushes with tiny gold veined flowers grew down the side of the house.

He frowned, something tickling at the edges of his brain. He excused himself from Khatri and headed towards Tiltenhaus, who had taken a seat between two Hit Wizards. He eyed the man carefully. “It really is a beautiful home you have, Mr Tiltenhaus.” He said, conversationally.

“It certainly was before you and your idiots trampled through it.” The man raised a single brow. “I shudder to see the kind of damage you have done to my gardens. That is where your warrant suggested you would do most of your…work.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed noncommittally. “Sure is. Although I’d look into a new gardening service, if I were you.”

“You will forgive me if I do not take your advice, Mr Potter.” Tiltenhaus inclined his head a touch as though thoughtful. “Horticultural or otherwise. Your little display here has not left me particularly confident in your judgement.”

Harry nodded behind him, to the garden beds along the western side of the house. “I just mean your garden doesn’t really seem to be thriving all that much.”

Tiltenhaus glanced in the direction and shrugged. “Gold veined geraniums are a difficult species, even for experienced magical gardeners.” He remarked, uninterested. “But I fail to see what they have to do with your ransacking of my property.”

Harry hummed again, eyes studying the bushes directly below Sasha’s window, which seemed to be suffering more than their neighbours. “Odd though.”

“Odd?”

“Well, they’re growing just fine over there.” He gestured to the other bushes. “But not those ones. Just…odd. I guess.”

Tiltenhaus marvelled, “It really is fascinating to watch a grown wizard clasp at straws, Mr Potter. I will pass your criticisms on to the service, shall I? Harry Potter finds your work sub par. I am sure they will appropriately disappointed.”

“I mean, they must get the same sunlight.” Harry ignored him. “Same rain. Same tender, loving gardening service, I expect. It's mid-April, these should be absolutely flourishing.” He walked towards the shrivelled bushes, slowly. Tiltenhaus tracked his every step. He crouched down, running a hand through the dirt. “Must be something in the soil, I guess.” They locked eyes and for a split second, Harry saw it: the tiniest glint in the very back of Tiltenhaus’ gaze. Was it worry? Smugness? Concern? Whatever it was, it was enough.

“Khatri.”

She joined his side in a moment “Yes sir?”

“Get the Analysis team. I want this area searched immediately.” Harry ordered, sharply.

“This area sir?” She frowned. “I thought the warrant was for the back garden.”

“It includes the yard and outer perimeter of the house.” He corrected. “Gros, coordinate moving whatever the Analysis and Abstractions team need to this location. Haider, you’re supervising evidence, I want everything they find logged and sealed like the Minister himself was watching you do it.”

“What are you expecting them to find, sir?” Haider asked, uncertainly.

“Sasha said she remembered smoke. You know what human ashes does to plant life, Haider?” He jerked a thumb at the shrubs below the window, wilted and shrunken, the only brown patch in the row of perfect green. “That.” He turned back toward Tiltenhaus. “You put them right under her window.” He said, quietly. “So she could smell them burning? So she’d have to see them everyday?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Does she even remember why she’s so scared?” Harry demanded. “How badly did you fuck with her memory exactly?”

The wizard rolled his shoulders. “You have no proof of any wrongdoing.”

“But I will. And when I do,” Harry stepped close to the wizard. Close enough that he took a step back reflexively. “Sasha is never going to be afraid of you, ever again.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

this chapter is late because a) i really hated every version i came up with and all my observations on crime scenes come from like, Bones and NCIS. and b) 2021 really came through for ya girl in busy and exciting and scary ways!!

hope everyone is well! next chapter was way more fun to write because harry finally gets to meet clemmie ;)

Chapter 13: NOW IT’S COVERED IN SPAGHETTIOS STAINS

THIRTEEN

NOW IT’S COVERED IN SPAGHETTIOS STAINS

Three days after the disastrous dinner with the Dursleys, Harry received a letter.

Not a note by owl, which he had been expecting. Harry had been arguing back and forth by owl with Kingsley and Zhao to let him at least hang around the lobby of the Wizengamot courts during the proceedings and they seemed near to compromising.

Instead, the note came to him in an envelope. It was deposited in the wall-mounted communal letter boxes at the front of his apartment building by a very confused mailman who had, up until this point, never in his long and illustrious career delivered a single piece of mail to the address.

Harry himself, not in the habit of checking his letterbox, would not have noticed the letter, had not a tiny white corner of the paper peeked out from the crack as he entered his building that afternoon.

But notice it he had. And now there it sat, on his kitchen bench, a short message written in a hasty hand.

At this point, Harry didn’t know whether his disbelief that his address was actually listed in the phonebook trumped his complete astonishment that he was now actually receiving mail.

Either way, the message read thusly:

Harry,
I think we should talk.
Please meet me here this Tuesday at noon, if possible.
I don’t know
I’m not
I’m worr
I want to talk about my daughter. Please.
Karen Dursley.

Well with a summons like that, Harry sighed. How was he to refuse?

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The address Karen had written in her note was a Muggle children’s park. The playground lay at the foot of a hill slippery with fresh new grass, grown thick with the spring rains. The monkey bars and slide had once been painted in bright, cheerful hues, now faded, though the swing set looked rather shiny.

The children, finally free from their scarves and jackets after the slow, cool start to the season, were taking full advantage of the sunny day. Several young nanny-types were posed around the park on benches or grouped together by the climbing wall. Many peered at him (some curious, some suspicious) as Harry approached, though at least it was only due to him being a tall, unknown man at a children’s park with no apparent children of his own.

He spotted Karen right away. She was sat apart from the others, on a bench near the water fountain. As he drew closer, he realised she looked rather different than she had in previous meetings. It sort of broke the vision he’d been unconsciously building of her as an Aunt Petunia lookalike.  Aunt Petunia had never worn leggings a day in her life.

On her lap, with the world’s ugliest printed bucket hat on her head, was Clementine Dursley.

She noticed him late and Harry pretended not to notice the way she hugged Clementine to her a little as he sat down.

“Harry.” she greeted, uncertainly. “Harry Potter, right? Or is it Harry Dursley?”

Harry coughed sharply, choking on his own spit. “Er, no, Harry Potter is right. I never took the Dursleys’ name.”

“Right.” She said, quietly. “Even though they raised you.”

It seemed all the secrets had come out since he’d left the Dursley’s dinner table. “Technically, yes.”

“Thank you for meeting me.” She said, after a pause. “I…well, I wanted to talk about what happened the other night but- look, what you said, the other night, is it true?” she suddenly asked, cuddling Clementine to her while the baby cheerfully sucked on a pacifier, peering over her mother’s shoulder. “All those things about how they treated you?”

“Getting right to the punch, I see.” Harry said, mildly. He hadn’t really been expecting Karen to write him, nor had he been sure what to expect from their meeting. Already, she looked less like a Dursley and more like a confused, young mother.

“After what I heard, there’s no point wasting time, beating round the bushes,” she said, her voice coming a little more certain now. Even her accent sounded different, a little rougher perhaps in places. “Dudley- he wouldn’t tell me anything and Petunia just kept going on and on and I just- I grabbed Clemmie and I left. I need someone to tell me what’s going on, what’s wrong with Clemmie, how is she-” she glanced around, as though worried someone might overheard her. “-doing these things?”

Harry had not been sure what to expect from his meeting with his cousin’s wife today but apparently, it was about to involve breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Something new and different to explain to Kingsley.

“Look, I can’t tell you everything,” he began, apologetically. “But I can tell you some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, Clementine is a witch.” Harry said, bluntly.

Karen frowned. “What does that mean? Like those freaks with that wicca stuff or something?”

“No, I mean, there’s a world, like this one but different. It has magic.” He explained, stumbling over himself a little but growing more confident as he went. Is this how Professor McGonagall feels when she introduces herself to Muggleborns each semester? Is this how Hagrid felt telling me? “Some people, they’re just born with magic. You can’t control it or get rid of it, it just…is. Clementine is a witch, the same way I’m a wizard, the same way my mother was a witch.”

“So Dudley passed it on to Clemmie…” Karen said, slowly putting the pieces together with an expression of growing horror. “Oh my god.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, an anxious gesture he hadn’t indulged in a while. “Er, kind of.”

“Kind of? What do you mean? You’re his cousin, aren’t you? That’s what he said the other night.” she demanded, obstinately.

“It’s not really- I mean, there are wizarding families that have non-magical children and there are non-magical families that have wizards all the time.” Harry sighed. “It’s hard to explain but the point is, it’s nothing anyone did. Clementine was just born that way. She can’t help it.”

“So the singing teddies and the fireworks and the flowers turning into rabbits,” Karen began to ramble, her voice increasing in pitch. “That’s all her? She’s doing it, because she’s-” she lowered her voice, glancing around furtively. “Magic?!”

“Magical children aren’t born with control but it varies.” Harry admitted with a shrug. From his pocket, he withdrew the little dragon Knick Knack he’d brought with him to dinner. It spun on a gossamer thread, tiny and fierce. “Dudley asked if there was something to help Clementine’s…outbursts. My friend gave me this, it’ll help absorb the really wild magic until she’s older.”

To her credit, Karen took the charm in hand gingerly. She was already braver than the Dursleys had ever been, Harry noted mildly. “My baby is magic. This is magic.” She said flatly, as if testing the words out loud. She stared down at the dragon with a bloodless face, then swallowed once and looked back up at Harry.

“So when she’s older, she’ll know how to control it?” Karen said, cautiously.

“Well, she’ll have to be taught how.” Harry said, briefly explaining Hogwarts and all its many splendours, the finest magical education in Britain.

“The finest magical education in Britain is in the Scottish Highlands.” Karen echoed, flatly then leaned back against the bench, looking lost. “I suppose that makes about as much sense as anything else.”

“It’s a lot to take in.” Harry admitted.

“It’s more than a lot.” She snapped impatiently, though she immediately let out a sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t- it’s not your fault. Thank you, for telling me.”

There was a long pause, stretched between them as Karen digested this new information, gently bouncing Clementine in her arms. Harry took the opportunity to study the newest little Dursley. She was rather potato like in shape, with a pointy chin and squinty little blue eyes that peered about curiously. All in all, Harry thought she looked a lot like every other baby he’d ever seen, although maybe there was something oddly Dudley shaped about her nose.

“Why didn’t Dudley just tell me?” Karen suddenly muttered, frustrated. “If he knew all this time?”

Harry paused, unsure of how to explain the Dursley’s long tradition of ritual shaming, encouraged and rigorous disdain, and general anti-magical attitude. “Dudley- look, you probably know by now that my aunt and uncle, they don’t tolerate ‘funny business’.” He began,  hesitantly.

“Funny business,” Karen repeated, darkly. “Nothing funny about it. My baby was on the ceiling.”

“Ah. Yes. The ceiling.” Harry coughed delicately. “Petunia mentioned.”

“My daughter was on the ceiling and he’s telling me I’m definitely on to something with the dermo visits, the bastard.” She continued, fuming. Karen turned to Harry with a slightly manic scowl. “We just painted it, too.”

“Painted it?”

“The ceiling.” Karen stared at him with the slightly dead eyes of a woman on little to no sleep on account of her infant daughter, who has just discovered that aforementioned infant had the ability to transform her vegetables into candied apples with a look. “We just painted it and now it’s covered in SpaghettiOs stains.”

“…tricky things…ceilings…” Harry said, awkwardly while internally wondering if he could simply Apparate away twice in a week in front of the same Muggle.

“They all acted so strange after that,” Karen fretted, distantly. “Vernon suddenly decides he doesn’t want to pick her up and Petunia insists that doctors don’t need to know our business and then there was the way they looked at her-” she paused, her anger clearly building momentum. But her gaze suddenly caught on the playground, and the rage flooded from her shoulders, leaving her unmoored and lost. “That’s what made me leave. In the end.” Karen continued, still looking at the playground with an inscrutable expression. “I thought about what you said, what they said and then I thought, what if they do that to Clemmie?”

The wind brushed past, carrying the squeals of a little boy climbing the wrong way up the slide.

“I won’t let them,” Karen finally said, fiercely. “I’ll protect her. From them. I don’t care if she’s- I’ll take her back to my mum’s if I have to, I don’t care, I won’t let them treat her like that. Oh, sorry baby,” she said suddenly as Clementine gave a wail in protest. “Did mummy squeeze you a bit hard did she, oh she’s sorry baby, she’s so sorry darling.”

While she fussed, Harry felt a part of the weight on his shoulders lift at Karen’s words. She might not know the whole situation and he was sure she wasn’t all together thrilled about the magic revelation but clearly Karen was not about to let anything happen to her daughter. It was like one of the anchors he’d tied to his shoulders had been lifted. They sat peacefully for a while until Clementine began to kick her little heels, eager to wander about at their feet. Karen set her down, reluctantly.

“They don’t like me either, you know.” she said after a moment of watching the little girl toddle about clumsily in the grass.

“Dursleys don’t like anyone except other Dursleys.” Harry said, half-heartedly attempting one of those awful Jokes That Aren’t Really A Joke. “Don’t take it too personally.”

“No, I mean,” Karen bit her lip, as though embarrassed. “I was working in a pub when I met Dudley. He used to come in after work and we’d chat sometimes and then one night he walked me home and- well. One thing led to another and suddenly we had Clemmie. And I wouldn’t trade her, not for nothing but it wasn’t how his life was meant to turn out.” Her expression darkened. “Petunia’s made that very clear. But I won’t have her making Clemmie feel like that.”

Harry could only imagine how his Aunt would have reacted to Dudley bringing home his pregnant unwed girlfriend whom he’d met in a pub.

“It’ll get easier for her, you know.” Harry said, trying for reassuring. “The Wizarding World is full of Muggleborns. One of my best friends is Muggle born and she’s practically running the Ministry.”

“There’s a Ministry?” Karen echoed, looking overwhelmed. “God help me.”

“There’s plenty of resources to help you figure it out. I- I can help, if you want.” Harry offered, a little spontaneous but sincere all the same.

“You meant it then, what you said about making sure she grows up okay?” Karen said, brow furrowed. “Even if Dudley isn’t…?”

Harry frowned. “Karen, I’ll help whether Dudley’s involved or not, I promise.” he said slowly, trying to frame his words carefully. “But everything he’s told me so far, he’s- look, Dudley’s not nice and he was a right little shit our entire childhood, but he loves Clementine. And he loves you. He was worried you’d leave if you knew.”

“Well I left either way, didn’t I?” Karen snapped, though she immediately sighed again. “Sorry, sorry, it’s not your fault. I just…he knew what was going on with her and he didn’t tell me. I thought I was going mad.”

“Dudley said he was worried you’d leave them both if you knew what she was.” Harry said finally.

Karen looked furious. “What the hell did he think, I was just going to throw my own daughter away?” she spat, angrily. “Where’d he get such bollocks- oh, yes, thank you Clemmie, it’s a lovely flower, thank you.” she cooed, gently.

“Oh, me too?” Harry said suddenly as Clementine unclenched her soft, clumsy fist, releasing a woefully crumpled dandelion onto his knee. “Thank you very much.” Clementine watched the strange man with her mother for a few moments before she cracked a shy smile, her blue eyes sparkling. “She’s cute.” He remarked, somewhat surprised.

“She knows it,” Karen sighed, picking Clementine back up as the little girl began to whine for her mother. “All she has to do is look at Dudley and he just melts.”

“I think he was worried being a witch might be dangerous for her,” Harry said suddenly, unsure why he was defending his cousin but doing it anyway.

“Is it?” Karen asked, warily. “Dangerous?”

He shrugged. “No more so than anything in the Muggle world, really. Or maybe just dangerous in different ways.” Clementine’s hat had come askew, so he gently propped it back up.

She caught his hand, tugging on his finger gently. “Mine.”

Harry snorted. There was that Dursley resemblance. “Sorry kiddo, I sort of need that. I know, I know, it’s very rude of me, here-” he tapped his wand to the crumpled dandelion flower in his lap, muttering a quick Transfiguration charm to turn it into a little silver rattle, engraved with dancing dandelions. “See? Much better than a finger.”

“Oh my god,” Karen said, faintly as she watched Clementine play with her new toy. “I- Wow, that’s- she’ll be able to do that then? One day?” She sounded caught between complete horror and morbid curiosity.

Harry privately acknowledged it was not the worst reaction to magic by a Dursley.

“One day. If she studies hard.” His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Transfiguration at Hogwarts is pretty tough.”

“It’s going to be an interesting ride with you, won’t it, hmm darling?” Karen sighed, cooing over the little girl who shook her new toy fiercely towards Harry in response. “I didn’t really expect a baby who set off her own fireworks, you know.”

“Well, I’m sure even magical parents would be a little stumped at babies crawling on the ceiling.” Harry demurred. Unimpressed with not being the clear focus of attention, Clementine shook her rattle to Harry and babbled something meaningfully. He gently took it from her, tapping it with his wand and turning it into a flurry of silver butterflies, much to her delight.

“You’re good with her, you know.” Karen added, all while watching the butterflies with a look of open astonishment.

Harry felt his cheeks warm a little. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a little while, watching until the butterflies finally disappeared. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” Karen finally said, hesitantly. It was clear she had not fully warmed to her husband’s strange, magical cousin but she was trying. It was more than any Dursley had ever attempted. “It’s- I’m glad I’m not going mad.”

Harry smiled, wryly. “You’re just as sane as I am.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

One week after the disastrous dinner with the Dursleys, Harry sent a letter.

The owl left from the window of his apartment, carrying the parchment envelope, which, though not particularly lengthy, had taken the writer several hours to finish. He’d crumpled several drafts already, only to smooth them out and then crumple them again.

When he was finally finished, he’d sent for an owl, something with a long wingspan, trained especially for long distance journeys. Then Harry watched the owl as she wheeled away into the night sky, southward bound and quietly hoped he wasn't making a terrible mistake.

Notes:

me, in feb 2020, publishing the first chapter of this fic: -oh and i'll call it "clementine" because that's dudley's daughter's name and she'll be such a big part of the story-

me, in march 2021: oh and after thirteen chapters, here's the title character i guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 14: ONE OF THOSE NEW-FANGLED JAPANESE MODELS

FOURTEEN.
ONE OF THOSE NEW-FANGLED JAPANESE MODELS

“And this button makes the movie run backwards.”

“Right.”

“And this button makes it run forwards but faster.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And this one makes it stand still, look!” On the small, boxy old television set, Marty McFly obligingly froze in place. “It’s like he’s been Stunned!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re not looking, Harry!” Teddy complained, peering up at his distracted godfather with a frown.

Harry blinked, snapping out of his own thoughts. “Sorry, Ted. I promise, I’m paying attention.”

“No you’re not.” The boy said, a touch petulant. “You didn’t even look when I pressed the pause button.” Teddy, who had recently expanded his field of interests to include his VHS players and tellies, had been rather desperate to share his newfound passion with his godfather during their customary weekly visit.

Given the lack of such Muggle devices at his grandmother’s home, the three of them had planned a visit to the infamous Mr Murphy.

(And if Andromeda answered the door that morning looking a little more dressed up than usual, it was not the sort of thing Harry saw fit to comment on.)

But now that they had arrived, Harry had found himself caught in his thoughts a little too deeply to pay adequate attention to Teddy’s detailed explanation of the remote control and its many fascinating uses.

“Ah, the pause button.” Harry remarked, wisely. “That’s next to the play button isn’t it?”

Teddy nodded, satisfied that his favourite audience was back on side. “And Mr Murphy says this one is the self-destruct button.” he added, sagely.

Harry barely contained his snort. “Oh? Which one is that again, Ted?”

Teddy pointed to the Volume control. “I don’t know why a telly would even have a self destruct button though.” He remarked, quizzically.

Harry had to cover his mouth this time to hide his grin. Mr Murphy was clearly savvy to the ways of introducing Muggle invention to Wizarding children. “Did you pick this one out, then?” he changed the subject, gesturing to the movie in question. It seems Mr Murphy’s video collection was firmly centred on movies released in the mid to late nineties, which must’ve been when his nieces were at their most TV-obsessed. Teddy was equally spellbound by the selection of romantic comedies, family adventure specials and kids’ cartoons.

The boy brightened. “They travel back in time, Harry! In a car! I didn’t know Muggle cars could time travel!”

“Must be one of those new-fangled Japanese models, then. I’ve certainly never seen one in England.” The video-player-owner himself appeared in the doorway, looking warmly at the pair. “Just checking if you two would like a cuppa? Or some juice perhaps?”

Mr Murphy was a short, thin wizard with bushy eyebrows and an easy, friendly smile. He was a widower of about nine years and had been neighbour to Andromeda and Teddy for six of those. Though he had no children of his own, Harry had noticed he was a deft hand with Teddy, very patient and thorough with his explanation of the various Muggle objects in his home. His wife, he’d explained when Harry had remarked on this, had been a Muggle and a hoarder at that. “’Fraid it must have been contagious because now I can’t bear to part with it all.” he’d added, self-deprecatingly.

Harry and Teddy followed him into the kitchen, where Mr Murphy and Andromeda had spent most of their visit chatting while Teddy showed off his knowledge of the VHS. “Thanks again for having us, Mr Murphy.” Harry felt obliged to add as he took a seat at the man’s kitchen table.

“Please, call me Jack.” Murphy waved a hand in a friendly manner. “And besides, I’m glad that old thing is getting a work out after so many years. My nieces haven’t been interested in it since they were about this one’s age anyhow.” He added, ruffling Teddy’s hair a little. He beamed at the affection.

“My daughter had a similar reaction when she visited my in-laws the first time.” Andromeda remarked, nostalgically.

“I bet Vicky would like the movie about the twins.” Teddy commented. His hair briefly flickered from Andromeda’s dark brown to Victoire’s strawberry blonde and back. With Bill and his girls visiting, Teddy had spent one or two afternoons with the Weasley girls. Harry had yet to hear of any mud-slinging or dessert-smushing between them and had begun to tentatively hope his godson and Victoire Weasley might one day even be friends. “They looked like Weasleys with their hair.”

Sensing where her grandson was heading with that line of thought, Andromeda fixed him with a knowing look. “Teddy, we don’t invite others to someone else’s home. It’s rude.”

“It’s not others, it’s Vicky.” Teddy insisted, but dropped the matter obediently. “Thank you for the juice, Mr Murphy.”

“You’re very welcome young man.” Murphy said. “You’ve a very polite grandson there, Andy.”

“Andy?” Harry mouthed playfully to Teddy who snickered behind his glass.

“Oh yes, he’s downright charming when he wants something.” Andromeda said, dryly.

“He must get that from you.” Murphy replied, laughingly with a glance to Harry and Teddy. “I’ll tell you, I haven’t been more soundly managed since my Shannon was around.”

“Oh stop, I did no such thing.” Andromeda demurred, looking pink in the cheeks.

“She caught me retrieving a letter from my letter box one afternoon.” he recounted to Harry. “And within ten minutes, I was on my way to the post office to help her pick out an appropriate birthday present for her grandson.” He explained, gesturing to Teddy. “The one with Her Majesty, isn’t it?”

“I put it in the first page of my collector’s book,” Teddy agreed, adding hastily: “But the other ones you gave me are on the second page!”

“Well, who else was I supposed to ask about Muggle stamps?” Andromeda huffed.

“You know you can ask me for help, Andromeda.” said Harry.

“Yes, but at the time, you were having that trouble with-” she glanced meaningfully to Teddy. “Work. You had enough on your plate without me bothering you.”

Mr Murphy’s bushy eyebrows rose significantly. “Ah, I’d heard you were in a spot.” He said, tactfully.

“Not to put too fine a point on it but yes.” Harry agreed with a sigh. “Should be over soon though.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Vicky said her mum set the newspapers with your picture on fire.” Teddy remarked blithely, adding with some reassurance: “But she said it wasn’t a very good photo anyway.”

Harry nearly inhaled his tea. Coughing, he croaked out, “Thanks Ted.”

“Ah, that reminds me, young Mr Lupin,” Murphy suddenly clicked his fingers. “I did some digging after you were here last and I have something you might find rather interesting. If I may, Andy?”

Andromeda eyed the man scrutinisingly. “Is it larger than a breadbox?” she asked, dryly.

“Better yet, it will fit in his pocket!” Murphy replied, cheerfully.

Teddy looked almost fit to burst with curiosity. “Please Nan?”

She let out a long suffering sigh. “I’ll not have my house turned into a museum of outdated Muggle invention, Jack.” She warned but even Harry could hear the warmth in her tone.

“Well, look on the bright side, it’ll be much easier to bring home than the whole telly set!” he added with a wink.

Teddy bounced incessantly, glancing between the two of them with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, please, please, please-”

“Oh all right, go on with you both.” Andromeda waved them away and Teddy zipped after Murphy in a flash. “He’s quite a dramatic sort,” she remarked to Harry with an elegant roll of her eyes. “Carrying on as though he hadn’t already cleared it with me last week.”

Harry smiled after them. “I feel rude,” he admitted, quietly. “I’ve barely spoken to him.”

“You do seem a touch distracted.” Andromeda agreed. “Everything alright with your cousin’s girl? The one with the early childhood magic wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t mention it was Dudley’s daughter.” Harry accused, suspiciously.

Andromeda sipped her tea. “I have my ways.”

He simply sighed. “Molly told you.”

“We have tea once a month,” Andromeda replied, evenly. “Mostly to discuss how we’ll keep Teddy and Victoire from taking over the world when they come of age. But you’ve come up once or twice as well.”

“Nice to know where I sit on your and Molly’s priority list.”

“Well, out with it then.” Andromeda set down her tea cup expectantly.

“It’s not really them.” Harry answered, vaguely. “I mean, it hasn’t worked out perfectly exactly-”

“Perfectly? How so?”

He winced. “I kind of let the Kneazle out of the bag about the whole magic thing with Dudley’s wife.”

The witch frowned. “She didn’t know?”

“Not a clue. She asked to meet me a few days ago to explain everything. Took it pretty well considering.” He admitted.

“If she took it so well, what exactly is still bothering you then?” Andromeda asked, archly.

“Well…between the Dursleys and all this mess at the Department…I guess I’m just wondering if what I’m doing-” Harry was about to continue but suddenly his arms were full of a bubble gum pink haired Teddy Lupin who was almost vibrating with excitement. In his hands was clutched a small shiny plastic round object connected to a pair of wire earbuds.

“Harry, it plays Mum’s music!” Teddy was almost shrieking, too excited for words. His pink hair was fluctuating between straight, staticky locks and wild curls, like it did when he was truly caught up in a flurry. His eyes changed colour with every blink. “Listen! Listen!”

He shoved the earbuds at Harry who obligingly put them in his ear, bewildered by his godson’s energy. At full blast – Teddy had clearly discovered the secret of the self-destruct button- the music began to croon: “-when it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month or even your yeaaaaaar, well, I’ll be there for yoooooou-“

Harry frowned at the old, familiar jingle. “Hang on, is this-?”

Even Mr Murphy looked surprised. “My niece’s old Walkman,” he replied, mystified by Teddy’s reaction. “She must’ve left the CD inside it as well.”

“May I?” Andromeda took the earbud delicately between two fingers and cautiously lifted it to her ear. After a moment she blinked suddenly, eyes slightly wet and then set the earbud back down. “Your mother used to sing that to you to fall asleep.” She told Teddy, with a sniff. “I didn’t- I didn’t realise it was a Muggle band. She just laughed and told me I wouldn’t have heard of them.”

“There’s others!” Teddy agreed, peering at the buttons intensely. “I can figure it out, I can-”

“Teddy, have you thanked Mr Murphy yet?” Harry quickly cut in, giving Andromeda a moment to dab her eyes.

“Thank you, Mr Murphy, thank you, thank you!” Teddy babbled, cradling the plastic device to his chest with one hand and hugging Mr Murphy tightly with the other. “Nan, can I go play with the Walk Man, please?”

“Off you go then.” Andromeda waved her grandson off and he ducked into the living room, earbuds crammed back in his ears. The silence he left in his wake felt much larger than the kitchen could hold.

“I didn’t think he remembered.” Andromeda finally said. “He was just a baby when- I didn’t think he would remember that.”

“I apologise for upsetting you, Andy.” Murphy insisted, looking quite guilty. “I didn’t realise…”

“How could you have known, Jack?” she waved away his apologies, the same as she had Teddy. “I’m glad.” She said after a moment. “I’m glad he remembers. He should remember things like that.”

Sometimes, in moments of utterly random circumstance, Harry was sharply reminded that his godson’s mother was only twenty five years old when she died. Tonks listened to the Weird Sisters. She turned her nose into a pig snout at dinner to make them laugh. And, apparently, she’d also liked Muggle sitcoms and used to sing theme songs to her infant son to make him fall asleep.

(Sometimes, on the heels of these thoughts, it occurred to him that his own parents had been even younger.)

Harry cleared his throat. “It is a good thing.” He agreed, gently reaching out to Andromeda’s hand reassuringly.

“It is.” She said again.

There was another long pause and then Murphy sighed. “Well I know what I’ll be doing this week.” He said, a slight twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure there’s copies of that blasted show somewhere in this old house.”

“Show?” Andromeda echoed, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Mandy and Sarah were completely obsessed with it.” Murphy said, nostalgically. “Never really caught on to it myself but it had its moments.”

“I wasn’t allowed to watch.” Harry remarked. “My aunt used to call it ‘that American rubbish’. My friend Hermione liked it though. Used to watch it on the breaks from school.”

“Ah,” Murphy nodded, sagely. “My Shannon thought the same. But I caught her looking over the girls’ shoulders once or twice while they visited.”

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Andromeda demanded.

“It’s called FRIENDS, Andy.” Murphy said. “Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”

Harry let out a chuckle. “Thought it looks like you might have to get a television set after all.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

there's not really any plot relevance to this i just like the idea of tonks as a chandler stan ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 15: NINE WEEKS EARLIER

Summary:

It's a big one guys, strap in.

FIFTEEN.

NINE WEEKS EARLIER.

Harry watched with one eye on the case file in his hands and the other on Navita Khatri as she stormed across the bullpen to his desk.

Four months ago when the young Junior Auror had joined their division, Navi had been so star struck she’d had trouble even looking him in the face. Now she almost threw herself into the seat beside his desk with a huff. How quickly they grow up, he mused, dryly.

“Please give Haider the West End robberies.”

“Hello, Khatri.”

She ignored him. “Or the Bookbridge stabbing. Or something. Anything.”

Harry decided to take the bait. “And what’s wrong with the case he’s on now?”

“What’s wrong is he’s on it with me.” Navi insisted. “And if I have to take him to Myrtlebeak, I’m going to hex is teeth to tap dance.”

He paused. “Tap dance? Really?”

“Like Ginger Rogers in Swing Time.” She seethed, then paused, uncertainly. “It’s a Muggle movie about-”

“I know who Ginger Rogers is.” Harry interrupted, wearily. Too often did the Wizarding World forget he'd been raised Muggle for most of his childhood. Besides, Aunt Petunia had a soft spot for Fred Astaire, though she zealously denied it in front of mixed company. He set the case file down, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “That doesn’t really seem fair though. I mean, if Haider doesn’t go with you, I’ll have to sic him on some other poor soul.” He mused, tilting his head to peer around Navi towards the floating map beside Gylda’s desk where she was noisily arguing with the wizard in question. “Gylda looks like she could use a break from him.”

Mattias Haider had been passed around between Squads in the Department like a bad sickle. Despite his tenacity and focus, he had been endowed with a regretful ability to grate on even the most gentle-tempered of his colleagues. Gylda spent most of their conversations eying the wizard like he might make a mildly interesting snack. And yet Harry was certain he saw something in Haider’s three-headed-dog-with-a-bone focus that might turn out one hell of an Auror one day. If Khatri didn’t stun him first, of course.

“I need a break from him more.” Navi replied, not even glancing behind her. Her voice was as matter-of-fact as if she were telling him the weather report. “I went door-to-door with him all of last night.”

He hummed, absently. “Sounds like fun.”

Navi’s look was withering. “I nearly brained myself on one of the door knobs.”

“Wait, door-to-door?” Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as his ears caught up with the conversation. “What was this for? The missing persons case?”

“We were chasing up a lead on Leonie Marrows.” she confirmed, with a frustrated sigh. “The heiress from York.” She passed him the file, flipped open to a photograph portrait of an old witch seated in a cosy library of some kind. Every now and then, she waved her wand and a teapot would hover into the frame, delicately pouring into the shiny little tea cup in her hands. A standard harmless little old lady if ever there was one.

Harry watched the picture reset and then glanced up at Navita. “Last seen at Canary Wharf, right?”

The witch nodded. “We tracked down the last sighting of her to an office building and canvassed the occupants. Someone mentioned seeing Miss Marrows with a wizard called Boris Belgrave who, as it turns out, has also been missing for a fortnight. The witness said she saw them leave via the building’s Floo at around 9pm. She remembers hearing the address was in Myrtlebeak.”

“Wizarding town?”

“South east of London, yes.”

“And who is this Boris bloke?”

Navita flicked her wand for her notepad which came hurtling across the room towards her. She caught it in one hand, and smoothly flipped the pages with the other. A neat trick, giving the impression of effortless cool. Harry knew for a fact she’d practised it for a week to show off in front of Gylda.

She flicked through the pages quickly. “Witness didn’t know him well. His company records list him as some sort of independent investment accounts manager.”

Harry frowned. “Independent? Of who?”

“Everyone it seems.” Navi replied, counting them off on her fingers. “I checked around with all the regular players. Gringotts, the Swedish Häxbanken,  BNH-”

“BNH?”

“Banco Naciónal de Hechizos. It’s the Argentinian Spell Bank.” Navi clarified, casually. Each word dropped off her tongue in a perfect accent.

His mouth twisted in a subtle, wry smile. “Of course. Obviously.” An exemplary Ravenclaw if ever there was one.

“From the look of his books, he had a fairly healthy roster of clients coming in and out.” She continued. “Until about two weeks ago. Then it all just stops.”

Harry leaned back in his chair for a long moment, thinking. “How did the Marrows make their money?” he asked suddenly.

“Sir?”

“The Marrows. You said she was an heiress, right?” Harry checked. “Where’d the inheritance come from?”

Navi grimaced. “I had to do some digging on that one. It got weird.”

 “It always does with wizards.” He muttered with a roll of his eyes. “It’s never simple. Mine comes out of hair products and shampoos. I think the Malfoy fortune is in some kind of wine made from a French grapevine that can strangle you.”

His protégé paused for a moment like she wanted to follow that train of thought further but then deliberately resisted. “Well, they did their best to cover it up but…” she handed him the page with a wince. “The Marrows made most of their coin collecting and selling Goblin-made relics during the Second Goblin Rebellion.”

He found himself sporting a matching grimace. “Grave robbing. Really?”

“Well, corpse robbing, if you want to get technical.” Navi winced. “You know goblins don’t really do graves.”

“No wonder she was seeking independent investment. Gringotts probably wouldn’t have a bar of her.” He paused thoughtfully. “Did you drag up their licensing paperwork?”

Navi sighed. “All his licensing seems to be in order. Business permit, sellers agreement, lease for the premises, it’s all pretty much perfect.”

“Pretty much?”

She frowned. “Well, there was something a little odd.” She pointed to the page. “Belgrave Investments registered for a Floo shipping and transportation permit but it’s not in his name.”

“W. Tiltenhaus.” Hary read aloud. “Belgrave handles the investment reports, the business licensing, the premises rental agreement but not this? What do we have on this bloke Tiltenhaus?”

Navi looked frazzled, scanning her notes for some sort of answer. In the end, it came from a different corner entirely.

“Wilbur Tiltenhaus. German pure blood national, living in England for the past eight years though he regularly conducts business by way of Hamburg and Kiel.” Haider piped up, looking smugly at Navi as he approached. “I followed it up this morning while Khatri here was trying to get me thrown off this case.”

“Thrown is a rather harsh term,” Navi retorted, meanly. “I was hoping for thrashed or fenestrated.”

“You’re just sour because I figured out the Myrtlebeak link.” Haider sniped back.

“Home to the Tiltenhauses, I assume?” Harry said, dryly.

“Yes, sir. I have his address right here.” The young Auror said, eagerly.

“So we have Leonie Marrows, eighty two year old heiress, visiting an independent investment broker, Boris Belgrave’s offices in the posh bit of Canary Wharf at nine o’clock at night.” Harry pieced the story together carefully. “And whatever they discuss send them to Myrtlebeak to visit a wizard who signed off on a minor transport permit for a business he seems to have no other connection to. If he’s some sort of silent partner, he's awfully silent indeed.”

“You think this Tiltenhaus character has something to do with their disappearance?” Navi wondered aloud.

“Obviously.” Haider muttered.

Harry hummed. “I think it’s worth a trip.”

“I’ll go, sir.” Navi offered immediately.

“I found the lead, I should go.” Haider argued.

“I tracked down all the paperwork on the offices!” Navi snarled.

Haider rolled his eyes. “You looked up a few files, get over yourself.”

“And I suppose you had to chase through the mean underbelly of the Floo Book for Tiltenhaus’ address, did you?” Navi snapped back, witheringly.

He considered the situation on his hands. Navi Khatri was the newest face on his squad and certainly one of the brightest Junior Aurors he’d had the pleasure of taking on in a long time.

When he’d interviewed her, she’d been one of fifty four applicants chasing the spot. Harry had always hated the end of those interviews, which were typically littered with questions, like their own personal five minute Q&A. Navi had been in his top ten anyway; she quickly rose to the number one spot when she asked him only one question: “Will you accept a transgender Auror in your Department?”

The way she’d asked it caught his attention: clear. Calm. But the ferocity teeming from her eyes made his decision for him, right then and there. Even if he hadn’t, Gylda, who was tagging in on the interviews, made her feelings quite clear when she stated that Khatri was the only one who might be bearable to work with. And coming from Gylda, that was practically love poetry.

For his part, Harry had merely smiled at her. “I get the distinct impression I’d be a fool not to, Miss Khatri.”

He’d been pleased to see that his instincts were correct; Navita Khatri was whip smart, eager to cut her teeth on the ranks. If she stuck to her guns, he was fairly certain she could make Chief Auror one day.

All that aside, he was not in the habit of reassigning cases due to personal differences. Part of the job was learning to get along with your squad-mates. You had to know you could trust them when it came down to your life on the line. And frankly, Haider and Khatri, much as they might bicker, were a good team and their strengths complimented one another’s weaknesses. It might take some time to see it but they’d get there eventually.

But as Navita was looking closer and closer to simply hexing Haider’s mouth shut, for the good of the squad, Harry decided to take pity on her. Just the once. He couldn’t have them thinking he was going soft or playing favourites.

 “Alright then, off we go.” He said, sweeping his cloak off the back of his chair.

Navi’s head perked up. “Wait, what?”

“You don’t want to go with Haider to Myrtlebeak. So I’ll come along.” He threw her grin. “It’ll be fun. Think of it like a practical exam.”

“Sir!” Haider looked like his jaw might come unhinged if he dropped it any further with outrage.

“Don’t worry, Haider,” Harry craned his neck around for Gylda. “Oi! Gros! Take Haider to Germany for a spell, would you?”

“Germany?” Haider and Navi squawked, clearly uncertain who was getting the better deal between the two of them.

Meanwhile, the blonde witch looked back at him across the bullpen with narrowed eyes. “What do I get out of it?”

Harry shrugged. “Go visit that chocolate place you like and bill it to the department expense account?”

“Done. Come on, brown noser, you’re with me.” Gylda snapped her file shut. “Anything in particular you’re after?”

Harry clapped Haider on the shoulder. “Haider’ll fill you in. Figure out what business Belgrave had in Germany and why they needed a Floo transport license. Gylda, don’t maim him too badly. That’s an order.”

“No promises!” the witch bellowed back, not even glancing up at him.

What a fine squad he’d raised indeed.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Harry and Navita landed in the centre square of the wizard township of Myrtlebeak. Immediately, Harry ducked his head, scraping his fringe over his scar with a casual twist of his hand. His young Junior watched, curiously.

“Do you ever get sick of it?” she asked and then paused. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Harry shrugged. It was not a new question. “It’s been a while. I’m usually pretty good at keeping myself out of the papers. I can even walk down Diagon Alley now.”

“And that’s…good?”

“Well, sometimes I get stopped but it usually only happens when I’m hanging out with Ginny. She has a lot of fans these days.” He added with a proud smile.

Navi gave a hesitant smile back. “My little sisters are big Holyhead fans.” She admitted.

“Oh, I’ll ask Gin if she has any extra merch for them.” Harry offered as they walked in the direction of the address Haider had tracked down the night before.

“Oh Merlin no!” she blurted out. “That’s really not necessary-”

“Don’t worry, she usually gets some extra from the club. A few flags, maybe a hat or two, that sort of thing.” Harry assured her absently. Their target address was not far from the town centre and the streets were quiet for the time of day, leaving Harry ample opportunity to inspect the surrounds. Myrtlebeak was a neat, tidy town with neat, tidy houses that all sat a cordial distance from each other, each property bordered with thick leaved trees and tidy gardens.

Plenty of privacy, Harry concluded, cynically. If their missing persons had met their end around here, he felt doubtful of the prospect of witnesses. They approached their target, another sizeable, well kept property, garden well manicured, driveway clean, bright white paint on the upstairs window shutters.

“What exactly was Belgrave Investment investing in?” Harry asked, absently.

Navita flipped open her notepad, scanning her notes. “Some sort of agency in Germany but it’s vague. My German isn’t quite up to scratch.” She added, sheepishly.

“Poor form, Khatri.” Harry teased. “What will Gylda say?”

Khatri’s skin was too dark to reveal her blush but the way her whole body went stiff spoke volumes. “Gylda- I mean, I-”

He allowed himself a small smile before putting her out of her misery. “Relax, Navi. It was a joke.”

“Right!” she nearly fell over herself in her rush to agree. “Right! Because she’s so hard to impress!”

“Not as hard for some.” He added meaningfully, unable to help himself. “Anything else about the German deal?”

Navi coughed sharply. “Well, whatever it was, it’s not doing too well lately of course, on account of the account manager being, you know, missing.”

Suddenly, Harry felt a prickle on the back of his neck, a sensation that he knew intimately as the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced up at the house and saw a small, pale face disappear from a second floor window.

Meanwhile, Navita knocked on the door and while they waited, she glanced up at Harry. “Sir, I wanted to say, I- I wasn’t angling before.” she said in an undertone. “For stuff for my sisters. I just- they’re really big fans.” She finally blurted out, looking embarrassed. “They tried to dye their hair red with henna last month when the Harpies won over Bristol. Got it all over the carpet. Dad was furious.”

Harry snorted while trying to suppress his laughter. “I’ll tell Ginny, she’ll love it.” He assured her, picturing his girlfriend’s expression when he told her of her fans. “She’ll probably autograph everything she sends.”

Navita looked even more embarrassed but before she could persuade him otherwise, the door swung open, revealing a well dressed wizard, perhaps forty years of age, wearing a politely curious expression. “Good afternoon.” His voice had a slight German husk to it.

Harry opened his cloak a fraction, revealing the silver badge pinned to his chest. Khatri mimicked the movement. “Mr Tiltenhaus? Good afternoon, I’m Senior Auror Potter, this is Junior Auror Khatri.”

“Mr Harry Potter?” He said, mildly surprised. “Really?”

Harry nodded peaceably, used to the reaction by now. “Yes Mr Tiltenhaus. We’re investigating a missing person with a connection to your business associate, Boris Belgrave.”

Mr Tiltenhaus frowned. “Boris? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“Well that’s the thing sir,” Navita replied, smoothly. “No one’s seen Mr Belgrave in over two weeks. He and an associate of his were last spotted headed for this neighbourhood. We’re just wondering if we can have a word, that’s all.”

“Of course.” Mr Tiltenhaus opened the door further, ushering them inside. “Please, come in.”

They entered the living room which was arranged with spotless furniture, all in a coordinated neutral palette. The leather couches were traditional and comfortable. A rather large painting of an older wizard with the same pale blue gaze as Mr Tiltenhaus hung on one side of the room above a glass-windowed side-table which housed neatly stacked silverware, complete with plates, saucers and even a tea set. Atop the fireplace mantle sat a tidy gold-faced mantle clock which ticked along merrily. The whole scene spoke of an understated kind of wealth, an impression only confirmed as Harry cast an eye over the man himself, smartly clad in dark navy robes, threaded with silver. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing just a trace of silver at the temples.

“I’m not sure how I can help.” He was saying, gesturing to the sofas. “Boris and I have not spoken in some time.”

His protégé hummed thoughtfully. “Oh? Why so?”

Tiltenhaus sighed as they sat down. “Boris is a smart man but not especially careful with other people’s money. I had become concerned he was behaving recklessly with our investors.”

Harry was careful to keep his expression bland and politely interested as Navi led the questioning, “Our investors? You aren’t listed as a partner in the firm.”

“I am something of an informal associate of his.” He explained patiently. “I worked with his father for many years. When he came to me, asking for funds to start his own firm, I agreed. It was only later that I realised he was involved with the Bersilen Group.”

“Bersilen, that’s the name of the company Belgrave was investing in Germany, correct?” Navi clarified. “What exactly was is it?”

Tiltenhaus was a man who considered his words carefully. Harry wasn’t sure it was in an effort to translate himself correctly or whether he was concerned about spilling too much too soon. “They have…diverse interests, you might say. Stocks, resources, property. A little of every pie.”

“Why would Boris not have mentioned his involvement to you from the beginning?” Harry asked, finally piping up.

“They have something of a reputation, amongst certain circles. Involvement with…less civilised types.” Tiltenhaus said finally. “At first, Boris insisted he could handle this so I gave my consent to invest a small amount under a registered trust.”

Except Tiltenhaus’ name was the one on the permit for the Floo transport. A fact the wizard had yet to volunteer. Tiltenhaus probably assumed no one had really dug through Belgrave Investment’s paperwork yet to discover it, one scrap of parchment in a file of a thousand.

It could have been nothing. There were all kinds of laws about permit-holders being able to invest certain amounts in businesses they were involved in. Perhaps Tiltenhaus was only guilty of a little corporate greed. Harry mulled the idea over.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught Harry’s gaze, which strayed from their interview, over to the stairs which led to the second floor. And there, at the very top, peeking through the balustrade, was the same pale tiny face as before, watching him.

“…how many would you say?” Navita was asking when Harry turned back to the conversation.

Tiltenhaus considered the question with a slightly furrowed brow. “Perhaps a dozen or so individuals. It was rather a selective cohort, you understand. Some wizards these days haven’t the proper breeding to understand the delicacies of deal-making.”

The words brought Harry’s attention straight back to the conversation. He met the wizard’s eyes with a level gaze. “The proper breeding? What do you mean by that?”

Sensing the coolness in Harry’s tone, Tiltenhaus waved his hands in supplication. “It is not a criticism. I assure you I am not some kind of fanatic, Mr Potter.”

He didn’t blink. “You’ll forgive me if I say I’ve heard that before.”

Tiltenhaus gave a little chuckle. “I can see my English is not so perfect that I am immune to being misunderstood. When I speak of less civilised types, Mr Potter-”

“You mean goblins.” Harry finished, bluntly.

He gave a short clap. “Ah! I see you do take my meaning after all.” he said cheerfully. “Yes, Bersilen has a goblin bureau who are notoriously ill behaved and prone to deception. They have been known to take advantage of the ignorance of Muggleborns and even half-bloods. It is why I was concerned by their involvement in the first place.”

Navita tensed slightly but Harry kept his posture entirely natural. “You know many goblins then, I take it Mr Tiltenhaus?”

“As I said, I do not associate with them personally. That was Boris’ purview.” Tiltenhaus demurred, mildly. “Though one does not need to know many to understand their ways, Mr Potter.”

“I expect many goblins could say the same of wizards.” He replied, blandly. “Mr Tiltenhaus, are you aware you are listed as a permit holder for Belgrave Investments?”

Tiltenhaus’ brows rose in surprise. “That is impossible. I invested a great deal with Boris but I would remember signing such a thing.”

The lies continue. “Perhaps the Ministry files have made some sort of error.” He threw a bored glance toward Navita casually. “Make a note, we’ll follow it up with Lewis when we get back. And you said you and a few other investors were concerned. Which other investors?”

Tiltenhaus looked uncomfortable for the first time. “I am sorry, Mr Potter. Many of the investors are particular about their privacy. I only corresponded with them through our trust overseers.”

“Mr Tiltenhaus, this is a formal investigation. If you do know the identity of any of these investors, failure to volunteer that information will be considered obstruction of justice. Do you understand?” Navi said, polite but firm. It was a feint of sorts. Harry knew full well Navita and Haider had already tracked down several of these silent investors, digging through Belgrave’s records and making enquiries about those who visited his offices. They were all old pure-blood families, mostly from the continent: the Van Greydens, Roostovs, the Savoy-Millefei. Whether Tiltenhaus was lying to preserve their identities or if he genuinely did not know them was not yet clear.

So far, he held to his statement. “I am afraid I do not know names. We did not exchange that information. Our correspondence was only to discuss how our returns had shrunk considerably in the past months. Boris could not give us an explanation.”

“How about Miss Marrows?”

“Miss Marrows…” Tiltenhaus echoed, thoughtfully. “Not Leonie Marrows, surely?”

“That is her name, Mr Tiltenhaus.” Navita replied. “You know her then?”

“I had not realised she was an investor. The Marrows are a very well known family in the north-east of England, or were, I suppose.” He shrugged, looking slightly shamefaced.

While he spoke to Navita, Harry casually inspected the room, eying the enormous painting. It must have been fairly old, he pondered. The subject was a tall man with a scowl, depicted seated in a grand hall with a rather impressive sword and shield mounted on the wall behind him. It eyed him back, but said nothing. “A relation, I assume?”

“My great-great-grandfather.” Tiltenhaus said, distractedly before turning back to Navita in an urgent tone. “Boris should not have involved her. Leonie is rather elderly, you see and her mind is, how would you say…not what it once was.”

Navita nodded at that, scribbling further in her notepad. Harry glanced up at the stairs but the little face from earlier was gone. “Surprising Miss Marrows was interested in dealing with goblins.” He said suddenly. “Considering her family’s history.”

“You speak of the Goblin Rebellions.” Tiltenhaus said, mildly. “Leonie has never been one to shy away from her legacy but yes, I have heard it caused the family problems over the years. There are many for whom the likes of Gringotts will not open its doors.”

“Including yourself?” Harry asked, deceptively casual. He gestured to the painting. “The sword and shield are fine work.”

“You have a good eye, Mr Potter.”

He smiled thinly. “I have some experience with goblin swords.”

Tiltenhaus chuckled a little. “Well, many a wizarding family has some old silver treasure stuck in a cupboard collecting dust, Mr Potter. Although it is becoming less fashionable to admit to owning them these days.” He added with an exasperated tone.

“As I understand it, that’s due to the recent claims that a lot of that silver was stolen during the Goblin Wars.” Harry kept the statements vague but he knew he was right. After all, he’d had to listen to Hermione rant about the injustices of pure blood wizarding families proudly keeping what were effectively war trophies, gained unlawfully during the Goblin Wars and kept despite numerous, relentless appeals made by the Continental Goblin Confederation.

Tiltenhaus gave a small shrug. “Goblin ownership laws are very dissimilar to wizarding ones, in this respect. Everyone knows this.”

Harry let it go, pushing forward. “So you didn’t know Leonie Marrows was one of Boris’ investors.“

His pale blue eyes narrowed just a fraction. If Harry had blinked he would have missed it. “No. I did not.”

“We have a witness who suggested they were coming to see you, the night they went missing.” Navi added.

“They must be mistaken.” The wizard replied, levelly. “Or some misfortune met them on their way here. I have not seen Boris in weeks.”

“Hm. Do you mind if I use your loo, Mr Tiltenhaus?” Harry interrupted brightly. He stood before Tiltenhaus replied, peering about as though a toilet might suddenly make itself known.

“Certainly. Upstairs on your right, if you please.”

Navita’s eyes flitted to Harry and, silently understanding, she suddenly took a new route of questioning: “Could you explain a little more about the Bersilen Group? My German is just atrocious-”

Harry lumbered up the stairs noisily, though his blundering ceased the second he was out of view from the ground floor. He considered Navita as he checked first the bathroom (on the right as stated) and then the hallway cupboard beside it. She caught on fast, he’d give her that but he wasn’t certain how long she could ramble about German investment bureaus. Better make this quick.

It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for: a bedroom with a sign attached to the door in neat gold letters. SASHA. It was slightly ajar but Harry didn’t want to scare the poor girl. As he raised his hand to knock however, the door creaked open a little further and when he glanced down, he realised the little face was back, peering around the door.

“Hello.” Harry said, with a small smile.

The girl was slightly older than he figured her, perhaps around ten or so. She was mostly made of pale skin, thick eyebrows like her father and big, solemn brown eyes. “Hello.”

“We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves before,” he said, kindly, as though the little covert glances they’d exchanged had been a polite chat. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry.”

She hummed a little, taking it. “My name is Alexandra.”

“Alexandra.” Harry repeated, slowly crouching so they could talk better through the crack in the door. The room behind her was pale, lit by the afternoon sunlight, and almost curiously tidy. “That’s a very nice name.”

“Thank you.” she said, automatically. Her fingers were tight on the side of the door. “It was my mother’s.”

“So who’s Sasha?” Harry said, mildly curious.

The girl’s eyes flickered up to the door plaque and back. “Sometimes people call me Sasha instead.”

“I see.” He said, considering. “Do you prefer that?”

“Prefer it?”

“To Alexandra.”

She shrugged. “It is just a name.” Which was code for yes.

Harry moved on. “I saw you before, when I was downstairs.”

“I heard you coming up our driveway.” She finally replied in a mumble. “You are an Auror, aren’t you?”

“I am. See, I have a badge and everything.” He showed her the silver pin, prying it from his shirt to give to her.

She inspected it with her thick brows furrowed in concentration and then she handed it back. “I heard you coming up our driveway.” She repeated, this time with a small quiver in her voice.

When she didn’t say anything else, Harry pursed his lips slightly. “Sasha, do you want to tell me something?” he said in a quiet, serious voice. He’d seen this expression before. In children, in adults, it was always the same. The quiet, anticipatory glances. Waiting for a chance to spill a burden.

“Why would you think that?” she shot back, defensively.

“You seem like you’ve been waiting for a chance to talk, that’s all.” Harry said, calmly. “My partner’s here too, you know. Her name is Navita.” Harry paused, thinking hard. “Would you like to talk to her instead maybe? She’s just downstairs.”

Sasha clung to the doorframe as though her life depended on it. “Don’t go back down there!” she hissed, eyes suddenly wide.

Harry raised his hands, as though in surrender. “Downstairs, you mean? Why not?”

“It’s not safe down there.” She insisted. “You have to go.”

But before Harry could get another word in, the door closed with a neat click. Harry waited, in case she changed her mind but it didn’t budge and in the end, he retreated, mulling over the strange conversation. Putting on a mask of polite disinterest, he thumped back down the stairs. “Thank you kindly Mr Tiltenhaus.” he said, cheerfully with a nod to the wizard who seemed to have grown more annoyed in his absence.

“If that will be all, Aurors, I do have business to be getting on with.” He said, politely but firmly and again, Navita’s gaze flitted to Harry’s before she stood.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr Tiltenhaus.” Navita said as they exited. “We’ll be in touch.”

When the door shut behind them, she immediately turned to Harry but he pushed them forwards. “Don’t speak, just keep walking. Don’t turn around.” He whispered, warningly. They were well out of view of the home when he finally turned to her. “There’s something wrong in that house.”

She frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, he’s not owning up to being the shadow partner with Belgrave but everything else checks out. If he’s telling the truth about Belgrave risking their investment and Marrows found out, either one of them could’ve gone after the other and now they’re in the wind. There are worse motives for murder.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “His daughter’s terrified.”

“Daughter? What daughter?”

“Tiny thing hiding upstairs. Told me it was dangerous to go downstairs and then she stopped talking.” Harry recounted, shortly. “I’m willing to bet she’s the only other person in the house. Did you see any photos of a Mrs Tiltenhaus?”

Navita’s frown intensified. “No. Now that you mention it, there was nothing. I didn’t think he was married, let alone had a kid.”

“Nothing save for that big bloody painting of his moody ancestor. Whatever the situation, it’s just the two of them.” Harry said, decisively. “None of the other bedrooms are being used.”

“Exactly how much of the house did you explore in three minutes?” Navita blurted out, gaping at him.

Harry turned back to look in the direction of the Tiltenhaus’ residence. The stakes had shifted. This was no longer a missing persons case, not with Sasha Tiltenhaus still hiding in doorways, terrified of some unknown danger in her own home.

“Enough to know that there is something going on under that roof.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

Wow, I'm sorry it's been so long guys! Doctoral life is kicking my ass right now but I hope you enjoy the new chapter <3 I'll spend some time tomorrow answering comments but please know every one of you who kudoses or comments or subscribes or bookmarks just makes my day <3 Next chapter, Hermione and Ron are back and we have some clarity on the case (fINALLY)

PS. I left clues throughout the rest of the fic that Navi was a trans woman but I will admit, I'm not trans and I'm not super familiar with writing transgender characters so I'm always open to feedback if anyone has thoughts!

PPS. The whole thing about Goblin silver comes from the current debates about repatriation of artefacts and artwork to those original communities/owners from whom it was taken through unethical or illegal methods (**coughcough** The Koh-i-Noor Diamond, The Elgin Marbles, the Benin Bronzes) because the treatment of Goblins in the original books never really sat right with me tbh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

PPPS. Headcanon: Lily and Petunia both loved Fred Astaire movies. It was one of the few things they could agree on when they were teenagers and the longest periods of armistice between them was when they sat on their squishy family couch on either ends, watching in silence but together. Petunia watches them alone now, though she still sits on one end of the couch while she does, leaving the other side empty.

Chapter 16: THEY'VE SEEN ODDER THINGS, TRUST ME

SIXTEEN.
THEY’VE SEEN ODDER THINGS, TRUST ME.

“So you’re a…healer.” Karen inspected the wizard with narrowed, slightly distrustful eyes. Her daughter, sensing her mother’s scrutiny, mimicked the expression.

As if it were possible to hear the lack of capital letter in her tone, Healer Quagmill gave a strained smile. “Yes, Mrs Dursley. I’ll just have Clementine open her mouth slightly, now.”

Clementine’s mouth did not move from its tiny petulant scowl. “No mouth now.”

“Indeed.” Quagmill said weakly. “But I do need to see that little tongue of yours for just a moment, little miss- ow!”

Harry forcefully supressed his laughter but even he couldn’t contain a slight snort. “She takes after her father.” He said, blandly to the Healer’s betrayed look. He hadn’t expected to end up in the hospital today but things had spiralled quickly since this morning when Karen paid him a visit, looking frazzled and at the end of her rope. “That dragon, it’s not working,” she’d wailed, eyes red and watery with exhaustion. “Please, she’s been making every pot in my mum's kitchen bang together for the last two hours!”

Luckily, Harry knew a few figures around St Mungo’s and they’d been able to squeeze him in for a same day paediatric appointment though he was certain the gossip rags were busy putting together headlines about HARRY POTTER'S SECRET MUGGLE LOVE CHILD. Healers, he’d found since working in the Auror Department, could be the worst gossips.

The Healer they’d been assigned was decent enough, slightly on the younger side and a little starry eyed but he came highly recommended . He addressed Karen with a gentle but cautious sort of voice, clearly sensing the Muggle woman was nearing the very end of her patience.

Apparently, he should have been more cautious of Clementine’s sharp little teeth instead.

Karen was less amused. “Why are you sticking your hands in my daughter’s mouth? What medical school did you go to?” she demanded, running a hand through Clementine’s wispy blonde curls.

Healer Quagmill looked indignant. “I assure you, I graduated from the finest Healing program in the country, Mrs Dursley-!”

“I don’t see any certificates on your wall.” Karen pointed out, waving a hand towards the aforementioned pleasantly green but notably blank wall.

“The Phyllis Pheeling Physician and Healing Program does not award certificates!” he blustered.

“What sort of school doesn’t give you a certificate?” she demanded right back. “What sort of program is this? How long did you study for?”

Quagmill wilted a little under the interrogation. “W-Well, I undertook four years of rigorous-”

“Four years?” Karen exclaimed. “What kind of school hands out medical licenses after four years?!”

“…license?”

Karen’s eyes turned flinty. “To be a doctor, obviously.” She ground out.

Quagmill’s voice was small and bewildered. “I- I don’t have a license.”

“Doesn’t have a- Harry, you’re sure this bloke is proper for Clemmie? I don’t want some unlicensed quack checking her out.” Karen sounded distinctly unimpressed.

Harry forced his features into an expression of solemnity. “Healer Quagmill came recommended by a friend of mine who runs the neonatal department here at St Mungo’s.” he said, patiently. “But if you’re not convinced, we can ask for someone else.”

Karen turned her scrutiny back on Quagmill. While she may not have looked very intimidating, standing at five foot three, dressed in her stretchy black yoga pants, her many-pocketed puffer jacket and leopard print scarf, Karen Dursley seemed resolved not to let herself be underestimated by the new realities of her daughter’s world.

If only Harry could persuade her not to take it out on the poor Healer that Katie Bell had set them up with.

Eventually, she simply nodded. “Stop sticking your fingers in her mouth unless you’d like to lose them.” She recommended, warningly.

Healer Quagmire looked to Harry as if for help, but the Auror merely shrugged. “It’s sound advice to me.”

Clementine pouted. “No.” her mouth remained set in its little frown, arms crossed. She looked a great deal like what he remembered Dudley looking like as a little boy: blonde, pudgy and stubborn.

Harry eyed the Healer’s quill, its long feather jutting from the pocket of his robes. “Clemmie?” he said, crouching in front of the exam table.

She looked curiously at him. “Stick.”

His smile grew a little despite himself. Karen had mentioned Clemmie’s name for him. “Would you like to see a trick?”

“Stick!”

Harry withdrew his wand from his robes and made sure the little witch was paying attention while he quietly levitated the Healer’s quill from his pocket.

It twitched and twisted in the air while Clementine watched in utter fascination. “Stick!” she cheered, sullen mood gone as quickly as it arrived. “Stick fly!”

“Healer Quagmill, I’d suggest finishing up soon.” He added, retreating. With a long-suffering sigh, the Healer recommenced his exam, this time keeping a healthy distance from Clementine’s little teeth. She didn’t seem to notice, too busy gazing at the flicker of the long red plume over her head with wonder. Karen sidled up next to Harry, never once taking her eyes off her daughter. “The more I hear about all this magic business, the less legitimate it sounds, you know.” She muttered.

Unbothered, he shrugged back, still flicking his wand. “You get used to it. He really is quite good according to his boss.”

“His boss who you know.” she flashed him a quick, vaguely suspicious glance. “Are you a big deal or something? You seem to know a lot of people.”

Harry wheedled, “Something like that. I’m just lucky to have a lot of friends.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve been taking her to our GP for months and he says she’s fine, you know.” she fretted under her breath. “Healthy as a horse. He told me I was just sleep deprived and imagining things.”

“No worry of that here,” Harry said, mildly. He nudged her gently in comfort. “They’ve seen odder things, trust me.”

“Yes, well, the man with a fish growing out of his ear in the lobby was definitely…odd.” Karen retorted, stiffly. She wasn’t quite used to it all yet, Harry could see that much plainly. But the longer she spent away from the Dursleys, the less sweater sets and pearls she wore and the more he started to see her as less as ‘Mrs Dursley’ and more as a mother completely out of her depth but struggling through anyway for the sake of her child. She’d warm up to magic eventually. Probably.

Healer Quagmill finally stepped away, professionalism regained. Harry let the quill drift towards the table where Clementine grabbed it greedily. “It seems Clementine has a rather spectacular case of the Terrible Twos.” He said brightly.

Karen scowled instantly. “Terrible Twos? Clemmie’s not like that. Honestly, she barely even tantrums these days.” She looked at the little girl whose scowl evaporated with a giggle. “Look at her. All smiles, aren’t you love?”

Harry couldn’t restrain his own small smile as Clementine let out another laugh. “Mama up now!” she demanded, waving the feather in her fat little hands. “Up!”

Healer Quagmill’s brow furrowed with confusion. “The Terrible Twos have nothing to do with tantrums, Mrs Dursley. It’s a condition found in wizards Clementine’s age, it’s a symptom of how her magic is developing. It should clear up within a few months as she continues to grow but there are some potions I can prescribe to ease the transition.” He gave a short chuckle. “I’ll admit, this is definitely the most pronounced case I’ve ever treated. Quite energetic, from what I’ve seen.”

“Energetic.” Karen simply stared at him. “She turned her lunch into confetti yesterday.”

Quagmill’s small smile faltered. “Er…”

“Have you ever tried to get confetti out of your house, Mr Quagmill?”

“It’s…it’s Healer Quagmill.”

With a deeply unimpressed sigh, Karen picked Clementine up off the examination table. “What’s in these potions then?”

The Healer rattled off a few ingredients, not noticing the way Karen’s face grew tighter with every eye of toad or ashwinder scale mention. “-quite safe for infants, I assure you.” he added, cheerily.

“You couldn’t assure me that the sky is blue.” Karen muttered back and then turned to Harry, anxiously. “It’s safe? For Clemmie?”

“Mr Potter, I assure you,” Healer Quagmill flustered. “The potions are perfectly safe.”

He threw the man a speculative once over (he wasn’t imagining the man’s sweaty brow) and nodded. “Katie wouldn’t recommend him without a reason. He knows his stuff.”

“Good.” She turned back to Quagmill who, honest to Merlin, flinched. “I’ll take the…potions.” The words were pained.

As Quagmill left the examination room to prepare the prescription, Karen bounced Clementine with another long sigh. “Does it ever make sense?” she demanded, wearily. “Healers, potions, toad eyes. Don’t you ever miss things that make sense?”

Harry felt a pang of empathy for her. “It was confusing for me too and I was eleven when I found out what I was. I had years to figure it all out. You’ve had days.”

Clementine mashed her fingers in her mouth idly. “Bite hand.” She mumbled around them.

“You sure did, kiddo.” Harry said, wryly. “Gave him poor Healer Quagmill a fright, didn’t you?”

She beamed in response. For whatever reason, Clementine had taken something of a liking to Harry, though that could have simply been her temperament. Unlike what he recalled of Dudley as a little boy, Clementine appeared entirely unbothered by most things, more prone to smiling than whining. Karen’s genes, perhaps.

“I know I sounded harsh,” her mother admitted, reluctantly. “I just- how am I meant to make sure she’s okay? I didn’t read What To Expect When You’re Expecting A Witch.” She still said the last word in a hushed tone, despite the fact that they were stood in an examination room at a magical hospital, surrounded by wizards.

Harry spoke gently. “You don’t have to know everything right now.”

“I just want to be a good mum for her.” she said, tiredly. “But this is a lot.”

There was a gentle knock on the door and a nurse poked her head in, pinkening when they both turned to glance at her. “Oh, er, apologies, Mr Potter. Healer Quagmill left his, er…quill!” she blurted out but her smile dropped when she realised Clementine had slobbered all over the end of it.

“I’ll just collect him a new one.” She said, sheepishly. Harry feigned a polite but strained smile. She was the second witch who’d interrupted their appointment to catch a glimpse of him and the ‘strange Muggle woman with the little girl’, clearly keen for some kind of gossip.

Even Karen was getting suspicious. “Lots of friends, huh?” she said as the witch gently closed the door.

He held back a wince. “So many.” He paused, hesitating over his next words. “You know, much as he wants to deny it, Dudley has some experience with magic.” Not especially good experiences but regardless.

Karen’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t get me started on him,” she warned, bouncing Clementine again. “He’s still in the doghouse for not telling me in the first place. I was on message boards, babbling on about my baby who floated out the window! Do you know how many people think I’m a lunatic? Worse, a child endangering lunatic?”

Harry wisely retreated, hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Far be it from me to advocate for Dudley Dursley.” He added, somewhat bitterly.

“Was he really so awful to you?” Karen wondered, cautiously. “He’s just…he’s so wonderful with Clem. I can’t picture-”

“He was.” Harry interrupted, bluntly. “They all were.”

Karen seemed troubled by the idea. “Maybe they were overwhelmed?” she suggested, hesitantly. “I mean, anyone would be. All this,” she waved her free hand about. “It’s unbelievable.”

“There’s overwhelmed and then there’s outright abuse.” He snapped, then immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Karen didn’t deserve his ire. She was a new mum working out an entirely new world with no help from her husband and a daughter who made her stuffed animals sing. Besides, putting Harry’s relationship with the Dursleys into words was difficult, even for himself. They’d been verbally, emotionally and occasionally physically abusive to him his entire childhood, made him feel worthless and stupid and dirty somehow, something to put away in a cupboard when good company was over.

But they had also been the only family he’d known for eleven years.

So Harry had learned the fine art of pretend at an early age. And for so long, Harry had pretended the Dursleys were a proper family to him. There were rare afternoons where he played with Dudley’s old broken toys on the same mat as his cousin and pretended they were playing games together. Mornings when he quietly ate his breakfast at the counter while Uncle Vernon read the paper at the table and imagined they were sharing a meal. Nights when Aunt Petunia would let him stay up late while she watched old black and white films on the telly, pretending she didn’t see him curled up against the side of the couch. Harry learned to play pretend so well that at times, he nearly very well believed it himself. Nearly but never quite. There was always a sharp word or a quick smack that knocked the fantasy right out of him and reminded him that within the Dursley family, there was no place for knobbly kneed, dark haired, brown-skinned, awkward, odd, peculiar orphaned Harry Potter.

The magical world was a revelation to him in more ways than one but it took years to unlearn everything the Dursleys had taught him. It took a hundred tries to accept Ron’s sweeping hugs without wincing slightly or to see Hermione’s friendly smiles as genuine and as not some sad, imaginary game in his head. As an adult, he knew there was no excuse for putting a child through that kind of abuse and Harry was in no mood to sugar coat things for Karen about his history with her in-laws. He’d grown out of playing pretend where they were concerned. But then, there had been real moments as well, here and there, hadn’t there?

“Petunia and Vernon…” Harry balanced his words carefully. “They knew better. And Dudley, well he was a snot nosed little turd of a kid and then a bully as a teenager and we all know how bloody awful they can be.”

Karen instantly grimaced. “Just picturing Clemmie as a sixteen year old gives me nightmares.” She admitted. “If she’s anything like me, I’ll have to put bars on her window.”

Harry winced, despite himself.

Credit where credit was due, Karen picked up on clues fairly quick. Her entire expression went pale. “Oh,” she said, weakly. “Oh dear.”

“Look, I’m trying to say Dudley wasn’t a great cousin and I don’t think any part of him genuinely pondered if our childhoods were…fair-”

“Well, Dudley’s not one to waste time as a ponderer, is he?” Karen defended, then cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“But he was a kid too, for most of it.” Harry continued. “And at the end there-”

I don’t think you’re a waste of space.

“-I think he figured out he wasn’t as much like his parents as we both thought. For him to ask me for help with Clem in the first place, well, that says more than I could.”

“I don’t know why he didn’t ask sooner,” Karen complained. “He made me look like a babbling idiot for months. His mother said the most awful things to me about Clemmie. And all this time, he knew someone who could help us and he just…didn’t. And I don’t get it, I mean, you seem, well, fine.”

“Thanks.” Harry snorted. High praise indeed from a Dursley. He was about to tell her so when Healer Quagmill returned with their prescription. He looked mildly relieved to be done with them; Harry felt only a slight pang of guilt. It didn’t hurt to have an extra cautious Healer, especially for his little cousin. She was growing on him with her sunny smiles and shrieking giggles.

“Mr Potter, Mrs Dursley, I have your prescription here.” He explain. “Though if you’d prefer, I can have our resident potion master mix and deliver the potions directly to your door.”

“My mum’s not ready for that.” Karen immediately said, nervously.

“You know, I think I’ll pick them up myself.” Harry said slowly. “Can you have the apothecary charge it to my account?”

“Right away, Mr Potter. They will be ready by the end of tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Might I just add, Mr Potter, it has been a genuine pleasure treating your niece and I do hope you’ll consider me for your regular check ups-”

“Yes, thank you very much Healer Quagmill, and do give Healer Bell my best,” Harry said loudly, gently guiding Karen out the door.

“Alright, that’s it!” she exclaimed as they walked. “What are you? Some kind of wizard pop star? Do wizards even have pop stars?”

“Merlin, I wish.” He mumbled.

“Seriously,” Karen prodded. “Why is everyone all Mr Potter this and Mr Potter that? Who are you?”

“It’s not really that important,” he hedged. “I’m just- Hermione?”

“Hermione?” Karen’s nose wrinkled. “What does that mean? Is that what Harry’s short for?”

He was barely paying attention, too busy watching the curly haired witch picking up a prescription from the in-house apothecary. She seemed similarly surprised to see him, managing a weak smile. “Oh, hello, Harry.”

“What’re you doing here? Is everything okay?” he asked, immediately concerned.

“Oh, just grabbing a few Pick Me Up potions,” she reassured him. “Ron’s been working such late hours, he needs a little help in the mornings.”

Harry laughed a little at that. “Yeah, I used to make Gylda float a coffee cup under his nose when he fell asleep at morning debriefs.”

Hermione caught sight of Karen and Clementine behind him with a cautious smile. “And who is this?” she said, though he knew she must suspect their identity at least.

“Oh, Hermione, this is my…this is Dudley’s wife, Karen,” Harry said, awkwardly. “And his daughter, Clementine.”

“Hullo!” Clementine gave Hermione a rather devastatingly cute smile and Harry could see Hermione’s reservations fall away.

“She’s gorgeous.” Hermione gave a little coo and Karen glowed under the praise.

“Isn’t she?” she said proudly. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you, er, a wizard too then?”

“A witch.” Hermione corrected gently. “And yes.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Hermione’s a Muggle-born actually. Like Clemmie.”

Karen’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “You mean your parents aren’t….?”

“Magic? No, they’re dentists actually. Well, my mum is. My dad retired last year.” Hermione gave a little shrug. “Can’t seem to persuade mum to do the same.”

Karen gave a little sigh that was half sob. “Oh that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” She nearly wept. “I’m sorry, it’s just that everything’s been so strange, it’s just nice to hear something normal!”

Hermione flashed Harry a slightly concerned glance and he simply shrugged back. “Yes, Harry mentioned your daughter was showing some early magic.”

“How did your parents handle it?” Karen demanded, desperately. “The crawling on the ceiling, the confetti baths, the fireworks?”

The witch blink, somewhat taken aback. “Oh, well, I don’t think it was quite as drastic as that,” she explained, hesitantly. “I think the earliest sign for me was making my bookshelves grow on their own-”

“Well that explains a lot.” Harry mumbled to himself.

Hermione threw him a gentle glare. “-but I was about nine or ten at the time. A few years later, a teacher from Hogwarts arrived to explain everything to them.”

Karen loosed a great sigh. “Yes, Harry said she’d learn to control it at school. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“The potions will help.” Harry jumped in, reassuringly. “I know they sound strange-”

“Newt eyes!” she said, plaintively. “In baby food!”

Hermione gave a little shudder. “Wait until you hear about mooncalf dung. That took some getting used to, I’ll say.”

“Not helping.” Harry muttered tightly as Karen went even paler.

The witch rushed to explain. “Oh that’s not what I meant, you don’t eat it! I’m sorry, I forget how strange it all was when I first found out. It gets better though, I promise. My parents come to tea with my husband’s family all the time now and they don’t even blink at the singing teapot any more.”

“I’ma little teapot!” Clementine began singing cheerily. “Shor’ and stout!”

“Clever girl,” Hermione cooed gently, resulting in another beaming smile. “I’m sorry, I have to run but here, I’ll give you my address. If you have any questions for me or my parents, just write me, I’ll pass it along to them. Still coming for tea on Sunday, Harry?”

“Andromeda’s taking Teddy for dinner at her sister’s so sure.” He replied, managing to keep most of the sourness from his tone.

Hermione smiled, knowingly. “Still sore that Teddy comes back looking like a Draco miniature?”

“I’m still his favourite.” Harry mumbled, petulantly.

“It was nice meeting you, Karen. Bye Clementine.” Hermione added with a little wave.

“Buh-bye!” Clemmie sang back as they watched Hermione head for the Floo.

Karen watched her with adoring eyes. “She seems lovely.” She sighed, longingly. “So…normal.”

“Hermione’s the smartest person I know.” Harry added, proudly. “She’ll probably end up as Minister for Magic one day.”

“Minister for-” Karen echoed, wondrously. “And her parents are normal? Like me?”

“Muggles.” Harry corrected patiently. “But yes. She’s brilliant.”

Dudley’s wife turned to him with a scrutinising air. “And just how do you know a future Minister then?” she interrogated. “And the head of a hospital? And all these friends of yours? You never told me why everyone seems so keen on you.”

Harry knew that at some point, he’d have to explain himself. Karen was his in-law. Her daughter was a witch. By the time she eventually went to Hogwarts, someone would make the connection. It was unfair to keep Karen in the dark and one day, he would have to sit down and explain the saga of the Boy Who Lived and what it meant for Clementine.

But today was not that day.

Today, Harry Potter merely shrugged, pushing open the swinging exit doors for the pair of them with a wry smile. “Me? Oh, I’m no one, really.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

When listening to Karen, imagine Catherine Tate's voice.

Also, does anyone else find the lack of information about how Healers are trained/educated absolutely infuriating?? What are their qualifications? They have to get high NEWT grades but after that????!??!?!?! Karen is out here asking the Right Questions™ tbh

Also, also, the thought of Draco and Harry competing to be Teddy's favourite makes me so happy ಥ◡ಥ

More Hermione and Ron next chapter <3

Chapter 17: WHAT ABOUT THE MINISTER'S LOVER?

SEVENTEEN

WHAT ABOUT THE MINISTER’S LOVER?

Ron stared at him.

Harry stared back, slurping his tea slowly.

Ron gave in first. “I’m just saying, I could help.”

“It’s illegal to share details of the case with civilians, Ron.” Harry lectured back.

His friend’s face screwed up churlishly. “I’m not a civilian,” he complained. “I’m your best mate!”

“My best mate who handed his badge in a while ago.” He couldn’t resist the slight dig.

Ron looked like he wanted to say something but he bit it back at the last second. “Come on, I know you have a theory. Cough it up, Potter.”

Harry sighed, leaning back in the squishy armchair which sat opposite Ron’s, his desk between them in its usual disarray. The Wheezes office was nothing like the bullpen at the Auror’s Office but there was a certain familiarity to sitting opposite his friend, spitballing ideas and theories.

“Something about this investment firm doesn’t sit right with me.” He admitted finally. “Nevi and Haider checked into some of the silent investors, the ones they could find at least.”

“And?”

“Old pureblood types mostly. Van Graydens, Savoy-Millefei. Roostovs.” Harry listed, striving to remember them all. “Nothing too strange there but there’s just something about the whole thing that doesn’t make sense. What were they investing in exactly? Who was Belgrave meeting with in Germany? Why did Tiltenhaus sign that permit?”

Distracted, Ron frowned a little. “Roostovs? Like the Russian Roostovs?”

“You know them?” Harry blinked in surprise.

“Not personally but weren’t they in the papers a while back?” Ron said, thoughtfully. “I remember Mum banging on about something to do with them in the Prophet…some old lady whose own house turfed her out in the street?”

I’ve been saying for years the Prophet is bad ink! Ever since those photos of that poor old witch in her nightie came out… Molly’s voice came unbidden to his mind.

“That was the Roostovs?” Harry said, dubiously.

“Natalya Roostova, I think.” Ron hummed. “The article said she’d dithered away all the family fortune and her house had enough of being a hovel so it just evicted her. It was a big scandal, at the time. Pureblood family gone bankrupt? It’s not the type of thing that usually makes it to the papers.”

“If the Roostovs are bankrupt, how on earth were they investing in Belgrave?” Harry demanded, bewildered.

“Must’ve found some extra sickles lying around somewhere.” Ron replied but he too seemed troubled. They sipped at their tea, broodingly and then Ron deftly changed the subject in a rare show of social grace. “How’s your cousin doing?”

“Dudley?” Harry grimaced. “No idea. Haven’t seen him since the dinner. But Clemmie’s doing well. I took her and Karen to an appointment at St Mungo’s the other day to get her checked out.”

“Oh?”

“She bit the healer.”

Ron snorted. “That’s about as normal as it gets. Percy still has a scar on his ankle from where I bit him once when we were kids. Waves it about every Christmas whenever we have an argument, like it’s a bloody amputation.”

“Karen’s adjusting to the whole magic thing, I think. Seeing Hermione helped a little.” Harry admitted.

Ron frowned. “’Mione? What was she-?”

“Your brother is a menace!” Hermione huffed as she entered the office, throwing herself down into Ron’s lap with more than a little drama.

Ron took it completely in his stride, not even spilling his tea. “Which one is it now?”

“Just because he and Angelina can’t get their act together doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer for it!” she ranted, moodily. “For Merlin’s sakes, it’s so obvious Charlie’s even noticed!”

“Ah, George then.” Harry hummed.

“Cut them some slack, ‘Mione,” Ron interrupted her. “You know it’s complicated.”

“Why? Because she and Fred went to a dance together once? It’s absurd.” She fumed. “And if he keeps making his stupid little comments, I’ll tell Angelina all about that night he turned up in our fireplace waxing on about her ears.”

Harry glanced at Ron, interest piqued. “How have you not blackmailed him with this yet?”

His friend grimaced. “Honestly, it was too pathetic to even bother. Think of the shape of them, Ronnie, and she wears those little golden hoops, god she’s gorgeous and she’s got both of hers still, what would she even want with me?” he added in a mocking drawl.

“Revolting,” Harry said, mildly delighted by George’s humiliation. “Hermione should definitely warn Angie.”

“Like she’s any better.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Remember that time she caught us all at the Leaky Cauldron? She spent the entire night staring at his arms and then pretending to be studying the menu.”

“The Leaky Cauldron doesn’t have a menu.” Harry pointed out.

“Exactly.” Hermione said witheringly.

“Leave them alone, ‘Mione.” Ron insisted. “They’ll work it out for themselves. And if George makes any comments, just do what I do and hex his butt cheeks together.” Harry snickered, unable to help himself.

“A solid strategy.” Hermione commented dryly. “But first, I think I’ll remind him that Angelina and I are in the same book club and see how that goes. Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Hermione.” He replied, obligingly. “How’s life, post-coup?”

“Excellent.” She beamed, mood thoroughly lifted. “We’ve helped ratify three more sub-councils based on the precedent set with the Werewolf Restrictions Act, so beyond our timeline, I’m not even quite sure what to do with myself now.”

“Sure you do.” Ron said with a laugh. “Hermione’s coming for the Ministry after all.”

“You exaggerate!” she protested. “Not the whole Ministry-”

“Just the laws which govern it according to standards of outdated, irrelevant, prejudicial bigotry.” Ron quoted.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “All hail, Minister Granger.”

“Stop it!” she complained, but her laughter was clear. “I just meant that we’re tackling the pro-pureblood laws next. The standards set in the Department for Magical Beasts and Beings have gained so much traction, now’s the time to push forward with a reform program that corrects the same backwards, medievalist issues in our own laws.”

Ron wiped an imaginary tear. “Truly inspiring, Madame Minister.”

“Would that make you the First Spouse?” Harry wondered aloud, finishing his tea.

“It better,” Ron retorted. “If I’m going to be reduced to political arm candy, I deserve a fancy title.”

“Considering we’re not even engaged,” Hermione corrected, dryly. “I’d say that makes you the Minister’s boyfriend, at best.”

Ron’s nose wrinkled. “That’s awful. No one writes kinky romance books about the Minister’s boyfriend. What about the Minister’s Lover?”

Hermione tsked, looking a little flustered. “A little decorum please. You’ll never make it as a politician’s husband at this rate.”

“Do I want to know why you’re reading kinky romance books in the first place exactly?” Harry asked, reluctantly.

Ron looked entirely unashamed. “I’m in the same book club as Hermione and Angelina. What do you think we read? The Tomes of Merlin? Hogwarts: A History?”

“Anyway,” Hermione said loudly. “What were you two talking about before I interrupted?”

“I was twisting case details out of Harry.” Ron admitted. “Not a lot to go on so far.”

“It’s not as though it matters what I think anyway since they kicked me off the case.” Harry said with a sigh. Then, he paused, considering his next words. “Although I’m starting to think it’s not such a bad thing.”

Hermione perked up, intently. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time for a change.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe this will be my last case with the department.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “Really? You’re sure, mate?”

Again, he shrugged. “I think so.”

“You think so?” Hermione echoed, a little shrilly. “Harry, you can’t just throw away your entire career because you ‘think’ so!”

“Fine, then I know so.” It was the first time he’d said the words out loud but the shape of them didn’t make him feel ill or anxious. For the first time in a while, he felt…settled. “It’s time. I’m ready.”

Ron hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Well, welcome to the side of the civilians, mate.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded. “Harry, you have to think about this! If you’re feeling worn out, you can take a break-”

“I don’t need a break, ‘Mione. I need a change.” Harry interrupted, simply. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he glanced down at his hands, interlocked and steady. “I’ve been fighting Dark wizards since I was eleven years old.” He said bluntly. “I love my job but lately, I wonder if maybe I joined the department because that’s all I knew how to do.”

“Your work is so much more than fighting, Harry.” Hermione insisted, a little teary eyed. She seemed visibly distressed by the news; Ron’s arm around her waist tightened unconsciously in response. “It’s important. You can’t just leave.”

Ron seemed ready to intervene, his face thoughtful and troubled but a quick knock on the door interrupted whatever it is he had to say. A tiny, freckly head poked through, one of the sales staff from downstairs.

“Mr Weasley, sir? Er, there’s been a bit of an issue on the shop floor,” she said, weakly. “We had an issue with a thief and the Tangled Toffee barrels and, well…”

“What is it Annie?” Ron said tiredly.

“His tongue is stuck to the floor.” she rushed out, sounding close to crying herself.

“And George can’t handle this because…?”

“Mr Weasley won’t do anything sir!” she squeaked. “He just stands there laughing!”

“Typical.” Ron sat up, brushing a kiss to Hermione’s temple absently as he exited. “I’ll be back in a second. This conversation is not over.” He added with a pointed look toward Harry.

When the door closed, the quiet between Hermione and Harry seemed to swell around them. Harry broke it first.

“What’s going on, Hermione?” he asked, bluntly.

“What do you mean, what’s going on?” Hermione snapped. “I’m trying to stop you making an enormous mistake, that’s what’s going on!”

He narrowed his eyes at her, sceptically. “No, I mean with you. You’ve been against this idea from the start. Why do you want me to stay so badly at the Auror Office?”

“Because it was meant to be the three of us!” she finally blurted out, looking miserable. She sank into Ron’s empty chair, shoulders a little slumped.

“What do you mean, the three of us?” Harry echoed, confused. “You, me and Ron?”

“Yes!” she said, the words pouring out like a flood. “It was meant to be the three of us, working together, changing things together, pushing for all the changes we need to make sure no one else has to go through what we went through! We were went meant to do it, together. And then Ron left and I understood why, I swear I did. His brother needed him and I could see how miserable it was making him, not being able to help his family. But then it was just you and me and I thought, well, we can still do it. But if you go…then it’s just me. It was meant to be the three of us.” She repeated once more, her energy spent. “And there’s so much changing right now, I don’t know if I can handle this changing too.”

Harry eyed her carefully, studying the unusual expression of anxiety and nervousness, the defeated posture…the slight roundness to Hermione’s figure which seemed to have become a little more pronounced recently…

“Hermione,” Harry said, carefully. “What exactly is changing?”

The individual pieces began to click together, one by one: her cravings for the satay food she usually despised, the way she’d begun to glow a little brighter lately which he’d attributed to her success, her refusal of the cherry champagne at her office that day.

She sniffed, shrugging vaguely but her hand slipped to her belly almost compulsively. “Some detective you are.” She mumbled, sensing the rising realisation on his face. “You literally caught me red handed carrying morning sickness potions.”

He was out of his chair in a heartbeat, lifting her up into his arms in a tight hug. “This is fantastic!” he breathed, filled with the most incandescent, unbelievable joy that made his head a little dizzy. “Merlin, Hermione…a baby…”

Hermione couldn’t contain a tiny giggle, though she still seemed conflicted when he set her down. “It’s not part of the plan.” She said, weakly. “We always said: careers, marriage, then children. I’m messing everything up.” Her eyes started winking again with tears.

“Oh no,” Harry’s joy turned swiftly to dread. If there was one rule Harry knew about pregnant women, it was not to make them cry. “Oh bugger, er- here!” he swiftly transfigured one of Ron’s sales reports into a napkin, embroidered with some of the sales figures along the edges. He wouldn’t miss it, Harry thought dismissively. “Godric, don’t cry Hermione, Ron’ll kill me!”

“I haven’t told him yet.” She admitted, sniffing. “And these hormones are driving me mental! I had a meeting with Julius Flint the other day and I nearly boxed his ears he made me so angry. I’m not like that!” she insisted.

Harry decided not to remind her of the time she slapped Draco Malfoy across the face in Third Year.

“Hey, look, you’ll be fine!” he insisted, settling her back into her chair. She looked so small sitting there, so unlike the Hermione he knew and loved. He felt a pang of guilt for not having put the pieces together earlier. Had he really been so wound up in his case that he hadn’t noticed his friend struggling? “You’re Hermione Granger, future Minister for Magic! Who cares if it’s not according to the plan; just because the plan has changed, doesn’t mean you have.” He made sure she dried her tears enough to look at him straight on for the next bit. “Whatever you decide to do, you’ll be amazing at it, ‘Mione.” He said quietly but firmly. “Because that’s the kind of witch you are.”

His quiet firmness fled in the face of the tears which spouted again. “No, no, I meant it in a good way!” he panicked. “Do you need another hanky?” He raised his wand to transfigure more sales sheets.

“No, stop!” Hermione’s laughter was wet. “Those are important! Ron’s managed to track that leak in the profits all the way to one of their early investors whose been skimming off the top for years. Those are his proof, not my tissues.” She glanced over the paperwork with a faint smile. “He’s really quite brilliant, you know.” Hermione confessed, softly. “He’s going to be an amazing father.”

Harry pictured a little boy with Hermione’s dark skin and the cheeky Weasley smile, or a little girl with Ron’s bright red hair and Hermione’s imperious look. “That kid is so lucky to have the two of you.” he finally said, imagining the little tyke running about the shop gleefully, so loved and cherished and protected. “Ron’s going to lose his mind.”

“You can’t tell him.” Hermione added, sharply. “I haven’t figured out a good way yet.”

“Of course not,” Harry snorted. “But you should be prepared for when he does. He’s going to float to the ceiling with the news.”

She wavered. “You think so? We really did have a plan. It’s not really something I saw coming, it just…happened.”

“He’ll be over the moon. Literally. He might literally float over the moon.” Harry insisted.

“I keep thinking about what it’ll be like.” Hermione confessed quietly but her excitement was a soft glow around her, impossible to conceal. How had he missed it all this time? “Being a mother. Having a little life I’m meant to be responsible for. Seeing your cousin’s daughter the other day at the clinic, I just kept thinking, that’s going to be me soon. Bringing them in for check ups and worrying about them.” Despite her words, she sounded enthralled by the idea.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t catch a case of these Terrible Twos,” Harry said, lightly. “Karen and Dudley’s house in shambles, from what I hear. Stripy wallpaper, singing sconces, a bathtub that only pours confetti.”

Hermione smiled at him. “I remember when my bookshelves started growing by themselves. It sounds so silly but watching them stretch and grow like that, it was just pure joy. I think I knew then that I was different from my parents. I remember being sad that they couldn’t feel that way too.”

“What was it like?” Harry asked, hesitantly. “Knowing you were different from the people raising you?”

Hermione arched a brow. “You’d know better than I would, Harry. You’re not just magically different, you’re worlds apart from the Dursleys. You’re a better man and a better wizard than they could ever hope to be. I’m a lot like my parents really. It’s just in this one thing that I’m not.”

“Did they struggle with it?” Harry asked, thinking of Dudley and Karen. “Not being like you?”

“I didn’t really notice at the time but I think they were embarrassed about how much they didn’t know. They’re not stupid people but doors appearing out of walls? Broomsticks in shop windows, people walking around in cloaks? It was a lot to take in. But they did it for me.” Hermione explained, glancing down at her belly. “And I sort of understand that now because there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do for this one. Godric, it’s such a strange feeling. It’s like the whole world just decided to tip upside down. I think that’s why I was so scared of you leaving the Ministry. I just wanted to keep some things upright for a little longer, you know?”

“I do.” Harry nodded, standing up. If Ron returned with him crouching in front of Hermione’s belly, there would be no hiding the news and he wanted to give his best friends their moment alone.

“Have you thought about what you might want to do instead?” Hermione asked, gently. “I mean, it’s not as though you really have to work at all. You could join the circus if you liked.”

Harry chuckled at that. “I’ll call that Plan B. For now, I’ve written a few letters, just waiting to hear back.”

“Well if you need a referee, let me know.” she teased. “I’m kind of a big deal these days, you know.”

“I, as a humble suspended Auror, wouldn’t know a thing about that.” Harry replied dryly. He stepped back, knocking into Ron’s desk as he did, sending the teapot chippering across the table top. “Sorry,” he apologised to it and it chirped at him irately before refilling Hermione’s cup with a gentle insistence. “That’s new.” He remarked. The teapot, a gift from Molly, usually only fussed over Ron with that kind of motherly tending.

Hermione took the offered cup, apologetically glancing at her friend. “It’s been doing it since I found out I was pregnant. I don’t know how it knows, but every time I drop round, it insists on giving me extra tea.”

Harry watched the teapot fuss. “Magic really is something, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

One Muggle raised wizard to another, Hermione locked eyes with him and they shared a small smile. “It really is.” She agreed.

Harry was about to ask if she’d found out whether she was carrying a boy or a girl when something about the teapot jogged his memory. Just like with the realisation of Hermione’s pregnancy, the pieces began to click into place.

“Can you tell Ron we’ll grab dinner later this week?” Harry asked, grabbing his cloak urgently. “I’ve got to make a stop at the office.”

“The office?” Hermione echoed, confused. “I thought you were suspended.”

“I am but I- I have to talk to Navi about something.” He quickly pressed a friendly kiss to her cheek and another swift hug. “Congratulations Hermione. Honestly, you’re both going to be amazing parents.”

She watched him leave with some bemusement but Harry’s brain was already pushing forward, his theory clicking into place, piece by piece.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

“Show me that photograph, the one of Marrows on the couch.”

“Sir?” Navi squawked at the sight of him, tearing into the bullpen with his cloak flaring behind him. “What are you-? I’m not sure you’re meant to be here.”

“Navi, the photographs of Marrows, where are they?” he ignored her queries, hunting through the paper files on her desk for the photos he sought.

“Potter, what part of suspended do you not understand?” Gylda appeared with a scowl. “Drop those files now and go home before you get yourself in even more trouble.”

“The photographs from the Marrows case file,” Harry repeated, insistently. “Where are they?”

“Gylda’s right, sir,” Navi said, warily. “You could make things worse.”

“Ah!” he found the file, flicking to through the parchment pages of witness statements and research reports.

“Mr Potter? You’re back?” Haider perked up from his desk, looking wide eyed and sleep deprived but alert nevertheless.

Gylda’s scowl deepened. “No. Harry, drop the file.”

“Were you aware the Roostovs were bankrupt a year and a half ago?” Harry interrupted her orders, flicking his gaze to hers.

“The Roostovs? They were one of Belgrave’s investors.” Navi frowned.

“It was all over the news,” Harry continued. “Natalya Roostov’s townhouse threw her out of it because she couldn’t afford to maintain it. The coverage claimed she’d lost what remained of the family fortune in a big trades deal across the Russian continent that fell through. All their cash assets, obliterated. And then, four months later, she starts investing in Belgrave Investments.”

“How could she be investing money she didn’t have?” Haider asked.

“The reason the coverage was so extensive,” Harry carried on. “Is because pureblood families in financial distress typically do it away from cameras. But I’m pretty sure if we looked into the Van Greydens and the Savoys, we’d find the same thing. In fact, I think all of Boris’ investors were down to their last sickles when they started investing with him.”

Gylda eyed him. “You have thirty seconds before I kick you out of here for your own good.”

“Gyllie,” Navi said gently. “Give him a break.”

“Yeah, give me a break Gyllie,” Harry teased, unable to help himself. “Now imagine you’re from an old, noble pureblood house that has just wasted the entire family fortune, scrounging up solutions to public humiliation and ruin. You sell anything that has value but how long will that keep you going? You need something bigger, something you know will fetch a higher price from a buyer that desperately wants it. In Leonie Marrows case, we know she had one thing in particular abundance. Ah, here it is.”

He held the photograph up to them, of Leonie Marrows in her study drinking tea, the literal picture of a sweet little old witch. Haider glanced at him over the top of the photo. “I’m not following.”

“Wait a second.” Navi tugged the photo from him with a frown. “That tea cup she’s holding. I’ve seen that before.”

“We both have. In Wilbur Tiltenhaus’ home.”

Gylda caught on first, studying the image over Navi’s shoulder. “The teapot. The telescope on the shelf behind her. The candlesticks.”

“I don’t remember seeing them in Tiltenhaus’ place.” Navi argued.

“Likely they didn’t suit his tastes.” Harry said with a thin, humourless smile.

“What? What is it?” Haider scowled, craning his neck to look at the picture.

“It’s all silver. Goblin silver, I’d bet.” Harry theorised. “Belgrave wasn’t investing in stocks, he was selling off his client’s relics. Probably because none of it can be provenanced properly.”

“You mean, you think it was stolen?” Gylda asked, thoughtfully.

“Looted, more like.” Harry corrected. “I’d say most of these families had ancestors involved in the Rebellions and, like the Marrows, collected trophies from the battlefield.”

“How can you be sure they didn’t buy it? Or their ancestors did?” Haider challenged.

“If they’d bought it, there would be paperwork to go with it.” Harry explained. “Goblin ownership differs from wizarding ones. There’s always a record that goes along with the objects to prove provenance. And if these don’t have those records…”

Gylda’s thoughtful expression sank into one of deep revulsion. “Not just stolen then.”

“What do you mean?” Navi asked.

“Look at these. Tea sets? A telescope? Candlesticks? It’s one thing to argue their ancestors claimed relics like swords or shields off the battlefields. But these are domestic items. If their ancestors did take them, they didn’t steal it from a goblin warrior.” Gylda explained, a slight scowl growing ever more fervent with the implication: but they might have stolen it out of his house after breaking in and doing away with anyone inside.

“The legislation on the sale of goblin silver is decades old and pretty iron-clad. It was part of the original treaties to prevent goblin artefacts of dubious origin cannot be sold for profit.” Harry recited the lines. “So those families who want to sell them give them to Boris who uses Tiltenhaus to sell them under his Bewitched Objects permit.”

“Why involve Boris in the first place?” Gylda mused. “Why didn’t Tiltenhaus just sell them himself?”

Harry’s smile turned cool. “Because they were selling the silver back to the goblins themselves, who likely wouldn’t take kindly to dealing with a wizard whose ancestors personally fought against them in the rebellions. Boris was a half-blood, unconnected to the Rebellions. My guess is using his name lent the whole thing a kind of legitimacy for both parties.”

“They were selling the goblins their own possessions back?” Navi marvelled. “Why wouldn’t they just sue them for it in court?”

“Because in a he-said, she-said battle in a wizard court, goblins will always lose out.” Haider answered, grimly. “But the official statement from the Continental Goblin Confederation is they uphold their own ownership laws in regards to Wizard-owned silver. If there’s some kind of goblin buyer at the other end of this, it’s a private enterprise for sure.”

“Go tap the contacts we made in Germany last time,” Gylda ordered him, falling into her role as the leader. “Ask about any private firms with goblin leadership who might have been doing business with Belgrave.”

“If Tiltenhaus had started sampling the merchandise, he was probably cutting into profits. Marrows and Belgrave might’ve gone to confront him about it. Threaten to expose him, maybe even use him as a scapegoat for the whole operation.” Navi suggested. “That’s a pretty good motive to keep them from leaving his house that night.”

“Navi, start pushing on those investors. I want every single one of them unsilenced and scheduled for an interview by the end of today.” Gylda ordered. “Tell them if they refuse, they risk being prosecuted as an accessory to murder rather than in the sale of illicit artefacts.”

“Got it.” Navi made to leave, but hesitated. “So does this mean Mr Potter is back?”

Gylda wavered for a moment, eyes cutting to Harry but he was already shaking his head. “No. Not this time. I just wanted to share my theory with you all.” He made to leave but Haider flagged him down before he could.

“Sir, this came for you yesterday! I think it must’ve been forwarded to my desk by mistake.” He offered Harry a small crumpled parchment letter with his name scribbled on the front. The address had been made illegible by some watermarks; no doubt the owl had simply delivered it to the place he was most well known to inhabit. The return label made his heart thud a little in anticipation.

“I could bring this up to Bridewell, if you want.” Gylda said in an aside. “Tell him you came up with this. He’ll probably let you back in on the case.”

Harry tapped the letter against the heel of his hand and smiled at her. “No need. You’ve got it all in hand, Gros. Take care of my team and my case.”

Gylda shook his hand once, firmly. “I’m going to make this thing iron clad, sir.”

“I know.” he smiled, exiting the bullpen with a lightness to his shoulders that seemed oddly reconciled with the grave murderous secret he’d just uncovered. “I trust you.”

And he did.

 

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

 

Notes:

did you know that when you do a phd they actually expect you to write clever things? ugh, i know, i was surprised too.

Dudley v Harry showdown coming at you next chapter! Also, shout out to the few clever, eagle-eyed readers who spotted Hermione's pregnancy a mile away, you clever things.

Also, also, I love Ron Weasley, he's swiftly become my comfort character to write. Just a good lad all around.

Also, also, also, who likes the goblin silver 'twist'? i didn't plan for that to be The Thing, Tiltenhaus was originally just meant to be a Bad Dad Who Murdered A Muggle and then suddenly out of nowhere, he develops this whole subplot. Merlin help me.

Chapter 18: OH I’M SURE YOU WERE JUST OH SO BLOODY SPECIAL

EIGHTEEN

OH I’M SURE YOU WERE JUST OH SO BLOODY SPECIAL

Clementine babbled mostly to herself as she showed Harry her toys one by one. “Stick, is Sebby,” she offered him the toy hippo with the sagging button eyes. “He’s a ‘po.”

“Hello Sebby.” Harry replied dutifully. The hippo, thankfully, did not respond.

Settling on the sofa beside him, Karen breathed a sigh of relief. “Whatever’s in that stuff you brought works a treat.” she said, weary but clearly more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. “Usually Sebby would be dancing circles for you right now.”

Clementine continued introducing Harry to every single one of her belongings and Harry continued to take them, collecting a small pile near his feet in front of the sofa. Karen was staying with Clemmie at her mother’s house, which was a little older than her and Dudley’s home and much less tidy but it had a warm, loved feel that Harry equated with the Burrow. She seemed to unwind here in a way she never had in his presence, though how much of this had to do with her daughter’s change in abilities was uncertain.

“You have enough supply for the next few weeks, I think.” Harry said, only a little awkward. He and Karen had reached a level of acquaintanceship that had settled quite easily between them; when she’d invited him over for tea to check in on Clementine, he’d only felt a tiny hint of hesitation before agreeing.

Hermione and Ron are going to have one like this, he thought to himself, enthralled by Clemmie’s pudgy arms and spit-streaked smile. It reminded him a little of Teddy when he was a baby, although Harry hadn’t been of much use to Andromeda in those days. He wondered whether the new little Granger-Weasley would enjoy stuffed hippos or quidditch, what their giggles would sound like. His friends were going to be amazing parents, he felt certain. They were the best people he knew, after all.

“I told my mum they’re cold prevention medicine for children.” She said, a little embarrassed. “I haven’t really figured out how to tell her about Clemmie yet.”

Harry glanced up at her warily. “You know you won’t be able to hide it forever.”

“I don’t want to hide it,” Karen protested. “I just…I want Clemmie to have at least one grandparent in her life.”

Harry, whose grandparents on both sides had always been an utter mystery, nodded. “So the Dursleys haven’t been in touch, I take it?”

She scowled. “I think they sent a letter once. I burned it without reading it. I don’t trust them, not after everything you told me.”

She believes me, Harry realised with a slight pang of surprise that came from some deep, dark, childish part of him. “And Dudley?”

Karen’s gaze softened. “He’s called a few times. I let him talk to Clemmie through the receiver. She gets so excited hearing his voice.” With a sigh, she set her coffee mug (a fuchsia pink leopard print mug reading PURR-TY that had clearly been well loved) on the table before them. “I just don’t what to think. I miss him.”

Harry tried not to make a face at that but from the way Karen rolled her eyes, he was rather unsuccessful.

“He’s so sweet with her.” She said, as if reading the doubt in his mind. “And he loves us, so much. You know when I was pregnant with her, he used to bring home flowers. For her, he’d say but he always got my favourites.” Karen’s eyes were a little dreamy at the memory. “I don’t know what to do. He’s my husband. He’s Clemmie’s father. I just wish he’d told me.”

Still trying to wrap his head around his oafish cousin bringing him flowers for his unborn daughter and newly wed wife, Harry shrugged. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly certain of what he was really advocating here. Was he really defending Dudley, the cousin who used to lock him inside the big bins outside their primary school? “At least he’s here now, I guess.”

“Here, where?” Karen scoffed. “He hasn’t tried to visit, not properly. I think he’s scared of my mum.” She confessed with an eye roll. “She wasn’t keen on him when they met. Called him one of those posh boy dullards who still asked his mummy to tie his shoes.”

Well, that did sound a lot like the Duddikins Harry knew.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation and Karen stood to answer it. “God, Mum’s always forgetting her keys, please excuse me.”

“Sure.” Harry turned his attention back to Clementine who had begun to pile her toys together, according to some arcane criteria he couldn’t quite understand. He found himself quite charmed by Sebby the hippo. Maybe he should pick one up for the new little Granger-Weasley for when Ron found out?

“What are you doing here?” the way Karen’s voice shifted to sharp and low caught Harry and Clemmie’s attention both. Clementine peered around the couch in curiosity and suddenly gave a great gasp.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, tumbling towards the door on her clumsy little feet.

“Clem.” Dudley’s shoulders positively sagged as he reached for his daughter, catching her in one meaty paw while the other clutched a cheap, plastic wrapped bouquet of soft pink roses. “Oh god, I missed you so much.”

“You could have called.” Karen snapped, clearly on the offensive. “Instead of just turning up, upsetting her routine.”

“Bugger her routine, Karen,” Dudley snapped, cradling Clementine to his chest. “I let this go on far long enough.” He seemed fit to say more but catching Harry’s eye seemed to freeze the thought in place. “What the hell-

“Dudley Dursley!” Karen hissed, yanking Clementine from his arms. The little girl whined at being away from her favourite spot. “Not in front of our daughter!”

“Oh, so now she’s our daughter?” he demanded, but his voice softened slightly so as not to upset Clementine. “Was she our daughter when you just up and left?”

Karen stood her ground defiantly. “Well considering you and your parents had such definite opinions on how to raise our daughter,” she snapped, “I’m glad I did!”

“Oh come on, Karen. That’s not fair and you know it.”

“You heard what they called her and you just stood there, saying nothing.”

“They’re my parents, Karen, what was I meant to say?” he glanced beyond his wife’s form to where Harry still stood, standing out like a sore thumb. “What’s he doing here, anyway?” he grunted, clearly ruffled.

Karen sniffed, unabashed. “Since our daughter is a witch,” She said, emphasising the syllable. “-and you knew and you didn’t tell me anything- I decided to go to someone who would.”

Harry could actually see the moment the perilous thought entered Dudley’s brain; it was a little like watching a hamster discovering a wheel in its cage, testing it out slow at first before speeding up to a frantic chase. “You- you and him-?” he spluttered, fists tightening at his side. His shoulders bunched up in a way Harry was rather familiar with: Dudley’s famous rugby forward tackle.

He was tempted to take out his wand but at the last second, he decided not to. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

And frankly, there was a small part of him that desperately wanted an excuse to break his cousin’s nose.

“Go on then, Duddikins.” He found himself egging the other man on. “Take a swing. I’ve done some growing since the last time we did this.”

Karen interceded before them men could carry out their blows. “Dudley, you arse!” she hissed angrily under her breath, bouncing Clementine who seemed to be sensing the tension despite her parents’ attempts. “He’s been helping me manage Clemmie’s magic.”

Dudley frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Did you fix her?” he demanded, suddenly.

But before Harry could snap at him, Karen stepped in. “There is nothing to fix, Dudley!” she said angrily. “This is our daughter and she’s perfect just the way she is. The things she can do, they’re incredible and special and if you can’t see that, you don’t deserve to be in her life.”

“You can’t…you can’t keep me from her,” Dudley said. The words may have sounded like a threat but his tone was begging, desperate. “Please, Karen, honey, please you can’t.”

“I can and I would, if I thought you couldn’t love her the way she ought to be loved.” Karen stood firm, carrying her daughter with utter confidence. “Harry’s been the only person in your whole family who’s been willing to call Clementine what she actually is.”

“Come off it, you’ve known him five minutes!” Dudley spluttered. “You don’t know what it was like, growing up with him-”

“Clearly you were quite traumatised,” Harry snorted. “Remind me again which cupboard you grew up in at Privet Drive?”

Dudley scowled at him, face like thunder. “You just shut up, you’ve done enough-”

Karen interrupted, stiffly. “She’s a witch, Dudley. Our daughter is a witch. And if you can’t accept that…” she let the words hang between them ominously.

Dudley, for his part, gazed at his wife like he didn’t quite recognise her. “I didn’t say that,” he said plaintively. “I love her, Karen, I love you. I- I want to be her dad.”

“Then act like it.” Karen snapped. “Sit down and talk with your cousin and get to know the world your daughter belongs to.”

“She belongs to us!” Dudley bellowed, his composure shattering for a moment.

Clementine, startled by her father’s shout, began to wail in distress. Karen shot a look like daggers at him. “Now look what you’ve done.” she hissed, bouncing the weeping little girl.

Harry had never seen Dudley look quite so gutted before. He wasn’t really sure what to make of the expression. “I didn’t- I’m so sorry, Clem, daddy’s sorry-” he babbled but Karen pulled away, making for the back bedroom where she’d set up Clementine’s crib.

“I’ll settle her down for a nap. You two,” she spat. “Talk.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Harry?” Dudley growled as she vanished from sight, Clem’s screeches echoing through the closed doors.

Harry regarded him coolly. “Your wife already explained Duddikins, come on, keep up.”

“You’ve done something to Karen,” Dudley accused. “She’s never yelled like that before. Not at me.”

“Maybe because she’s never seen what a complete bellend you are before.”

“Shut up! God, why can’t you just leave me and my family alone!” he ranted, storming into the loungeroom with those meaty fists still swinging at his sides. Maybe Harry would get his chance to break Dudley’s nose after all.

“Our family, Dudley.” He retorted, coolly. “Did you forget which side Clementine got this from?”

But where Harry had intended to rile Dudley up, the words seemed to suck the wind right out of his sails. “You’re right.” He suddenly said, sounding morose. “This is my fault. I did this to Clem. She’s like this because of me.”

Harry couldn’t contain his eye roll. “For Merlin’s sake, Dudley, Clementine is like this because she was born this way. You didn’t do anything!” he protested, utterly sick of this same, tired conversation. “She’s just magic!”

“Well I don’t want her to be magic,” Dudley said, fiercely. “If she’s magic, she’s not safe!”

“Safe?” Harry echoed, momentarily confused. “What do you mean, safe?”

Dudley peered at his cousin as though he’d just announced he’d like to tap dance starkers on the top of Buckingham Palace. “Every time wizards showed up at our house, everything went to shit.” He announced, as blunt as ever. “Pig tails, flying fucking cars, going on the run. Is that what Clemmie’s life’s gonna be like? Bugger that.” He added, emphatically.

Harry rocked back on his heels with a sense of disbelief. “Dudley it’s- that’s not how it is usually,” he blurted out. “I mean, I wasn’t a normal wizard even when I was a kid.”

Dudley sneered. “Oh I’m sure you were just oh so bloody special.” Harry physically suppressed his very inappropriate snort of laughter at that. Dudley did not acknowledge his efforts, simply continuing: “But it doesn’t matter. People like me, we’re not safe with your sort! Clem won’t be safe!”

For the past few weeks, Harry had worried that perhaps the Dursleys would see Clementine as too magical, too strange to love and care for. It had not occurred to him that Dudley’s love for his daughter had made him see magic as the enemy to her happiness.

“Dudley, all the stuff that happened, the war, the danger, it’s all over now.” Harry finally said. “I mean, it’s not perfect but neither is the Muggle world.”

“You used to come home for the holidays and scream in your sleep.” Dudley challenged, bluntly. “I still remember that thing that came after us, I never forgot what it felt like. Every one of your sort that ever turned up at our house looked just as miserable as you did. You’re telling me that’s the world I should let my daughter live in?”

For the first time, Harry regretted not taking the time to explain the war to the Dursleys. It wasn’t as though they would’ve much cared but the idea that Dudley thought Harry was the rule rather than the exception for the wizarding world was so absurd he could hardly begin to parse how to refute it.

“There were other things that happened to me, Dudley.” Harry finally said, firmly. “Things I went through and things I did so that no one else would have to. That includes Clementine.”

Dudley didn’t seem to trust this fully. Harry tried to imagine what those horrid summer holidays - after Cedric, after Sirius, after Dumbledore died- must’ve been like for his cousin. Watching Harry return from this mysterious so-called school each year looking more and more sombre, a little meaner, more weathered, like a returning soldier losing bits of himself with every return to the battlefield. Hearing him scream from the nightmares of Voldemort rifling through his head. No wonder Dudley feared magic. The only experience he’d ever had with it was Harry’s, which could have been considered its own nightmare sometimes. He’d never seen the joy in it, the parts that made it all worth while.

“Mum says they’ll come take her away.” Dudley finally repeated stubbornly.

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “I mean, someone will probably come from Hogwarts one day, to give Clementine her acceptance letter, to explain everything. But they’re not about to take her away now. She’s an infant.”

Dudley’s scowl didn’t budge. “But they’ll come,” he insisted. “One day, right? And we won’t be able to go with her because we’re Muggles or whatever.” He spat the word with a kind of venom which reminded Harry uncomfortably of how Lucius Malfoy used to say it. “I’m not letting them just steal my kid.”

Harry shrugged a little helpless. “I don’t know how it usually works Dudley,” he said, trying to keep the sourness from his voice. “I mean, your parents didn’t exactly want to hold my hand while I got a wand.”

There was a long pause as Dudley considered this. “So...you mean...if I – if I wanted to go with her,” He said, piecing it together with great mental strain. “You’re saying I could?”

Harry tried to think back to how Hermione had described it. It was difficult for them. But they did it for me.

If Harry had tried to picture Dudley in Diagon Alley a month ago, he would’ve been amused or possibly even disturbed by the mental image. But he made himself really look at his cousin, standing in the front room of his mother-in-law’s house, wearing his best suit and holding a crumpled bouquet, balding, portly...completely exhausted from worrying about his kid.

“I’m saying if you want to be a part of Clementine’s life, it means being part of her world.” Harry said, as bluntly as possible.

“I don’t know how,” Dudley confessed, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “I used to have nightmares about them showing up again out of the blue. That one day I’d open the door and there would be strangers able to do whatever they wanted and I wouldn’t have a hope of stopping them. How am I meant to protect Clem and Karen from that?” he demanded, hoarsely. “I’m meant to protect them, I’m a man, they’re my family, I’m meant to look after them.”

“For Godric’s sake, Dudley,” Harry stared, wide eyed at him. “Magic is more than just strangers on the doorstep in the middle of the night.”

“Not for me, it’s not.” His cousin said, grimly. “The way Dad used to talk about it. God, he used to put up a good face but it scared the shit out of him. And Mum…she keeps telling me how they took away your mum.” He said, startling Harry with the mention of Lily. “And how she never got her sister back after that. I don’t want to lose Clem like that.”

“Your mum didn’t lose her sister. She cut her off.” Harry retorted, firmly, unable to let the Dursleys continue to write this narrative for Dudley. “Your dad didn’t put up a good face, he just beat down the only magical thing he could reach that was smaller than he was.” Not anymore, he reminded himself firmly. He could run circles around Vernon Dursley now. “But Clementine’s now the smallest thing he can reach. Are you going to let him do to her what he did to me?” Harry challenged, icily.

Dudley reared backwards in horror. “Of course fucking not! He wouldn’t do that to her, not his own-”

“His own what? Family?” Harry interrupted. “I think we both know he would, Dudley.”

“It’s different with her. I wouldn’t let him.” he snapped, furiously.

Harry refused to let him off the hook, pressing on. “You wouldn’t let him?” he challenged. “So if he starts talking about how Clem shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with house guests? If he makes her use plastic plates instead of the china ones, so he can throw them away afterwards? What about the day he catches her making the broom dance and backhands her to curb ‘that sort of behaviour’? What then Dudley? What are you going to let him do?”

Dudley bellowed, “I’d cave his fucking head in if he tried!”

“Oh Dudley.”

The pair spun around to see Karen standing in the doorway, teary eyed. “You would, wouldn’t you? You really would protect her, even from him.” She’d returned from the bedroom, her hard, prickly exterior replaced by something softer and more fragile.

“Of course!” Dudley sounded aghast that the idea was even up for debate. “She’s ours, Karen. I wouldn’t let anything hurt her, I swear.” It was as though Harry had simply vanished from the room as the couple watched each other, closely.

“Part of protecting her is accepting her, love.” Karen clasped his hands in hers, pleadingly. She looked especially tiny next to his hulking form. “Please, I have to have you with me on this. I don’t want her growing up thinking she’s a freak.”

“She’s not a freak.” Dudley insisted, firmly as he stared down at his wife. Harry had never seen his cousin in love before. He hated to admit it, but it suited him. “She’s perfect.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

“So this…Healer,” Dudley said uncomfortably. “He said she’d be fine, right?”

“He said it’s part of a condition some magical children present with at an early age.” Harry explained, repeating what Healer Quagmill had explained to him at the appointment. “It’s not harmful but the potions will help keep it under control until fades away on its own.”

“Such an odd man,” Karen said, mildly disapproving. “Clemmie bit him.”

“He probably deserved it.” Dudley said, unbothered by the prospect. “She has a good eye for character, Clem does. So what happens now then?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, not quite able to believe he was even having this conversation with his cousin. It seemed like a rather bizarre dream. “Well, Clementine will have to be put down on the lists to attend Hogwarts.”

“That’s the one you went to, right?” Dudley demanded. “And it’s a good school??”

“The best,” Harry confirmed, wryly. “No finer magical education in Britain.”

“How do we get her on the list?” Karen fretted, glancing at her husband beside her. “It must be so exclusive. Remember Eddie and Fran were on a waiting list for a year and a half for St Lucille’s?”

“I can help with that.” Harry offered. “I have a bit of an in with the administration. I’ll make sure the fees are paid accordingly. In fact, I can take care of it tomorrow.”

“Can we send a cheque?” Dudley wondered aloud, bewildered. “Do wizards take cheques?”

“Er, not quite. How about I sort it out this time around?” he suggested, unwilling to go into the full detail of magical currencies. Better to allow for an adjustment period where Dudley was concerned, he thought. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of things that need paying for when she gets her letter.”

“When she’s eleven.” Dudley checked. “So we have what? Nine years with her?”

Resisting the temptation to confirm that’s how time works, yes Duddikins took a great deal of Harry’s impulse control. He managed a brisk nod instead. “It’s not like you won’t have her after that. It’s not so different from muggle boarding school. She’ll come from holidays like any boarder would. She’ll write you letters and complain about her homework. You might even get a few notes home from teachers.” He added, a note of teasing in his voice.

“We better not.” Karen muttered to herself. “I’ve had it up to here with strife from her. Best behaviour from now on.”

“We’ll have to get one of those stupid crows then, won’t we?” said Dudley, grumpily.

“Owls.” Harry corrected. “And yes, possibly. She’ll likely want one as a pet.”

“Yours was horrid.” he recalled, bluntly. “Used to bite me whenever I got too close to its cage.”

“Hedwig had a good eye for character.” Harry smiled thinly.

“An owl? In the house?” Karen echoed, concerned. “What about the mess?”

“It’ll be like any pet, just a bit more useful. But for now, I’ll set you up with a rental service so you can just contact me with one when you need.” Harry said gently. “There’s a number that offer contracts for Muggle families.”

“And just how are you paying for all of this?” Dudley challenged, eying him suspiciously. “Karen said you were suspended from work at the moment.”

His wife swatted him, annoyed. “Dudley, don’t be rude. I’m sorry about him, Harry.”

“My girlfriend is shaping up to be the equivalent of David Beckham in our world.” Harry said, breezing over his own long and twisting and possibly soon to be changing career path. “I’m her arm candy.” Ron was right. The Quidditch Captain’s Lover really did have a ring to it.

“You never mentioned a girlfriend! Oh, I’d love to meet her. Is that how you seem to know everyone?” Karen wondered aloud. “I thought you were some kind of celebrity.”

Concealing his smirk, Harry shrugged. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Later, as Harry got up to leave, Dudley stood as well, looking more sombre than he’d ever seen. “I meant what I said that day, you know.”

“Meant what?”

“I didn’t think you were a waste of space.” Dudley repeated. “And I’m glad you lived through…whatever it was you went through. I’m glad you’re here to help Clem.” He extended his meaty paw in offering. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry took it. He told himself it did not mean he forgave all the years of hell Dudley put him through or all the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his own family. He told himself it did not mean those moments didn’t happen or that they were suddenly forgotten.

He took his cousin’s hand because his mother’s great niece was asleep in the back bedroom and for the first time since he’d discovered her existence, Harry felt some measure of confidence that Clementine Dursley was going to be just fine.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

dudley v harry. how do we feel?

Chapter 19: BUT EVERYONE LIKES ME, PROFESSOR.

NINETEEN

BUT EVERYONE LIKES ME, PROFESSOR.

 

It had been some time since Harry had set foot over the threshold at Hogwarts.

He usually made the trip each year in May for the anniversary of the final Battle, but the campus was always so solemn then, so full of grief and memories of loved ones lost. The students had the option to attend but they were always subdued by the general atmosphere.

But today, the Easter holidays had put everyone in a good mood, it seemed. Hogwarts was at a reduced capacity, which meant fewer students who stopped in their tracks when he passed them in the corridors. It didn’t bother him as it normally did; there was something about the earnest, blatant curiosity of the students that made him chuckle rather than scowl at their staring. He couldn’t wait until Teddy started school. Harry had big plans to come and visit at every opportunity, whether it was cheering him on at Quidditch matches or catching up with him at Hogsmeade. He wanted to make sure Teddy at least never felt like an orphan, that he always had someone to look forward to visiting.

He was busy wondering what house Teddy might best suit (he knew Andromeda was quietly rooting for Slytherin, but he held out that Remus’ Gryffindor instincts might be stronger) when a gruff voice called out to him, “You there. What business have you in the castle?”

Harry felt a smile creep onto his face at the tone. “Sir Cadogan,” he greeted the little portrait knight cheerfully. “It’s me, Harry Potter. I used to go to school here.”

“Used to? Well, whatever are you here now for then?” Cadogan challenged, his eyes narrowed from behind his helmet visor.

“I have an appointment with the Head Mistress.” Harry said, respectfully.

The knight’s demeanour instantly shifted, his shoulder drooping with an airy sigh. “Not a finer witch in all of Scotland, I say.”  He said, almost dreamily. “Do you need a companion for this quest, Sir Potter? I’d be happy to accompany you to her offices.”

He seemed so eager that Harry almost felt bad turning him down. “I know the way, thanks. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

In truth, there were fewer places he remembered better than Hogwarts, especially the path to the headmaster’s office. He met a few more portraits along the way who seemed keen for a chat, clearly starved of entertainment since many of the students had gone home for the break. When he finally came to the rugged stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance, Harry quickly checked the note in his pocket which had arrived two days’ ago.

“Peterculter.” He told the statue who tilted its massive head at him thoughtfully before slowly hobbling aside. Harry raised his brows, surprised. The gargoyle he remembered used to hop like he was part-pogo stick. “Not quite as spry as you used to be, eh?”

The gargoyle rumbled back something which sounded suspiciously like bite me as the wall split in two, revealing the spiral staircase entryway. Harry followed it all the way up to the familiar room, its large, curved walls still full of portraits and windows full of bright sunlight. It wasn’t quite how he remembered it: there were half as many delicate, silver instruments strewn about the space and about a dozen more bookshelves lining the walls, their contents ranging from heavy leather bound tomes to Quidditch trophies to framed photographs. There was a fireplace added to one wall with a bustling scenic painting of a small rural village sat upon it, and the desk had been moved closer to one side of the room rather than the centre, but Harry found himself grateful for the changes. It was difficult being in this room without remembering everything that had happened inside it. After all, over there, he’d told Dumbledore about his vision of Mr Weasley being attacked. And there, he’d watched Fudge try to arrest the Headmaster before he’d vanished in a crackle of phoenix flame. Near that bench, Dumbledore had told him of the prophecy for the first time. And there was the spot where the Pensieve used to sit, where he remembered seeing Snape’s memories of his mother, where Harry had decided to die at the Battle of Hogwarts.

“Taking a stroll down memory lane, are we?” the slow, familiar drawl used to raise the hair on the back of Harry’s neck. Now, he peered up at the dark framed portrait with a small, pointed smirk.

“Professor Snape. Good to see you.” He greeted the painted figure.

The wizard’s deep, dark eyes glared down at him, sensing his mirth. “To what do we owe such a pleasure?” he demanded, mockingly. “The great Harry Potter, come to visit.”

He could tell Snape was curious below all this taunting, so Harry made sure to hold back, with a casual shrug. “I have an appointment with Professor McGonagall to discuss some small matter. Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

“And here I thought we were all expected to behave as if you were the most interesting man alive, Potter.” Snape sneered. “Certainly, it seems that way in The Prophet.”

Despite himself, Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, they seem particularly invested these days, don’t they?” he muttered, annoyed with the renewed coverage now that the trial date had been reset. “I always liked that about Hogwarts, you know? Once everyone gets over the whole,” he waved a general hand toward his forehead. “They mostly seemed to get on with their business.”

“A sting to your vanity, I’m sure.” Snape retorted, snidely.

Harry snorted. “Yeah, sure. Anyway, do you know where McGonagall is-”

“Professor McGonagall, boy.” Another of the portraits snapped, their feathers ruffled by his tone. “Show some respect.”

“Apologies,” he nodded, politely. “Professor McGonagall. Do you know where she is?”

“It may surprise you to know I am not Minerva’s personal secretary.” Snape simply stated, flatly. “I don’t keep a record of her personal movements.”

“You, a secretary? Perish the thought.” Harry said, lightly but his smirk could not be contained. The slow grind of the staircase opening behind him interrupted whatever devastating reply Snape had in store.

“Apologies for the delay, Potter.” Professor McGonagall said crisply as she strode past him toward the desk now located to the right side of the room. She was more grey than he remembered but no less tall or fierce, her back still ramrod straight and her robes perfectly maintained. “One bright spark decided to try his hand at riding a broomstick around the Whomping Willow. Blindfolded.” She looked at him, utterly exasperated. “I swear, this recent lot make you and your friends look like a pack of utter geniuses.”

Harry laughed at that, taking the seat opposite her. “That’s fair enough, considering Hermione is currently running the Ministry and Neville is off on some exclusive botany study for geniuses. He says hello, by the way.” Neville had been the one to advise Harry to make this meeting in the first place. The reply to his letter to Neville’s camp in Brazil had been full of detail about the study, the Mantiqueira Mountains, the incredible advances they were making but most importantly, it had boiled down to a single paragraph at the very end of the page:

Professor McGonagall is the one to talk to about getting through all the process to becoming certified. She wrote most of the policies so they’re not exactly easy, but they are straight forward. If she had the patience to walk me through the whole process, I’m sure she could give you a hand if you make an appointment with her.

 Professor McGonagall raised a brow, studying him over the top of his glasses. “I am assuming you did not come all this way to pass on salutations from Mr Longbottom.” She said, sounding a touch amused.

He shifted in his chair, feeling an awful lot like he was twelve years old again and trying to explain why he was suddenly talking to snakes. “Er, no. He said I should come speak to you about the certification process.” Harry said, slowly. “For teaching here at Hogwarts, I mean.”

“You must be kidding-” Snape thundered from his portrait but McGonagall merely flicked her wand toward him.

“Silencio. I suppose I could explain the process, Mr Potter but I don’t know if it would be especially useful.” She admitted, thoughtfully. “After all, it is designed for regular wizards, and you’ve always been something of an outlier.”

Harry thought ‘outlier’ was an especially nice way of describing his penchant for the impossible. “So, it would be different for me, then?” Snape was still fuming in his portrait, but Harry was beginning to realise that from this angle, McGonagall had a direct sightline with the ex-Potions master’s frame, rather than the original layout which put the painting directly behind her. He wondered if she spoke with her old colleague often from this point in the room. Dumbledore’s painting was just to the right of Snape’s, but it was empty, the soft purple drapes swaying softly in an unseen breeze.

McGonagall pursed her lips. “The teaching certifications were one of the first changes I made when I took this office, Mr Potter. I always swore to myself I would do it, ever since that disastrous business with Gilderoy Lockhart.” She said with a noise of disapproval. “Certainly, the worst Defence appointment I’ve ever seen. After that, I made it my priority to know that those who teach at this school are worthy of their stations.”

Harry rather thought that while Lockhart was certainly a terrible professor, he was far from the worst Defence appointment. After all, he’d spent a year being taught by a Death Eater disguises as an Auror, for Merlin’s sake. But Professor McGonagall seemed to take Lockhart’s incompetence as a personal offence, so he kept his mouth shut, merely nodding in reply.

“The certification process requires several years of focused study in your field with written references and recommendations from decorated professionals in said field.” McGonagall explained. “I also expect applicants to pass the NEWT level exams for the subjects they hope to teach with nothing less than an Outstanding. Following that, there is an apprenticeship stage which the current professor must agree to, in order to ease the transition and provide on the job training. All in all, the process can take upwards of five years to complete.”

Harry felt his stomach sink. “I see.”

She continued, ruthlessly, “For example, Neville Longbottom arranged to include this botany study in lieu of his NEWT exams, so pending his results on the project, he’ll commence his apprenticeship with Professor Sprout at the end of the term. In total, he will have spent six years of studying for his position, a higher calibre of qualifications than any other wizarding school in Europe.” McGonagall let out a small sigh. “I believe these students deserve to have the best of the best teaching them. Nothing less will suffice.”

“Of course.” He felt as if his chest had been hollowed out. He’d told Hermione and Ron that he was thinking of trying something different, that he was planning on throwing away a career he’d spent years forming. Had he been dreaming to imagine it would be easy? Was this a sign he was making a huge mistake?

Just as Harry thought he’d best make an excuse and just leave, McGonagall cleared her throat. “However,” she said slowly. “As I said, you have always been an outlier, Mr Potter. Some may argue that your schooling and everything you survived during the War alone would qualify as several years’ experience in the field of Defence, not to mention your career since.”

“Some may argue differently.” Snape hissed, the Silencing spell worn off.

McGonagall threw him a warning look and then returned to Harry. “You are also a decorated Auror, with a number of accolades bestowed by some of the highest ranking professional Dark wizard catchers alive today. There is the matter of your NEWT exam, which you would be required to pass.” she added flatly. “I refuse to budge on the simple matter that teachers should be able to perform the tasks they demand from their students.”

“But if I did?” Harry wondered, cautiously hopeful. “Pass, I mean?”

“Then you may be permitted to approach Professor Brindlemore to take on an apprenticeship with her.” McGonagall allowed. “The last I heard she was planning to retire in the next few years. I’m sure she might feel differently if she knew she had a worthy, certified successor to her position.”

Harry felt something like joy radiating through his chest but there was one stain to mar his excitement. “Professor McGonagall, what if I was interested in another subject?” he asked hesitantly. “Other than Defence?”

McGonagall was quiet for a moment, considering him. He even thought he saw her exchange a look with Snape over his head before she finally responded. “If that were the case, I suppose I would have to question your intentions in pursuing the position.”

“My intentions?” Harry echoed, confused.

She steepled her fingers together, looking over them at him intently. “Mr Potter, teaching is a vocation. The level of dedication and care that you invest in your students goes beyond employment. At Hogwarts, you are teaching them skills which will define the rest of their lives. Ensuring the quality of that education is your top priority.”

“I understand that.” Harry told her, earnestly. “How could I not, with the kind of teachers I had?” He could hear Snape scoff behind him but they both ignored the portrait.

“Do you?” McGonagall challenged lightly. “Because if you thought to pursue another subject other than Defence Against the Dark Arts, a subject you are intimately familiar with, a subject in which you may offer invaluable knowledge to your students…I wonder if you have their best interests at heart, or your own?”

Harry bit his tongue against his initial response which was to argue that he had more to give than just jinxes and shields. “I’ve spent most of my life fighting, in one way or another, Professor.” He finally said, quietly. “If I left the Auror Department, it would have to be for something else, not more of the same.”

The Headmistresses hummed in response. But her response surprised him: “Teaching Defence is not about fighting, Mr Potter. It’s about using everything you’ve lived through to ensure they will live through it too. You have always had a preternatural ability to find trouble, Mr Potter.” McGonagall said, dryly. “Which has only ever been matched by your natural ability to quell those troubles. The answer is yes, you might make a reasonable Charms professor if you so choose, or a Flying Coach. Certainly not Transfiguration.” she added with a shudder.

“And if I see you set one foot in my dungeons, I’ll roll in my grave, Potter.” Snape seethed, menacingly.

“It would be more work, with a greater burden of study. There is no telling whether the timing would be right for you to apply here once you finished.” McGonagall continued, archly. “Fighting is not all you are good for, Potter. But it is certainly amongst your finest and most valuable talents. And I would argue that the best use of those talents would be in teaching these students how to quell trouble when they find it.”

Harry considered the option she’d presented. So much of his own childhood had been consumed with his own struggles, battles he never should have been taking on by himself. He, Ron and Hermione, they’d been children for so many of the worst parts of it all: the fight for the Philosopher’s Stone, the Chamber and the Basilisk, the whole escaped convict episode with Sirius featuring werewolves and dementors, the absolutely horrors of the Triwizard Tournament, and then of course, the return of Voldemort…They’d faced horrors as children that most adults would have run screaming from.

For so many years, Harry had thought that working with the Auror Department was righting those wrongs. He’d felt like if he could just save one more person, then going through the kind of truly horrendous shit he’d witnessed would have all been worth it.

But now, Harry wondered if the point wasn’t in rescuing people who had already been through hell. He wondered if the point was ensuring that they had the skills to rescue themselves in the first place.

He’d told Hermione and Ron that he wanted something uninvolved with violence, but as McGonagall said, defence wasn’t about fighting. It was about giving these kids the tools they might need to fight for themselves. He suddenly, desperately wanted it. He wanted to be the person who taught children like Sasha, like Teddy, how to protect themselves, how to fight for their own well-being, how to face down whatever trouble they were in with the confidence of knowing for sure they would survive it.

He wanted to give them that concrete confidence in their own ability to survive which he’d never quite been able to grasp for himself.

“How do we get started?” he said, raising his gaze with determination lighting him up from within.

“You can’t possibly be serious, Minerva!” Severus shouted, angrily, waking up a number of the grumpy paintings around him. “I thought you said the certification process was intended to weed out those unsuitable for teaching! Clearly Potter is the very height of unsuitability!”

“Oh, cheer up, Professor.” Harry called out, deeply enjoying the way the man’s snarl curled at the sound of his voice. “It’ll be fun, having me around again. You can yell at me during class and tell my students what trouble I was to teach.”

“Mr Potter, I’ll thank you not to goad Professor Snape’s portrait.” McGonagall said, arching her brow but there was a hint of amusement behind her tortoiseshell glasses. “I’ll have someone send you an owl with the necessary application forms and a primer on the NEWT exam for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Once you’ve had your paperwork signed and submitted, I’ll arrange to set a date for you to take the exam.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a way I can take it without being stuck in a room full of Seventh Years, is there?” Harry asked, hopefully.

McGonagall stood with a small, amused sound. “While I would no doubt enjoy watching the cohort’s reaction, I’m afraid you might be too great a distraction. I’ll have the arrangements made for before the school term starts in September.” She said, dismissively.

“Wait,” Harry suddenly froze, his joy turned to dread. “You mean I’ll only have six months to study for it?”

The elderly witch merely gave him a catlike smile. “Less than that, I’d say. You’d best get to your books, Mr Potter.” Her smile suddenly froze as she focused on a slight scuffling noise coming from the staircase behind them.

“…move over, lard arse…”

“…would if you’d stop treading on my foot…”

“…stop shouting, Sri…trying to listen…”

“…bet he’s here for some sort of case…”

“….would he be here for that, Felix? Honestly…”

“…what else could it be?”

“…shh, I hear something…”

“Wait. Oh sh-!”

They were Second Years by the size of them, Harry judged with deep amusement as McGonagall slowly descended the staircase, the gargoyle statue quickly hobbling out of her way.  The four of them were an entangled mess of gangly limbs and school sweaters as they struggled to separate from their collapsed eavesdropping spot.

“Mr Feld, Mr Kumar, Miss Liu, Miss DeLuca. Do you know the consequences for eavesdropping on the Headmistress?” McGonagall said in a voice so cold Harry genuinely pitied the poor students.

Staggering to their feet, they hung their heads with shame. “Sorry, Headmistress.” One of them murmured, abashed. His friend, Miss DeLuca, dared to peer up at Harry but upon catching his amused gaze, she let out a squeak and tucked her chin again.

“We heard a rumour Harry Potter was here, Professor.” The tallest one, Kumar, said in a small voice. “We just wanted to see for ourselves.”

“I see, and this gives you license to spy on your Headmistress?” McGonagall demanded. With a scowl, she looked back at Harry and raised a brow. “Geniuses.” She mouthed to him, exasperated.

He hid his own grin. “I feel as if I should take some responsibility here, Professor.” Harry said instead, sombrely. “Clearly, I’ve incited some rather poor behaviour amongst your students.”

“A bad influence indeed.” McGonagall noted, idly. “I ought to ban you from the castle.”

Their little eyes bulged at the idea. “Please no, Professor!” Miss Liu insisted, horrified. “We didn’t- it’s my fault, Peeves told me he was here, and I didn’t believe him-”

“Cece didn’t even want to come, Professor McGonagall, I made her.” Kumar cut in, bravely taking the blame.

“That’s not true, Sri said we should go when we couldn’t make the statue move, but I thought we should see if we could hear something-” Mr Feld rambled until the smallest one, Miss DeLuca, in her little blonde pigtails stepped on his foot rather viciously.

“We’re very sorry Professor.” She said, firmly. “It won’t happen again.”

McGonagall hummed at that, sceptically. “I’ll see that it doesn’t. Five points from each of your houses. Now, off with you before I decide to make it ten.”

As they scattered, their little feet pounding the stone as hard as they could, Harry let out a small noise of incredulity. “I can’t believe I was ever that small. Or bad at lying.” He said, marvelling at them.

McGonagall gave a rather uncharacteristic snort. “Believe me, Mr Potter. You were smaller. And worse.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

As he made his way to the exit at the Entrance Hall, Harry allowed himself a deep, unsteady breath as he considered what this next stage of his life may look like. Long nights of studying and stressing over an exam he probably should’ve sat years ago, preparing to teach rooms full of Miss DeLucas and Mr Kumars, having to tell his friends and family about this unexpected career move…telling Ginny…oh Merlin, that would be fun.

He knew some of the Hogwarts professors had been married or in otherwise committed relationships during their tenure. In fact, he was certain he remembered Hermione telling him that Professor Sinistra rarely slept in her quarters in the castle, preferring instead to travel home to her wife and their son each evening. Which meant he and Ginny might have some adjusting to do but it was hardly impossible.

Harry was busily mentally crafting this response for his beloved girlfriend as he passed a familiar portrait near the passage which led to the Slytherin Common Rooms.

He slowed, unable to help himself. “So, I guess this means we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Professor Snape positively glowered at him, as if he’d dearly like to reach out of the frame and throttle Harry. “And here I was hoping for a peaceful retirement.”

Harry gave a faint smile at that. “You really think I won’t be up to it?” he asked, curiously.

“I think you’ll have every wide-eyed imbecile clinging to your every word, and it will make it impossible to train them in anything other than Potter worship.” Snape spat at him. “This is a school, Potter, not a theatre.”

“Damn and here I was practising my best ballet moves.” Harry replied, dripping with sarcasm.

“Teaching is more than being liked.” Snape insisted.

“But everyone likes me, Professor.” Harry insisted, wide eyed with teasing. But his smile slowly faded into something more genuine, as he recalled his early musings. “I’m sending you a gift in a few years, you know.”

“A gift?” he sneered at him. “I’m touched.”

Harry ignored the acidic tone. “Remus and Tonks’ little boy. Teddy’s his name.” he gave a soft chuckle. “Best kid I know.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Such high praise from a consummate braggart.”

“He’ll start Hogwarts in a few years’ time and he’s going to have about a million questions for you.” Harry explained, sensing he’d caught the painting’s curiosity. “About his parents, about the War. About me. I’m his favourite topic, of course.” Harry added boastfully just so he could enjoy the look of white rage across Snape’s face. “And I’m giving you free reign to tell him everything you like.”

“How generous of you.” Snape deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” Harry insisted. “Every embarrassing little detail, every quip and punishment, every time you made me scrub bedpans in the Infirmary, you can tell him absolutely everything. He’ll love it, I’m sure. I’ll get a dozen letters asking if you really made me wash out cauldrons with a toothbrush.” He chuckled. “But I’m asking you now, don’t badmouth his parents to him.”

“If the boy wants to know,” Snape smiled thinly. “I’d feel compelled to give the truth.”

“There’s the truth and then there’s openly disparaging the only image of his parents he has.” Harry warned, his tone abruptly cooler. “Tell him whatever you like about me but if I hear you’ve been slandering Remus Lupin, I’ll take paint thinner to this portrait, Professor.”

“You dare to threaten me-” Snape began, angrily.

Harry merely fixed him with a look. “It’ll be different than it was with me. Remus isn’t the same as my parents were to you. And Teddy has other people in his life, more than I ever did. It shouldn’t be so hard to keep your mouth shut. But I’m serious, Severus. You break that little boy’s heart and you’ll be answering to more than me. Andromeda will storm the castle with a paper shredder.”

Snape’s fury died down to annoyance at the mention of Andromeda. Harry had forgotten they’d gone to school together once, many years ago. “Fine. But I’ll make sure to explain in detail about the time I made you separate baboon eyelashes for a week and then told you to mix them up and start again on the last day.” His mouth curled in a self-satisfied smirk. “Forget sending letters, he’ll be banging down your office door over that one.”

Harry was about to respond with something witty, but the words sank into him with slow realisation. “My office? So you do think I’ll make it as a teacher?” Harry said, gleefully.

Snape’s sallow, two-dimensional face went pale. “That’s not what I meant in the slightest, Potter.”

“No, no, it’s too late to backtrack now,” Harry insisted, beaming with victory. “You do believe in me, don’t you? I knew it, everyone really does love me.”

“Potter, that is not what I meant-”

“See you soon, Severus!” he called out cheerily as he made his way toward the doors of the Entrance Hall, ignoring the sounds of spluttering coming from Severus’ frame. Now that, Harry told himself with delighted satisfaction, was a sign.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

There you go! The letter from earlier was to Neville and Harry's going to make a kick ass teacher!
Sorry this took forever guys, I contracted the spicy cough and went down hard for a little while. But I'm back and we're in the home stretch! Four more chapters to go!

In other news, I have another fic coming out soon; it's a Fleamont/Euphemia meetcute murder mystery set in 1927 and loosely based on Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile!

Summary below, I'll be posting it on Saturday evening so if you want to catch the link, follow my ao3 profile for email updates!!

 

Death on the Nile

 

The year is 1927 and Fleamont Potter has been lured out of his potions’ workshop to attend the wedding tour of his dear friend Dorian Longbottom and Dorian’s new, mildly insufferable wife Augusta. Joined by Augusta’s equally insufferable elder brother and Floo Network director Collin Finch, and her best friend Beatrice Boot, a rising young star at the Ministry of Magic, the two-week voyage aboard the SS Karnak steamship is bound for adventure.

But their pleasure cruise is swiftly revealed to be the journey from hell as one of their number is brutally murdered aboard the ship. Fleamont is suddenly responsible for finding the murderer, joined by the lovely Euphemia Misra, daughter of a Bombay apothecary trading mogul. In addition to their wedding party, the steamship is also host to the notorious heiress Sabella Malfoy and her cousin, one of the richest wizards in Britain, Alphard Black, meaning there is no end to the suspect list.

Yes, the year is 1927 and there has been a death on the River Nile.

Chapter 20: IT'S ALWAYS THE RIGHT TIME FOR FAMILY

TWENTY
IT’S ALWAYS THE RIGHT TIME FOR FAMILY.

Harry had never seen his cousin so uncomfortable, standing on the threshold to his mother-in-law’s house and sweating bullets beneath the older woman’s steely eyed gaze. Truth be told, he was quite enjoying the sight.

One would never know to look at Mrs Bright that she was such a force to be reckoned with.

She shared her daughter’s petite figure and light blonde hair, but that was about where the similarities ended. Unlike Karen, her hair was cut short like a spiky blond halo around her head, and her eyeliner, a little smudged into her laugh-lines and wrinkles, only made her gaze more piercing.

“Mam, stop it.” Karen hissed out of the corner of her mouth as she trudged down the narrow stairs with her last suitcase in hand.

Mrs Bright ignored her daughter. “Do you even have a car seat in that thing?” she demanded, nodding sharply toward the dark grey sedan Dudley had driven here.

Dudley snapped to attention as if he’d been zapped. “Er, yes ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Mrs Bright squawked with a frown. “Harry, wasn’t it? Do I look old enough to be a ma’am to you?”

Harry, who had been seated on the sofa with a cup of tea while he enjoyed the show, cleared his throat. “Not in the slightest, Mrs Bright.” He lied.

“I told you love,” she took a break from glaring to glance at him with a small, kindly smile. “Call me Gillian.”

“Of course, Mrs Bright.” Harry demurred.

Dudley glowered at him from over Gillian’s shoulder.

“Such lovely manners,” she complimented, turning back to his cousin with a frown. “And my Karen tells me you grew up together, eh? You’d not know it from where I’m standing.”

“Mam.” Karen snapped again, handing the suitcase off to Dudley.

They’d been moving her belongings out of her old room all morning when Harry showed up. He’d intended on a quick visit, just to drop off the receipt listing the payment he’d made to McGonagall for Clementine’s place at Hogwarts but Karen’s mother had caught him and insisted he be welcomed properly.

Harry had the distinct impression that she simply wanted to make her son-in-law feel as excluded as possible from the proceedings. She’d already banned him from setting foot in her house while she was in it, leaving Dudley to wait on the doorstep while Karen ferried the suitcases from downstairs.

Gillian fixed her daughter with a look of concern. “I told you, love, you could stay as long as you need. Both of you, of course. You don’t have to go.”

Karen looked tired. “And I told you, it was a misunderstanding. We’ve made up now, I promise. Dudley’s a good man and an even better father.”

Her mother was obviously unconvinced, but she at least waited until Dudley was out of earshot, adding the suitcase to the trunk of the car to mutter: “He’s a twat, love. You’re better off without him, honestly. Sorry, Harry dear.”

“No, no,” Harry set down his mug, the pink cat-stripe one that said PURRTY. “I agree with you completely, Mrs Bright.”

“You do?” Gillian turned back to Karen expectantly. “See? Even his own flesh-”

“But he is trying.” Harry cut in delicately. “And I have no doubt Karen will keep him in check.”

Karen let out a huff of laughter at that. “Talk about faint praise.”

“Hm.” Gillian raised a thin, overplucked brow. “Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will.” Karen insisted, heading for Clementine’s playpen, set up in one corner of the loungeroom. She was babbling away happily with her toy hippo, which seemed to have changed colours since Harry had seen it last. He made a mental note to retrieve another course of potions from the hospital for her, just to make sure they didn’t run out before her bout of Terrible Twos ended.

Whatever Gillian had been about to reply melted in her mouth at the sight of her granddaughter. “Alright then, love.” She finally said, with a defeated sigh. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Karen said firmly, hitching Clementine higher on her hip.

The little girl looked curiously at her grandmother, offering her Sebby the hippo. “Gammy sad?”

“No, pet,” Gillian soothed, pressing a kiss to her sticky cheek. She forced a smile. “Grammy’s just going to miss having you underfoot wreaking havoc, isn’t she?”

Clementine giggled at that. “Havoc!” she cheered. “Make havoc!”

“Yes, you do.” Karen replied with a little laugh of her own. “We’ll come round for dinner next week, Mam, don’t worry.”

“It’s a mother’s job to worry, pet.” Gillian corrected her airily.

Dudley cleared his throat from the doorway, still not game to step over the threshold. “Thanks for looking after them, Mrs Bright.”

“Of course. My granddaughter is always welcome in my home.” Gillian said simply. Unlike you, seem to go unsaid.

“Oh bugger,” Karen suddenly exclaimed, quickly handing off Clemmie to her father. “I forgot to pack up the side table in my room. Just one more moment, sweet girl.”

Dudley looked pained at the thought of spending any more moments in his mother-in-law’s presence so Harry magnanimously decided to take pity on him. “This has been lovely Mrs Bright, thank you. Dudley, do you have a minute to talk about that thing I mentioned?”

Dudley frowned at him stupidly as Clementine chewed on poor Sebby’s ear. “What thing?”

“That thing.” Harry emphasised, raising his brows toward the car. “We should probably discuss it alone.”

“Oh, yeah,” his cousin flustered eventually, understanding in his eyes. “Yeah, we should- alright then, Gillian. I mean, Mrs Bright.”

Gillian shot him one last arch look, impressive considering her tiny stature and turned to take Harry’s mug back to the kitchen with a “hmph.”

When they made it out to the car, Dudley slumped back against the closed door with a weary frown. “She hates me all over again.” He complained, bouncing Clementine idly.

“Cheer up, Duddikins.” Harry said bracingly. “I’m sure she never really stopped hating you in the first place.”

He snorted, reluctantly amused. “Probably right on the money with that one.”

“Speaking of,” Harry fished the parchment invoice letter out of the pocket of his cloak. Mrs Bright had seemed rather caught off guard by his strange wizards’ garb but clearly, she was too polite to say so. “Here. It’s the placement fee I told you about.”

“For Hogwarts.” The word sounded odd in his mouth, spoken without the usual scorn or resentment. He glanced at the invoice, curiously following McGonagall’s emerald green cursive script, then looked up at Harry. “Is it…is it nice?”

Harry’s own smile was wistful. “It’s…incredible. Honestly, there’s no place in the world like it.”

Dudley shuffled on his feet with an oddly thoughtful look. “And she won’t be teased or nothing? Coz of us, I mean.”

“It’s complicated still. There’s a lot of awful people, same as there are in this world.” He couldn’t bring himself to lie to his cousin entirely, but Harry made sure to keep his tone gentle. Dudley wasn’t his mean spirited, dullard cousin in that moment, he was just another worried, tired parent trying to look after his kid. “But Hogwarts is the kind of place that can always be home, you know?”

“I like that.” Dudley finally said. “I like the idea of her having another home. Something she can always go back to.”

Something in his cousin’s grim expression triggered a memory of Harry’s, one that had been buried so deep for so long he’d practically lost it entirely: a glimpse of Dudley’s face the night they’d sent the Dursleys into hiding, as he looked back at his home on Privet Drive.

But before he could interrogate it further, Clementine suddenly let out an ear-piercing screech. “Nananananana!”

And over Dudley’s shoulder, like the ghost of Christmas past, stood Aunt Petunia in her sensible pale beige sweater and skirt set, clutching her handbag with bony, white fingers.

Harry hadn’t seen her since that disastrous dinner but it seemed that neither had Dudley because he nearly dropped Clemmie in his shock.

 “Mum? What’re you doing here?” he finally asked as she approached them.

Aunt Petunia swallowed, deliberately keeping her eyes on Dudley and her granddaughter who was wriggling like an eel and reaching for her. “I thought it was high time we put an end to all this foolishness.”

Dudley sighed. “I don’t know if this is the right time, Karen’s just about finished getting her things.”

“Of course, it’s the right time.” Aunt Petunia snipped, though her hands were gentle as she stroked Clementine’s curls. “It’s always the right time for family.”

“Where’s dad then?” Dudley challenged, sourly. “Shouldn’t you be apologising together?”

Aunt Petunia straightened her back, indignantly. “Your father is at home, recovering. He’s been dreadfully ill since dinner, you know. Heart burn, indigestion, malaise-”

“Oh dear, not the general malaise.” Harry muttered with an eye roll.

Aunt Petunia finally deigned to look at him, with her patented pursed lips of disdain. “You can stay out of this. You’ve done quite enough!”

“Don’t blame Harry for this.” Dudley suddenly – astonishingly – interceded with a scowl of his own. “He’s been a damn sight more helpful about this whole thing than you or Dad!”

Harry was so struck stupid that he nearly missed the wobble in Petunia’s voice when she plaintively replied: “As well he ought to! It’s his fault, Dudley-!”

“It’s not anyone’s fault!” His cousin snapped back. “Not mine, not yours, not Harry’s, not Clemmie’s.”

Clementine, sensing her father’s upset, reached out for him with a delicate, concerned little frown. “Dadadada-”

Aunt Petunia bounced her granddaughter, softening her voice a touch. “You don’t understand, darling.” She fretted, looking down at the little girl with a morose, desperate look. “This will ruin her. It will ruin all of you if you don’t manage it properly.”

Harry’s green eyes narrowed fiercely. “Manage it, huh? Is that what we’re calling child abuse these days?”

Aunt Petunia glowered at him but ignored the quip, turning her plaintive eyes to her son. “Darling, please, I can help. I really can, it’s not so difficult.”

“What does that even mean, mum?” Dudley sounded exhausted.

“I know how to hide it, you see?” Petunia babbled away, daring to look faintly hopeful. “I covered for Lily for years. Christmases, Easters, family dinners! I had to take over the planning, of course and it took a few white lies to my parents but I did it.”

“White lies-? Listen to yourself Mum!” Dudley groaned impatiently. “You sound mad!”

“You know,” Aunt Petunia flapped her free hand. “Harmless, little stories about her having measles or being stuck at that horrid boarding school due to the weather. And then I had to make sure her breaks never collided while the extended family visited, or heaven forbid, the neighbours. But the important thing is I did it, darling. And we can too, I promise.”

Harry’s stomach rolled with nausea as he listened to his Aunt. He could picture it, all too well: little Lily Evans coming home for Christmas only to find her family long departed, her sister spreading stories of illness, treating her like a leper.

“Why, at my engagement dinner, I managed to persuade sixty guests that Lily was our neighbour’s cousin!” Petunia continued proudly. “Her…guests took a little more explaining. I think my Uncle Rupert caught on that they weren’t service staff. But the important thing is, I did it darling. And we can do it too. For Clementine.”

She looked down at her granddaughter with such affection and Harry realised, with some sinking feeling, that this was indeed her twisted version of genuine love.

“It will be so much easier this time, darling. I can teach her how to be normal and we can all go back to the way things were-”

That seemed to snap something in Dudley. In moments, he had crossed the distance to his mother and yanked Clementine out of her grasp. In his oafish arms, she appeared even tinier than usual, her little chubby fists clenching tight around Sebby the Hippo. And Dudley…

Well, Dudley appeared to grow six feet in six seconds.

“She is normal!” he thundered over Clementine’s head, gently cradled into his chest to protect her from the shouting. “There is nothing wrong with my daughter! And the next person who says otherwise is gonna get a fucking wallop-!”

“Dudley Dursley.”

Oddly, the admonition did not come from Dudley’s mother. Or rather, not his own mother.

The tiny, spiky-haired figure of Gillian Bright stood in the threshold of her home with a piercing expression. Harry glimpsed Karen peering over her shoulder, wide eyed.

“What are you doing, using language like that around my granddaughter?” she scolded, utterly unafraid of her towering son-in-law as she joined them.

“Sorry, Mrs Bright.” The tension in Dudley’s shoulders unwound ever so faintly but he refused to look away from his visibly struck mother. Harry had never seen Aunt Petunia’s jaw literally drop open before. She had surprisingly horrible dentistry.

Gillian peered at Petunia. “Now, what’s all this carry on, then?”

Aunt Petunia cleared her throat tightly. “Mrs Bright. This is a private conversation with my son, if you please.”

“I don’t please.” Gillian retorted bluntly, eyes narrowing. “Not when it concerns my grandbaby. So? What’s all this about Clemmie not being normal?”

“As I said-” Petunia repeated tightly.

“Because I take insults to my family quite personally, you know.” Gillian’s accent thickened dangerously. “And I’d like to hear a good reason for you slandering the best thing your son ever did with himself.”

Petunia bristled. “My son is a fine young man who has accomplished more in his life than your daughter could hope for.”

“Mum, I swear to Christ-” Dudley boomed again.

But Gillian stepped across him, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Careful now, Mrs Dursley. Remember what I said about insulting my family, I don’t take kindly to it.” She warned.

Harry watched his aunt’s gaze narrow, her lips purse. “Your daughter,” she enunciated each word with brittle indignation. “Should count herself lucky to have found someone like my Dudley.”

“You know, I agree.” Gillian stated with an airiness that belied the glower in her face. “Karen’s lucky to have found a fella who turned out so well despite his wretched, hateful parents.”

Dudley blinked. Then blinked again. “Er, thanks Mrs Bright.”

Neither mother so much as glanced at him.

In fact, Gillian stepped even closer, waggling a fearless finger at Petunia despite their substantial height difference. “I’ve always said you Dursleys looked down your nose at my family! I told Karen not to get mixed up with you!” she ranted.

“Mam, please, let’s just go inside.” Karen spoke up weakly, joining her husband’s side. Clementine had gone very still and quiet, clearly unhappy about the raised voices. Sebby the Hippo was changing colours rapidly now, Harry observed.

Gillian ignored her daughter. “The only one of you worth a damn apart from you son is Harry!”

Harry blinked, echoing Dudley’s sentiment: “Er, thanks Mrs Bright.”

“It’s Gillian, dear.” She replied immediately, without taking her eyes of Petunia.

“That boy is a poison!” Petunia snapped, shrilly. “He infects everything he touches! Look at what he’s done to my boy, look how he treats his mother now!”

Harry could muster no words in his own defence. He did not need to. Dudley, his oafish, lumbering, bully of a cousin, had enough words for them both.

 “Harry has nothing to do with this, Mum! All of this is your own bloody doing, you and Dad’s!” He growled furiously.

Petunia’s eyes filled with tears. “Dudley-”

“It was wrong!” his cousin shouted, handing Clementine to Karen. His hands were trembling too hard to hold her, shaped into thick fists of pure fury. “The cupboard, the lies, it was wrong, Mum! Why can’t you see that?”

“It was necessary, darling!” she insisted, sounding ever more hysterical. “What would people say? How could we explain?”

Dudley’s face was red with fury. “You’re not explaining my daughter away!”

“Oi! Enough shouting, both of you!” Gillian snapped at them. “Now I’ve let this go on too long but enough’s enough.”

“You cannot possibly understand what is at stake here.” Petunia shrieked. “Clementine’s future, her reputation, the whole family’s reputation-!”

“You think I’m blind?” Gillian cut in sharply. “You think I don’t see she’s different? Bollocks to that, you don’t think I see that she’s special?”

Karen’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “Mam? You- you know?!”

Her mother merely sighed in frustration. “Karen, she gave the cushions a tail for heaven’s sake, was I meant to ignore it?”

Meanwhile, Petunia turned to Harry with a desperate, hateful look. “You did this, you know.” She spat at him. “Everything was fine before you came back into our lives!”

“Fine?” Dudley’s eyes bulged. “You told people Clemmie wasn’t mine, you asked me to divorce my wife! Dad didn’t even want to hold her! Mum, that isn’t fine!”

Harry merely held his aunt’s watery blue eyes with an even stare, that vision of his mother, lonely on Christmas, still circulating in his mind. Slowly but surely the hair lightened, until he was picturing Clementine Dursley, alone in one room while her family dined in the other.

“Punishing her for being different won’t make you any more special, Aunt Petunia.” He finally said, quietly. “Neither did punishing me. Or Lily.”

The colour drained from his aunt’s face at the mention of the deep, dark secret only they knew. That little Petunia Evans had longed to be magical once.

Meanwhile, Gillian’s cheeks had gone red with anger at her son-in-law’s revelation. She no longer look averse to shouting. In fact, she looked about five seconds away from outright brawling.

“Right, that’s it.” She fumed. “Clemmie, Dudley and Karen are my family and I’m not about to sit here and look down your nose at them the way you do me. Get the bloody hell off my property before I throw you off!”

Petunia visibly wilted at the threat, turning to her son one last time. “Dudley, please.” She wept. “Please, darling, don’t do this.”

“It’s over, Mum.” Dudley said simply. He put one hand on his wife’s back, the other on the back of Clemmie’s head. “Just go home.”

“But, I-”

“I’m warning you Dursley,” Gillian interjected as Petunia reached for him. “I’ve taken some of those new Kravamagana courses down at the rec centre, and I’m not afraid to test them out on that bony arse of yours. Now, piss. Off.”

Petunia staggered back, one faltering step at a time, until she finally summoned what little composure she had left. With a sniff, she straightened her pearls, adjusted the strap of her purse. Turned. And strode out of her son’s life.

Satisfied, Gillian flapped her hands toward the house. “Inside, then. We’re giving Mr Earl across the road a right show with all this carry on.”

Karen and Clementine ducked inside, but Dudley hesitated on the threshold.

Gillian let out a long, weary sigh. “Oh fine, in you go, you big dullard.” But it was said with such a tone of affection that the visibly emotionally wrung out Dudley perked up a little.

“Thanks Gillian.”

“Mrs Bright to you,” she corrected firmly but she pet his hand gently. “For now. Right, who wants a cuppa?”

Harry studied his cousin as Gillian bustled into the kitchen. “How do you feel?” he finally asked quietly.

Dudley didn’t answer right away. “I really thought she’d come through for me.”

Harry privately thought that was giving his aunt and uncle a lot more credit than they deserved. But they weren’t his parents after all. Just people he’d once wanted to love.

“Do you regret it?”

His cousin was watching his wife soothe a very fussy, anxious Clementine on the couch, Sebby the Hippo changing colours with rapid speed now. His smile was small but heartfelt.

“How could I? Look at them.” the tension in his shoulders eased. “They’re perfect.”

Gillian re-emerged, mugs in hand and an expectant look. “Well then, who’s thirsty-?”

But the word had barely left her mouth before a shower of multicoloured confetti suddenly exploded across the room. Pieces of the culprit, Sebby the Hippo, lay strewn between them.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Clementine gave an almighty wail at the sight of her now destroyed friend and Gillian gave another sigh, setting down the mugs. “Alright. You’d best start from the beginning, loves.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

YADA YADA, I MOVED STATES YADA YADA I HAD TO EXTEND MY THESIS YADA YADA TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GO

THANK YOU FOR BEARING WITH ME AND ALL THE COMMENTS SAYING THEY WERE KEEN FOR ANOTHER CHAPTER BUT LIKE, IN A KIND AND GENTLE WAY, I LOVE YOU ALL <3 <3

Chapter 21: DRACO IS FURIOUS

TWENTY-ONE
DRACO IS FURIOUS.

Under the conditions of the new trial, Harry was not permitted to set foot in the Wizengamot court room. They said nothing about hovering indefinitely in front of its large oak wooden doors. 

He ignored the eyes on him as the rest of the Ministry moved through the atrium, some of the looks curious, others judgemental.  He let them slide right off his back like a duck. He wasn’t here for them, after all.

Khatri spotted him first. Even from across the chamber, he could see her lean down to the little girl clutching her hand, pointing him out. Sasha’s pale little face visibly brightened.

“Harry, you came.” she chirped weakly. Gylda followed close behind, ever watchful.

“Of course.” He reassured her, glancing quickly between the Aurors. “Don’t suppose you’d give us a minute?”

“Only if I get a minute afterward.” Khatri grumbled in warning.

Harry knelt down to Sasha’s eye level, quickly taking in her new look. The dark purple corduroy dress was seemingly made of pockets and Sasha seemed to be keeping something in each of them. A pair of fluorescent yellow sneakers clashed horrifically with the outfit.

Harry smiled. “Don’t you look spiffy, huh?”

Sasha gave a tiny smile back. “Navi helped me pick it out. And the shoes.”

“Lucky you. Wish I had a pair.”

Her humour faded quickly. Sasha took his hand urgently. “You’ll be here, won’t you?”

“Come here. See that bench?” he pointed to it, directly opposite the courtroom. “I’m not going to move an inch from that spot until you come back out through those doors.”

She chewed her lip, considering that. “What if they tell you to go?”

“Too bad.”

“What if you have to use the bathroom?”

“I guess things’ll get messy.”

Her nose wrinkled as she let out a loud guffaw of laughter. “Harry! You can’t do that!”

He shrugged. “Promise is a promise, Sasha.”

“But what if…” her humour faded. “If the interviewer is mean again? What if he says those things about how I…”

“It’s a new interviewer this time, Sasha.” Gylda had materialised over Harry’s shoulder soundlessly. “I hear Minister Shacklebolt selected her himself.”

“And you’ll be waiting?” Sasha looked beseechingly at Harry who merely nodded.

“I told you. Not an inch.”

He wasn’t quite prepared for the hug she threw at him, but he managed to keep himself from tumbling onto his arse long enough to hug her back. Not exactly the most dignified look for a Senior Auror. Then again, he wouldn’t have long to worry about that sort of thing.

“Sasha,” Gylda interrupted, making an awkward attempt at a gentle tone. “Would you mind if I had a word with Harry before we take you in? Miss Khatri-”

“She said I could call her Navi.” Sasha’s eyes brightened faintly with mischief as she removed her skinny little arms from around his neck. “She told us both to call her Navi.”

Gylda didn’t flinch but Harry thought he spied the slightest hint of a blush. “She said she’d help you go through your words one more time.”

Reluctantly, Sasha gave a long sigh. “Alright. I…I’ll see you afterwards, Harry?”

He rose to his feet, throwing her a tiny wink. “Not an inch.”

Gylda at least waited until the little girl was out of earshot. Then she turned on him with an angry scowl.  “Tell me it’s not true.”

Harry hefted a sigh almost as loud as Sasha’s. “Damn. I was sort of hoping the rumour mill hadn’t gotten its hands on that yet.”

“Harry-”

“What, you can call me Harry but you won’t call her Navi?”

“Tell me it’s not true.”

His humour faded, struck by the genuine upset in her voice. Gylda was always the steady one, the least likely to panic in any given situation. He’d seen her elicit confessions with little more than a dead-eyed look. But he should’ve known this wouldn’t go down easily for any of his team.

“It’s true, Gylda.” He said quietly. “I’m not…I sent it yesterday morning. It’s done.”

“We can fight it.” She growled out. “You made a mistake, sure, but they can’t define you by what was obviously a trap by the defence! You’ve served the department for years, it’s not fair to force you to resign like this, like you’re ashamed!”

“Gylda,” he interrupted quickly. “No one’s forcing me. I resigned all on my own, I promise.”

The words took the wind out of her sails, extinguishing her outrage in seconds. “What? Why in Circe’s name would you do that?!”

He scratched his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll let it go if I say ‘it’s complicated’?”

Gylda’s scowl would have looked entirely out of place on her otherwise doll-like features to anyone who didn't know her. “What do you think, Potter?”

“What happened to sir?” he complained lightly and then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know, Gros. It’s just time.”

“What does that even mean?” she pressed angrily. “What about the department? What about your career? What about-?” Us, she seemed to want to say but Gylda looked even more furious at the thought of the word, at the sentimentality it revealed.

“The team.” She ground out instead.

But Harry could only smile, his heart swollen with pride. “You mean the misfits I handpicked and raised? The team that cracked a double murder and smuggling ring out of a missing persons cold case? That team?”

She made an indignant noise. “Just because we’re good doesn’t mean we’re done.”

“You’re better than good, Gros.” Harry chided. “I’ve worked on a lot of teams but this one…You guys make me remember why I joined the Department in the first place.”

“So re-remember!” she snapped, looking as if she’d like to bonk him over the head a few times to help with the process.

Harry shook his head. “You’re also why I know I can leave, Gros.”

“You really want to do this?” She pressed, glaring at him as though trying to discern the truth from his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” He replied simply. “You’ll understand what I mean, one day.”

Gylda looked away from him for a moment, as if considering his argument. Her eyes were suspiciously wet. When she looked back, there was not a hint of dismay. Only cool composure. Yeah, Harry thought fondly. They’re going to be just fine.

“In that case.” She stuck out her hand formally, as if daring him to take it. “It’s been an honour, sir.”

Harry took it. Strangely, it felt more final than signing his resignation letter. “The honour has been mine, Gylda Gros.”

“One condition.”

His brow quirked. “I don’t think you know how resignations work.”

“You have to be the one to tell Khatri.” She insisted. “I am not dealing with that.”

He snorted. “You’re gonna make a mean Senior Auror, Gros.”

Her composure twitched for a moment, split with delight. “This your way of telling me I’m getting promoted?”

“I’ve put in certain recommendations.” Harry hedged with a small grin. “I think Khatri would benefit from some time under Whittaker, for one.”

Gylda’s delight plummeted. “Why would you do that?”

“Because there are strict rules about Aurors dating their superiors.” Harry said bluntly. “And now that I’m no longer your boss, I can say this to your face. Put Navi out of her misery and ask the damn girl on a date.”

“You’re leaving me with Haider.” Gylda snapped but her cherubic cheeks lit with pink fluster. “Why should I follow your advice, huh?”

“Hasn’t steered you wrong yet.” He pointed out.

Whatever snappy comment Gylda had been about to make was suddenly cut off, her eyes narrowing on something over Harry’s shoulder.

Only then he heard a familiar voice. “Ah, liebling, I told you we’d be together again soon, didn’t I?”

Gylda was off like a shot. “You’re meant to bring the prisoner through the rear entrance, Dunheim!” She snarled at the Auror holding Tiltenhaus’ arm.

In addition to the pair of Aurors accompanying the accused was a tall, dark haired witch with rather exquisite features and a small golden Wizengamot pin attached to her robes. The new witness interviewer, Harry realised immediately. A replacement for that moron Talbins.

“There’s some kind of issue with the holding cells, the doors are sealed shut. They sent us up here.” the Auror grunted back, looking about as pleased as Gros to be handling the murderer.

If it were possible, Tiltenhaus looked even worse than last time. His clothes fell like rags around his thin frame, his barely grown in beard patchy and rough. Only his eyes glowed with the hubris and satisfaction of his former self, fixed hungrily on his daughter’s trembling form.

“Come now, liebling. Don’t you have a kiss for your papa?”

Urgently, Harry glanced toward Khatri but she had already swiftly tucked Sasha into her side and turned her away, throwing a glare over her shoulder. “You didn’t put a Silencing Charm on him? He’s not allowed within a hundred feet-”

“If you don’t like it, take it up with the cells’ officer.” The guard retorted angrily, then shoved at his prisoner. “And you, shut up.”

The new interviewer cleared her throat sharply. “Auror Dunheim, I don’t think I have to remind you that brutalising a prisoner in your custody is a crime.”

The Auror gritted his teeth. “No, ma’am.”

Harry’s heart sank, worried this one was just as bad as Talbins, ready to make Tiltenhaus look like the innocent victim of a lying daughter-

But then her blue gaze iced over.  “As for you, Mr Tiltenhaus, Auror Khatri is correct. There is a restraining petition in place which prevents you from communicating with your daughter before or during trial. Continue to ignore it and I will make sure the judge takes note during sentencing. Durheim, take him inside.”

But Tiltenhaus ignored the attempts to shuffle himself; his feet scrambled against the glossy floors of the Ministry atrium, desperately trying to lean around Gylda’s petite form to maintain his sightline of Sasha. “Come on Alexandra! How can you be so cruel to the man who raised you?!”

Gylda looked ready to remove his tongue magically but Harry stepped across her. He knew how dangerous it could be, taking Tiltenhaus’ bait. He wasn’t about to see his protégé make the same mistake he had.

“Enough.” He turned expectantly to the Auror guards. “Give me a minute with him.”

Dunheim frowned, reluctant to disobey his superior and extremely famous Auror. “Sir, we have to get him inside.”

“Only a minute.” His smile was wan as he withdrew his wand, only partially enjoying the way everyone went tense at the sight. “Here, take it, if you don’t trust me not to use it.”

The guard paused and looked over his shoulder at the interviewer for permission. She pursed her lips, glancing between them with her scrutinous blue eyes.

Then nodded. “A minute. No more.”

“Gylda, Khatri,” Harry called out, not breaking eye contact with Tiltenhaus. “Take Sasha inside, would you?”

“On it, boss.” Khatri murmured, sounding like she’d rather stick around and watch him hex the double murderer. “Come on, Sash.”

He sensed them enter through the court doors, watched as Tiltenhaus’ eyes followed hungrily behind. Harry could feel his patience barely in control of the seething, furious disgust in his chest. But He kept every hint of it from his voice, his tone placid and almost bored.

“That was the last time you know. Seeing her like that.”

Tiltenhaus gave a low, raspy chuckle. “You have such confidence in the judicial system, Mr Potter. I nearly had my mistrial last time. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? And again and again until Alexandra cannot bear to face me.”

Harry eyed him carefully. “You don’t know much about fear, do you, Mr Tiltenhaus?”

“I know you cannot lose your star witness or else this case will fall apart, and I will be finally rid of these chains.” The metal cuffs clanked as he raised his hands.

Harry ignored his gloating. “I don’t know if Sasha will need to come back here again. I hope not. But she’s already come back once. Which means she’s already braver than her fear of you. She’ll realise that soon enough and when she does, she’ll realise what a small, insignificant man you really are.”

Tiltenhaus bared his teeth. “You don’t know what I am. I have friends in very high places-”

“Oh, you mean those folks caught up in your goblin silver smuggling ring?” Harry enjoyed the way his face froze. “We’ve met. In fact, my team has been arresting your friends all week. Turns out, they have a lot to say about you.”

“Alexandra-”

“Isn’t going to fear you forever.” Harry cut him off icily. “See, that’s the part about fear you don’t understand. You only have to confront it once to know you can.”

“She’ll never forget.” Tiltenhaus insisted with a ghoulish grin. “I’m a part of her now. I’ll always be with her.”

“But the fear won’t be. See, after this trial, she’ll grow up, have her own life and she won’t spend a second of it thinking about you. But you,” Harry eyed the man up and down with careful disdain. “Well, I imagine you’ll be thinking about Sasha every day for the rest of your life. Durheim. Take him in.”

The Auror guards looked all too ready to make Tiltenhaus face his fate.

But when at last the doors of the court had closed, Harry realised he was not alone.

The interviewer was studying him closely. “I do hope you’re not about to make my job harder by joining us in there, Auror Potter.”

Harry forced a small, apologetic smile. “Not at all, Madame Interviewer. I’m under strict instruction to remain outside. I only hope you’re better prepared than your predecessor.”

“The one you attacked, you mean?” she said archly.

“The girl had been through enough.” Harry’s tone shifted to something sharp and defensive. “She didn’t deserve someone hurting her all over again.”

The interviewer made a small, noncommittal sound. “Well, you can be assured I’m not in the habit of bullying children.”

He didn’t really like the way she made it sound, as if he had his own habit of hexing Wizengamot officials when he'd only done it the once. But neither did he feel he had the moral high ground.

“I’m glad.”

Her eyes flashed. “I won’t say I don’t understand the temptation. Talbins has been disciplined over the matter, you know.”

“I didn’t.” Harry tried not to sound too pleased but it must’ve shown.

The interviewer’s smile was faint. “I can’t discuss the pre-trial preparations with you of course, but you should know. Alexandra Tiltenhaus is a special girl with a bright future.”

“Sasha.” Harry corrected lightly. “She prefers Sasha.”

“Sasha.” The interviewer echoed in an oddly gentle voice. If it was anything like the tone she planned to take with Sasha, Harry was sure the trial was in good hands. “I’ll be sure to remember that—Oh no.”

In the span of seconds, the interviewer’s face turned pale and anxious as she spun on the spot and lunged for a decorative potted tree near to the doors of court.

Even to Harry’s reflexes, it took a moment to realise she was vomiting with rather spectacular gusto into its depths.

“Holy Merlin, are you--” He reached after her with a wince, gently offering her help keeping her long dark hair out of the way. “Are you alright? Should I call someone?”

The interviewer rose after a moment or two, her calm controlled composure shattered with exasperation. “Not unless they’ve discovered potion for morning sickness I haven’t tried yet.”

“Oh. Oh.” Harry paused, then summoned his handkerchief with his wand. “Er, here.”

She looked rather amused by the offer but accepted it nevertheless. “Thank you. It’s unfortunate you had to see that.”

“Well, you are the second woman this week to tell me she was pregnant.” Harry shrugged with faint amusement. “I guess my odds were pretty high. So, no potion cure, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She grumbled, rising to her feet and brushing back her hair. “St Mungo’s insists there’s nothing more to be done. Draco is furious.”

The old name caught him off guard. Harry froze, recognition like a hammer strike to the head. “You’re Astoria Greengrass.”

“Malfoy, actually.” she corrected with a deadpanned look. “I wondered if you recognised me. I was a few years behind you at school. And you knew Draco, of course.”

“Of course.” Harry echoed, trying and failing to conceal his surprise. “Well, er, congratulations. To you both.”

“Thank you.” She eyed him with amusement, then handed him back the unused handkerchief “I’d best go clean myself up before I head inside. No use delaying things further. I think Sasha has waited for justice long enough, don’t you?”

Harry watched her go with a slightly pole-axed expression but her last words were a comfort at least. He kept them in mind as he took his spot opposite the doors, ready to wait as long as necessary.

 

Notes:

to everyone who comments, gives kudos, follows or bookmarks this story, I love you the way Sasha loves her fluroescent shoes.

Also, ONE MORE CHAPTER WOOOOOO!

Also also, next fic in this series is in the works ;)

Chapter 22: HAVEN’T YOU HEARD? GINNY WEASLEY HERSELF THINKS I’M BRILLIANT.

TWENTY TWO.
HAVEN’T YOU HEARD? GINNY WEASLEY HERSELF THINKS I’M BRILLIANT.

Harry hadn’t planned on celebrating the Tiltenhaus conviction per se.

But then Khatri cornered him after the guilty verdict came in, demanding whether it was true he planned to abandon them. And then she took it upon herself to take him to the pub nearest to the Ministry’s West End entrance, the Goblin’s Grog, where she plied him with alcohol in an attempt to make him change his mind.

Gylda joined them after returning Sasha to her foster placement, and with her came Haider who wanted to hear the truth for himself and he had apparently blabbed to most of the office so the Grog found itself suddenly and swiftly inundated with most of the British Auror Department in the span of two hours for Harry’s impromptu farewell party.

Needless to say, his head felt as if it had been split in half when he awoke the next morning on his couch, which was apparently laughing at him.

Wait. What?

Warm fingers brushed gently through his hair as he groaned, trying to avoid the morning light pouring through the curtains. His head was in someone’s lap, someone with bony knees and the faint smell of broom polish and floral perfume.

“I leave for a few weeks and look what becomes of you. Honestly, Harry.”

It was hard to tell without his glasses, but he would have known that voice anywhere.

 “Ginny.” His sigh was weak with relief. “You’re back.”

He could sense her smile as he fumbled for her hand. His head was still pounding but it felt better with her fingers in his hair.

She took the hint with another faint laugh, resuming her gentle ministrations. “Here I thought I’d surprise you when you got home tonight and you never even made it to work this morning.”

“Don’t need to,” he grumbled. “I quit.”

Her hand froze and then resumed. “Huh. You have been busy.”

“S’new.” Harry mumbled, pressing his face into her stomach with another grumble.

“I’ll bet.”

“Are you really here?” he wondered hopefully.

Ginny laughed again softly. “Sure am. We would’ve stayed another week, but Dorothea took a header off her broom into a goal post.”

He grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Actually, I think losing a few teeth deflated her ego a little.” She replied breezily. “The rest of us were in good shape though so I asked Coach to cut loose.”

“How’d you do that?”

“Oh, I just promised you’d sign a few of those photos from the newspapers. She has quite a collection, you know.”

In retaliation, Harry pressed his lips against the warm, firm skin of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up and blew a raspberry that made her shriek with laughter.

When she settled, he raised his head, smiling sleepily at her. “Glad you’re back.”

“Me too.” She reached over him for the coffee table, where his glasses had been carelessly splayed. “Big night last night?”

“Mm-hm.” Harry managed to sit upright without his stomach doing somersaults, but it was a near thing. “The team took my resignation pretty hard.”

Ginny smiled sympathetically. “I can see that. Wanna tell me what happened?”

Merlin did he. The story came pouring out of him, every detail that had happened since Aunt Petunia had turned up at his door. Ginny listened carefully, interjecting at some points with a question or comment. Harry had no idea how much he’d missed this, someone to talk to, someone he trusted to tell him the truth no matter what.

She knew bits of it already but didn’t protest hearing it again, especially the part where confronted his aunt and uncle.

“I wish you’d hexed his fat furry walrus moustache just bursts right off his stupid face.” Ginny grumbled, tucking into his side with a scowl. “That’d serve him right.”

Harry could never quite smother the warmth those kinds of comments made him feel. They always felt as if they were reaching back in time to the little boy under the stairs who had wondered if anyone might ever come to his rescue. But he believed in what he’d said to Tiltenhaus yesterday, about how you only need to stand up to what you fear once to know that it’s possible. About how the memories might stay with you, but the fear wouldn’t.

Harry didn’t plan to give the likes of Vernon and Petunia Dursley one second of thought, not when he had so much in his life to look forward to.

Ginny glanced up at him expectantly. “Tell me about your cousin’s kid. Clementine, right? Terrific name.”

He snorted. “You would think so. I don’t know. She’s pretty cute. Calls me Stick.”

“Stick.” Ginny echoed gleefully. “That’s adorable.”

“Since we got that potion, Karen says the magical tantrums have faded so they can keep the wallpaper one colour at least.” Harry paused. “It’s kind of wild, watching Duddikins be a dad.”

 Ginny’s warm brown eyes flicked up to him curiously. “It’s not giving you ideas, is it?”

“For us?” Harry raised his brows. “Maybe not right now. But also…not not right now either, if that makes sense?”

It wouldn’t, not to anyone else. But she made a small, contented noise. “Not-not right now sounds great to me.”

Visions of a little girl with Ginny’s eyes popped through his head. “Though it would be pretty great,” he admitted unthinkingly. “Our kids growing up with cousins.”

“Cousins?” Ginny’s ears almost visibly perked up as she sat up on the couch, turning to eye him closely. “What exactly does that mean?”

Harry froze but tried valiantly to recover. “Just…you know. Percy’s new kid. And Victoire and Dominique, obviously…”

“You’re a really awful liar, you know.” Ginny noted archly.

Harry frowned at her, suddenly suspicious. “And you are way too relaxed about this. What do you know?”

“What do you know?” she shot back, but her lips twitched in a mischievous smile.

“Hermione told you.” He sighed, half weary, half relieved. “Oh, thank Merlin, she would’ve skinned me alive if I’d broken the news like that.”

“She wrote me when she missed her period.” Ginny admitted, her smile turned to a fully-fledged grin. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an Aunty again. Godric, that kid’s gonna be so cute.”

Harry groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Great. Now we both knew before Ron. He’s never gonna shut up about it.”

“Oh relax.” Ginny waved a hand. “He’ll have more to say about you quitting the Aurors I’d reckon. I sense an ‘I told you so’ in the future.”

He sighed ruefully. “Yeah, well. I guess it was just time.”

“So? What’s the plan? Are you becoming my kept man?” She suggested cheerily. “I think I could get used to coming home to warm dinners and a sparkling apartment. You could wear pretty outfits for me and fix me martinis.”

“Tempting,” he snickered. “But I have something else in mind.”

He explained his visit to Hogwarts, about his conversation with McGonagall and the uphill path that lay ahead of him to qualify for a teaching diploma. Saying it aloud for the first time made it sound insane: giving up a serious, established career to start fresh in something entirely different.

He waited for Ginny to tell him it was mad and irresponsible. The mention of children was fresh in his mind and a part of him had fixated on the idea. How was he supposed to support a family if he was studying and practising as much as McGonagall found necessary? Was he making a mistake, sacrificing all those years of work?

But Ginny only hummed to herself, thoughtful and distant. “Do you remember Fourth Year at Hogwarts? Well, my Fourth. Your Fifth?”

Harry blinked. “Of course. Not really like I can forget.” His hand clenched unconsciously, making the white scars on the back stand out even further. I WILL NOT TELL LIES.

 “I meant,” she corrected quietly. “Do you remember Dumbledore’s Army? All those nights spent in the Room of Requirement, all those kids terrified of what the school was becoming, what the world was becoming. The war seemed so close then. We had no idea.”

Ginny glanced down at his hand with a sad, fierce sort of look. She lifted the scarred flesh to her lips for a gentle kiss. “The things we learned in that room, they saved lives, Harry. And actually learning them made me remember how wonderful Hogwarts could be. That was because of you.”

“Me?” he blinked. “I wasn’t the only one teaching, you know.”

She shrugged. “You made us feel like we could survive. Like we could actually do something about the terrible things happening around us. That’s what a defence teacher does, Harry. And who better to teach that than you?”

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, humbled by her words. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“I think if McGonagall didn’t think the same, she would’ve told you to pick something else.” Ginny retorted bluntly.

His mouth twitched. “She did suggest Flying Coach.”

Ginny scoffed, eyes lit with wicked humour. “I guess you’re alright. Not exactly Coach material but-”

He couldn’t let the insult go unavenged. In seconds, he’d tackled flat to the couch cushions, pressing his body over hers while she wriggled with laughter. “Harry-!”

“If I get this job,” Harry declared, enjoying the way her chest heaved for breath between laughs. “I’m going to bring you along to the staff box and make you watch every single school Quidditch match as punishment. See who’s an alright flyer then.”

“The staff box, huh?” Ginny raised her brows suggestively. “Someone’s confident.”

He shrugged, his lips distracted by the soft skin of her neck and clavicle. “Haven’t you heard? Ginny Weasley herself thinks I’m brilliant.”

“I think I said you’d be a good teacher.” Ginny corrected promptly.

“And handsome. And clever. And funny.”

“And a subpar flyer- ooh. Oh, that’s nice.”

“With eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad…”

“Potter, you have five seconds to find a better use for that tongue before I—ah. Yes, that’ll do. Oh.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

When Harry woke for the second time, it was in remarkably improved conditions.

For one thing, his head didn’t feel like it might explode. And his arms were full of a very naked, warm Ginny.

The only detraction was the silver dog yapping incessantly from the foot of the bed. In his best friend’s voice.

“HOLY BLOODY MERLIN HARRY I’M GONNA BE A DAD.”

“So,” Ginny mumbled crabbily. “I guess Hermione told him.”

“Seems so.” Harry yawned, fishing for his glasses on the nightstand.

Ron’s Jack Russell Terrier Patronus charm was still spinning excitedly in circles, leaving a silvery mist trail behind it. “HARRY THIS IS- I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS IS- IT’S THE BEST! THAT’S WHAT IT IS!”

“Make him be quiet.” Ginny groaned, flicking her wand aimlessly. The spell bounced off her dresser, knocking over her perfume and a copy of Quidditch Through The Ages.

“YOU HAVE TO COME OVER WE HAVE TO CELEBRATE I’M GONNA HAVE A KID HARRY WHAT THE F-”

Harry managed to dispel the Patronus before it could continue bellowing at them. “I guess we have lunch plans.”

“Dinner plans.” Ginny corrected, checking her watch. “We’ve been in bed most of the day I think.”

“Unemployment is fun.” Harry sighed, sneaking a hand around her waist again. “Maybe we could reconsider the kept man idea.”

Ginny snickered. “You’d be sick of it in a week. Come on, we should go shower my brother with champagne while he waxes on about Hermione’s beauty.”

They took the Floo to Ron and Hermione’s apartment after they’d dressed. Hermione was pleased to see Ginny, but Ron was in a whole new world of excitement.

“YOU’RE GONNA BE AN AUNTY!” Ron bellowed when he saw her, pulling into a fierce bear hug.

Ginny’s eyes bulged at the pressure. “I’m already an aunty you moron.”

Ron didn’t even hear the insult. “Harry! Harry, I’m gonna be a dad!”

“I heard.” He replied dryly, accepting his friend’s hug with open arms. “Congratulations, Ron. Both of you, really.”

“Isn’t she brilliant?” Ron turned to his girlfriend with nothing short of adoration in his eyes. “A baby, Harry!”

“Here I was worried he’d be anxious.” Hermione shook her head, accepting Harry’s congratulatory hug. “But I think I’ve created a monster- oh Ron, stop staring! There’s nothing there yet!”

Ron’s ears turned red as he was caught staring at her abdomen in wonder. “I was just…A baby, ‘Mione!”

Harry couldn’t contain his laughter. “Come on, come help me get some drinks. You invited a few people over, right?”

“He tried to invite everyone we’ve ever met.” Hermione corrected as Harry guided his friend to their kitchen. “As if they’d fit in this shoebox!”

Ron’s grin dropped at the words as they entered the kitchen. “She’s right, Harry. This place is way too small for a baby. What am I thinking?!”

“That’s not what she meant, Ron.” Harry soothed absently as he transfigured a few chipped mugs into glasses. “The apartment is fine.”

“And so many sharp corners!” Ron yelped, looking around as if he’d never seen the room before. “Bloody hell, this place is a death trap.”

“It’s not a death trap.” Harry found an old bottle of champagne left over from their last New Year’s Party and blew off a few cobwebs. “There’s plenty of time to make it safe for a baby.”

Ron wasn’t really listening. “That’s it, I’m meeting with George tomorrow! That leak in the finances was just the tip of the iceberg, we need to rethink the supply chain strategy moving forward, we’re just wasting galleons and do you know how much baby stuff costs?!”

Harry shrugged. “A lot?”

“A fortune!” Ron wailed.

Harry nudged him in the side with his elbow before he could work himself into another tirade. “Ron, relax. She’s not having the baby this minute.”

His friend looked faintly relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess not.”

Harry watched as he composed himself, taking in the gangly limbs and freckled face he knew about as well as his own. His best friend was going to be a dad.

“Hey Ron.”

“Yeah?”

His smile grew. “You’re having a kid, mate.”

In seconds, the electric blue in Ron’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “We’re having a kid.”

They were joined soon after by a handful of familiar faces. Luna slipped out of the fireplace gracefully, her blonde curls braided with tiny beads of amber. To keep the Nargoyles away, she told him when he complimented the style.

George and Angelina arrived just moments apart. Neither of them could make eye contact with each other and Angelina’s blouse was buttoned incorrectly. Ron and Ginny looked desperately keen to tease their elder brother but Hermione threw them both warning looks that were extremely motherly.

The rest of the Weasley clan would find out at Sunday dinner, if Ron could keep his mouth shut that long. (One glance at Ron and Harry knew that was a fool’s bet.)

But it was the last guest that threw Harry for a loop.

Neville stepped out of the fireplace looking absolutely nothing like the plump faced botany nerd Harry recalled fondly. His hair had been cut short and he sported a dark beard that made him look like an entirely different person. If anything, Harry was certain he’d somehow gotten taller too.

But the way he smiled shyly at them all was just the same.

Ginny squealed, launching herself at her friend with gusto. “You’re back!”

“So are you!” Neville laughed, setting her down. “I thought the training camp had another week.”

“Long story. Dorothea lost a few teeth.” She waved a hand dismissively. “What about you? You said you were staying in Mantiqueira another month, right?”

Neville shrugged. “Ron’s Patronus found me in the middle of an enchanted jungle. It seemed rude not to at least turn up. Congrats you guys.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ron clapped him in a hug and Harry wasn’t imagining things, Neville was only an inch shorter than Ron’s towering six foot five.

Neville shyly offered a small dark gold bottle to Hermione. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought you something from the Brazilian Floo Lounge. It’s non-alcoholic, I thought you might like it.”

His smile turned to absolute horror when Hermione’s eyes began to dampen.

“Oh Merlin, no, I didn’t mean to-” he panicked. “Please don’t-”

“Relax, Neville.” Hermione waved him off with a sniff. “It’s the bloody hormones. It’ll pass. Thank you so much.” She enveloped him in an enormous hug but all the same, Neville seemed eager to extricate himself from the crying pregnant woman.

Unfortunately, he set his sights on Harry. “Oh, Harry! Good to see you, how’s it going with the teaching thing? Did McGonagall help?”

The room went very, very quiet as all ears turned towards them.

Harry sighed, but it was hard to be displeased with Neville’s earnest expression. “She sure did, Neville. Thanks.”

“Teaching thing?” George echoed curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Are you giving up the Aurors, Harry?” Luna wondered aloud, her luminous grey blue eyes free of any judgement whatsoever. “That’s quite a change.”

“Is this about the thing in the papers?” Angelina enquired with some concern. “Are they making you resign?”

“What makes people think anyone could make me do anything?” Harry muttered, half to himself before clearing his throat. “I resigned yesterday of my own volition. It’s just…It’s time to move on.”

“To teaching?” Hermione seemed to have forgotten her previous disapproval; in fact, her expression was lit with terrific joy. “Oh, Harry, that sounds perfect for you!”

“You think?” he asked despite himself. They were his family after all; their approval meant a lot to him.

“Absolutely!” she enthused, reaching for a hug. He met her halfway. It seemed rude to make a pregnant woman come to him.

“Defence, I assume?” Ron asked in an expectant tone.

“Am I that predictable?” Harry laughed out loud, faintly relieved that everyone seemed to find it such a natural fit. It didn’t sound so insane with their support.

“Professor Potter,” George mused. “It has a ring to it.”

“I’m not getting ahead of myself.” Harry warned. “Ask Neville, McGonagall is making her teachers jump through all kinds of hoops to train them.”

“Hoop jumping is definitely a tricky skill to master,” Luna hummed. “But I’m sure you’ll get there, Harry. I can help you practise if you like.”

He thought about correcting her but frankly, maybe McGonagall did have a hoop jumping qualification in mind. She seemed to demand everything. “Er, thanks Luna.”

“Just think,” Ron said, his gaze drawn back to Hermione’s still-flat belly. “You and Neville might be teaching my kid one day.”

“At least he’ll know where to send owls home to.” Ginny teased.

Hermione looked distressed at the thought and then looked down at her belly. “Absolutely no letters home!” she scolded the foetus.

George cackled. “This feels like karma for all the trouble you guys got up to at school.”

“All the trouble we got up to?” Ron exclaimed, indignantly. “You and Fred got twice as many letters as I ever did!”

His elder brother shrugged. “Yeah, about blowing up toilets or setting firecrackers off in the dungeons. Not battling dark lords and getting into fist fights with giant snakes.”

Ron’s eyes glinted with annoyance. “Angelina, has George mentioned how much he likes your ears-?”

The party quickly unravelled after George and Ron began wrestling on the living room floor. Neville tried half-heartedly to separate them but copped an elbow to the shin for his trouble. Ginny tried no such thing; she and Luna exchanged coins betting on a winner while Hermione took a flustered Angelina aside for a quick chat.

Harry could only watch them all fondly, thinking back to that little boy under the stairs, the one who had wondered if he’d ever find a friend, let alone a family. At the time it had seemed such an impossible idea.

But how could that boy have ever imagined all this?

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

COMING SOON

hannah abbott’s pocket guide for adopting and domesticating slytherins

Hannah Abbott has never been in more trouble in her entire life:
pregnant by her first ever one-night stand,
unable to contact the father of her unborn child
and completely out of her depth.

On the other hand, she’s somehow managed to befriend former school bully,
reigning society queen and unapologetic snob Pansy Parkinson.

So maybe things will turn out okay?

Hannsy; F/F
coming July 2024

Notes:

Thanks for coming along the ride, my friends <3
It has been an honest delight reading all your comments and I hope you enjoyed the ending.

There might be one or two outtakes coming here soon. I feel committed to a Professor Potter moment / a Ronmione engagement scene or two.

But as far as sequels go, I've been thinking obsessed with this rarepair Hannah/Pansy fic for almost a year and I really hope you'll indulge me a little longer ;)

As a lone Hufflepuff amongst a pack of Slytherin friends, I feel uniquely qualified to write Hannah Abbott as a Hufflepuff out of her depth who is forcibly adopted by Pansy Parkinson and her pack of misfits including Draco, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott and Astoria. It is set in the same world as clementine so you can expect to see cameos from a few familiar faces too.

So follow along for updates and I really hope you enjoy it!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of there is time to kill today