Chapter Text
Harry's eyes surveyed the busy room as he leaned against a messy, overflowing desk, the nails of his right hand digging into a groove in the oak from a stray spell he was responsible for years ago. Ron, despite being the son of the master of all housekeeping charms, had never been the best with them, and so now years after Harry's resignation from the Auror department, his mark was still left on his best friend's desk.
A passing auror nodded to Harry in respect, expertly swerving to avoid the numerous fluttering papers in the air, all zooming to different locations. Fawcett and Turner were hunched over a desk muttering furiously over a case file. Bramble was neck deep in a paper pile. Lannigan was in front of a board that looked straight out of a muggle crime drama, with the extra addition of moving photographs.
Finally, bumbling in through the main door, hair askew and deep bags under his eyes, Ron beelined in Harry's direction before dropping straight into his chair, slumping over his desk and effectively throwing several of the papers littering the desk on the ground.
“Rough day?”
A long, low groan left the redhead, muffled from his face being directly on the desk.
“You have no idea, mate. I know we all gave you trouble about it, but you had the right idea leaving when you did. Do you know how many people I had to give out warnings for improper magic use today? Seven. What happened to catching dark wizards and adventure? Why is it all tickets and forms and idiots casting augamenti in the middle of muggle London?”
Harry snorted and looked down at his whining best friend without sympathy. Ron liked to complain just to complain. Last week when he was actually in the middle of a dangerous case, involving dismantling a ring of smuggled illegal potions, he had complained of the exact opposite problem, claiming it wasn't fair that he was never assigned to the easy cases.
Harry had been Ron's best friend since they were eleven years old where they bonded over, once again, Ron's complaining during their first train ride to Hogwarts. He was used to his best friend's antics after all this time.
Ron lifted his head enough to give a playful glare back at him before asking, “What are you even doing here? Don't you have some tea party to go to with Looney?”
The words were snarky and if anyone else had called Luna that old insult they would have been met with the end of Harry's wand. But Ron's eyes were kind and curious behind his exhaustion and his tone was playful, not malicious.
Still, the question reminded Harry why he was parked out in the Auror's offices instead of hanging out with one of his best friends and a scowl crossed his face unconsciously.
Ron sat up fully at Harry's expression and an amused eyebrow raise and smirk crossed his own. “What, you still mad about her boyfriend? C'mon Harry, Rolf's not a bad guy.”
Rolf. Just the name brought a surging feeling of protective rage and disgust flowing throughout him. Who did this guy think he was to come out of nowhere and date his pseudo little sister and not even have the guts to meet him face to face? Just because he's related to some famous magizooligist he thinks he's so great and good enough for Luna?
Well too bad for him. He was firmly on Harry's shit list right now.
“She owled me she was going to be late. They had a date apparently,” Harry stated, looking pointedly away from his friend and definitely not pouting.
“So you came to bother me instead?” Ron chuckled, some of his tiredness seeming to lift.
“It was either you or Hermione and I'm not brave enough to get in between her and her work. Are you?” Harry teased back, knowing exactly the answer to that question.
“Absolutely not,” Ron agreed just as Harry knew he would.
“And you married the woman,” Harry drily quipped.
“And I married the woman,” Ron repeated dreamily.
Harry snorted again at the lovestruck look on his friend's face, the same dumb expression he had back in their sixth year when the two first got together. Honestly Harry didn't know back then if their relationship would work, since the two had fought like cats and dogs since first year with Harry the unwilling mediator between them, but now almost a decade since it began and their relationship was seemingly unbreakable.
At hearing Harry's snort Ron shot another playful glare towards him. “Isn't it time you found someone for yourself? Even Luna's dating someone now. You're a submissive Harry, don't you need to hunt?”
Harry's nose scrunched at the reminder of Rolf again before the rest of Ron's sentence hit him and he let out a disgusted groan.
“You sound just like my mentor now. I don't need anyone else,” he claimed before blatantly lying, “I've never even felt the urge to hunt.”
Ron's deadpan glare was burning a hole in Harry's side but he continued to look away seemingly uncaring. He was not admitting to anything right now.
“Maurice is a smart guy, if he's saying you should, you probably should, mate,” Ron replied, ignoring Harry's obvious signs to drop the topic.
Harry stood from his lean, ready to flee the room and the conversation.
“Luna's date should be wrapping up by now, I better be off,” he said, wiping imaginary dust off his robes.
Ron slumped back into his chair once more, a resigned look plastered on his face as he gave out a, “Sure. See ya, Harry.”
“Bye Ron,” Harry called over his shoulder, speeding out the front door and making his way to the Ministry's lift.
Ducking into the small chamber and nodding at the half bow given by the attendant at his entrance, Harry muttered, “The atrium, please,” before taking a look at the flying memos surrounding him. About half had a charm that blurred out the words on them from unwanted eyes, but the rest were free for him to pry at. It seems as if someone in the Spirit Division was getting reamed about a poltergeist fiasco, someone in the Quidditch department was getting updates on international matches, there was some notice being sent to broom regulation about illegal tampering, and one was a lunch order to the cafeteria.
After over seven years working in the Ministry, Harry had gotten to know the ins and outs of the place. As an auror, his job and position had been stifling, but once he transferred out, he began to actually find he enjoyed himself. Harry will always be grateful for his mentor Maurice taking one look at eighteen year old him, trapped in an auror position straight out of the war, and getting him the hell out of there.
Unlike as an auror, where the very idea of working for the Ministry had felt like a chafing shackle, his new position gave him freedoms that he hadn't expected and reveled in.
Unspeakables answer to hardly anyone, after all.
The Department of Mysteries predated the start of the Ministry itself and Unspeakables did not even have to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was the freest position one could possibly have while still technically working for the Ministry.
Being an Unspeakable had never been an option Harry would have considered without Maurice's help. After all, his impression of the job had been all secretive scholars and mad scientist types, categories which Harry definitely didn't fall within. And then there was the disaster that was the end of his fifth year and Harry was sure he would never want to step foot into the Department of Mysteries again.
But surprisingly, the shock and horror he had expected when he took the position had never came. He didn't get horrific flashbacks walking through the chambers in which he and his friends fought for their lives. They were just rooms to him.
Maurice hadn't been surprised. He had explained that as a gheyo, Harry experienced trauma differently than his friends. It didn't make him a monster that he could stand in front of the Veil of Death, his godfather's murder weapon, and feel nothing. It just made him Harry. And that that was okay.
Harry doesn't know what kind of person he'd be without Maurice's support, but he dreads the thought of it. He doesn't know if he ever would have been able to crawl his way out of the deep, dark hole his heart and mind had been in after the war without the man.
The ding of the lift arriving at the atrium knocked him out of his thoughts.
Stepping out into the large room, Harry paused to take in the overwhelming buzz of life. Witches and wizards zipped around, entering and exiting the numerous floo portals or the various lifts. The large reception desk had a few workers milling behind it, talking to Ministry visitors. From the entrance to the cafeteria wafted the scent of fresh bread and sizzling grease.
And right in the center, where the horrible vision of the 'Magic is Might' statue once stood during Voldemort's reign, was a new fountain. It was a remake of the fountain that had been destroyed by the Dark Lord, the Fountain of Magical Brethren, except with one key difference that Harry himself had fiercely advocated for. Instead of the statues of the witch and wizard being placed above everyone else in a clear display of superiority, every one of the statues was on equal footing, looking proud and free. No more awed looks on the various statues' faces towards the wizard and witch. True magical harmony.
Unfortunately, as he had had such a strong and loud opinion on the fountain's rebrand, the wizard statue now had a familiar windswept hair look that Harry deliberately tried to forget about.
At least Harry had stopped them from adding his iconic scar.
Swiftly moving towards an empty fireplace, Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder available in the assigned pedestal and confidently stepped within. After a steadying breath, he gives out a clear, “The Leaky Cauldron,” before being swept away in an eruption of vibrant green flames.
Once he arrived in the fireplace the floo finally spat him out of, Harry was proud that he only stumbled a little as he stepped out, a far cry from his younger years when the same journey would have put him flat on his face.
The Leaky Cauldron, unlike the Ministry, was almost exactly the same as the first time Harry stepped into it at eleven years old, a veritable time capsule. Tom still stood behind the bar, as ancient as ever, the same slightly dingy decor still adorned the place, and guests still milled around the various tables, eating and drinking, reading newspapers or quietly chatting amongst each other.
Harry gave an acknowledging nod to the sharp eyed Tom before heading out the back towards the Diagon Alley entrance.
Harry reached out and tapped the bricks just as he had watched Hagrid in awe do so many years ago and was greeted with the beautiful sight of the alley unfolding before him.
Diagon Alley was packed, this late in the afternoon. The work day was either ending or winding down and everyone was taking their freedom to flood the streets. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the eye catching building that was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, bright orange and with many moving or interactive signs and displays. It looked packed, children tugging their parents by the hand into the madhouse. Harry couldn't help but smile as he passed it, happy for his friends.
Harry's destination was just down the street, a little shop he had spent much time in during his younger years. Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour held a space in his heart for the kindness the former owner, Florean Fortescue, had shown him before his third year. The man was probably one of the kindest adults Harry had ever met as a child and his death had greatly effected him. The shop was now owned by a niece of the man's and she did her best to honor her uncle's establishment, though she wasn't the creative mind the man himself was. So new flavors were no longer being produced, but the many, many old recipes that Florean had come up with were still available.
Harry had a bit of a sweet tooth and was definitely a regular at this point. Luna and him often chose the little shop as their meeting spot and talked for hours over an array of ice cream flavors.
Harry was focused on reaching his destination, his mind already conjuring the phantom taste of the treacle flavored ice cream he always orders first, and as such was so distracted that he slammed right into someone who was exiting the shot.
“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!”
The sheepish voice was male and slightly reedy, though there was a definite softness behind the breathless horror of embarrassment coloring the tone. Harry gave an almost inaudible grunt as he stumbled back from the tall chest his face smashed into.
Harry held back his automatic snarl as it was at least partly his fault that they had ran into each other. He was quick to attempt to say so, “No, no, it's my fault. I wasn't paying atten-” only to look up into the other man's face and pause in disbelief before finishing almost lamely, “-tion.”
The man's face was a tad thin but soft, much like his voice and dotted with freckles. His hair was a bright auburn in short curls. But it was his eyes that had immediately stopped Harry in his tracks.
They were green. But not just green, they were the almost unnaturally bright green eyes that Harry only ever saw in the mirror or in faded photographs of his mother.
The other man seemed to get a good look at him as well as those eyes widened in horror before he began to speak again. “Der- I mean,” he stuttered a bit, swaying slightly back, “You're Harry Potter.”
Harry, who had been a celebrity for almost his entire life was used to being recognized on sight immediately, so this stranger with the unsettlingly familiar eyes knowing who he was did not faze him.
“Yes,” he agreed blithely, used to this song and dance. He's not sure how he'll handle seeing those eyes with that fawning light that is always involved in these interactions though.
However, instead of immediately bowing or thanking Harry or trying to shake his hand, the man continued looking more and more horrified.
“I'm, um, Rolf,” he squeaked, “Rolf Scamander.”
That name immediately swept all other feelings about this strange meeting away, to be replaced with the deep seated protective fury he had come to associate with that name. This was Rolf? Luna's boyfriend who didn't have the guts to meet Harry, Luna's best friend? Suddenly the outright terror on the man's face filled him with a sick satisfaction. He should be scared. Harry was very unhappy with him.
Luna was important to Harry. Before Maurice and Andy and Teddy had come into Harry's life, the closest thing to family Harry had was his friends. And Luna was probably the closest to family of any of them besides Ron and Hermione.
Luna had been odd as a kid, dreamy and not always present in ways that made others uncomfortable. But she had looked at Harry when they met and declared that one day they would be family and had treated him as such since. Harry never understood where the statement had come from, just as he never understood a lot of Luna-isms, but he accepted her wholeheartedly. She loved him so openly and purely it was impossible for him not to love her back.
So when she told him she had started dating someone, he had waited to be introduced. And waited. And waited.
But Rolf Scamander never showed his face. And as the months wore on and he kept conveniently missing Harry by mere moments, the rage started to come in. Because there was no way the other wasn't avoiding him at this point. And there was very few reasons that Harry could come up with for why the older man would do so and none of them were good.
But a quick glance into those fear filled green, green eyes and the anger waned a bit. There was something about those eyes that he had ever only seen on himself and his mother before sitting in a stranger's face that made him stop.
“Were you dropping Luna off after your date?” Harry snidely asked, unable to keep all of the vitriol out of his voice even if his temper was dampened.
The question seemed to jar the other as he immediately bounced a little as he quickly replied, “Uh, yes! Yes, sir. Um, she's just inside. She's looking forward to your meeting.”
Harry's anger simmered lower at the other man's earnestness. He had been ready to go off on the man just an hour ago. He had a rant already prepared and everything. But when faced with the man himself and seeing those eyes, he was suddenly emotionally tired and wanted nothing more than to just go into the shop and dig into some ice cream for comfort.
Fine. He'd deal with Rolf Scamander and his suspicious flakiness some other time when he wasn't emotionally wrought from the man's appearance. Right now he had a friend to meet and ice cream to eat.
“Thanks,” he curtly replied, rudely shoving past the man still awkwardly standing in front of the shop's front door.
The little bell over the door tinkled as he entered, leaving Rolf Scamander standing in Diagon Alley, shocked wide green eyes staring through the windowed door of the shop as Harry made his way directly to his usual corner booth where his blond friend was already sitting, a plethora of bowls with different flavored ice creams in front of her.
Harry slumped into the booth opposite of her, grabbing the bowl in front of him and was immediately met with the sweetness of treacle fudge as he brought a spoon to his mouth.
Luna smiled almost wickedly as she asked, “Isn't Rolf adorable, Harry?”
Harry just grumbled into his spoon.