Chapter Text
Monday
“I feel monotony and death to be almost the same,” a Muggle author once said. Having had the unique distinction of experiencing both, Harry Potter could say that Charlotte Bronte was correct. The days had bled into years, and following Voldemort’s defeat, Harry’s life could be mapped out in a series of repetitive events.
A perfunctory kiss from his wife as she rolled out of bed on her way to get the kids out of bed and to the Burrow before Quidditch practice.
A breakfast of slightly rubbery scrambled eggs and two slices of toast tinged with black, waiting for him in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
A Floo trip to the Ministry and a lift to his office on Level 2, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
A tepid cup of Earl Grey, waiting at his desk.
A lifetime to think about what could have been…
“...I’ve prepared your dossier on the Dalyrmple case and confirmed your international portkey appointment is at 8pm today on Level 7. Were you planning on eating beforehand or once you arrive, Auror Potter?”
Harry looked up in confusion as his assistant stood in the doorway, quill and parchment in hand, unaware she had been standing there. “...what? Oh, after, definitely after, Fenella. Portkeys do a number on the stomach.”
Fenella nodded furiously, examining his schedule with a furrowed brow. “Of course – Mister Weasley requested a dinner date, did you want to cancel then?”
“No, but tell him I’ll see him for a drink. It would be nice to see him before I head out, and I can do with a spot of tea beforehand.”
“Very well, Auror Potter. Did you need me to gather any supplies from the Armory or Archives, or pick up any sundries? Your bag is awfully small.” Harry followed Fenella’s line of sight to the overnight bag near the window.
“No, I'll be fine, I’m hopefully only gone until Friday. But I will take your dossier, thank you again, Fenella. Did Head Auror Robards provide any notes?”
“Yes, I’ve collated them into the document. I have to say, a very terrifying case. Can one cursed book really cause so much damage?”
Harry rubbed his forehead, taking in a deep breath. “Unfortunately it seems so. And now it’s gone out of our jurisdiction and into MACUSA’s. A Dark object that seemingly can steal your magic isn’t something one wants hopping around the globe. MACUSA has plenty of curse-breakers to restore the book but I want to personally catch the bastard wizard who’s been using it myself.”
“Well good luck, Auror Potter. I’ll let Mister Weasley know to come to your office and I’ll have the tea trolley sent up before I head out for the night. And here’s the dossier.” Fenella sent the folder full of parchment flying through the air toward his desk before scurrying out.
Harry opened the dossier, even though the details related to the case in question were still fresh in his mind. Euan Dalrymple was the nastiest type of Dark wizard – an instigator of chaos for no discernable reason except to watch the world burn. While he never got the Dark Mark, he was clearly an admirer of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and he had been a constant presence on Auror watchlists. Initially, Harry underestimated Dalrymple as a small-time crook, caught for petty crimes involving hoodwinking Muggles or subjecting wizards and witches to minor curses. Following a short stint in Azkaban however, Dalrymple went from an annoying thorn in the side of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to a real threat.
The latest crime of Dalrymple’s involved a particularly insidious cursed object. On its face, the book looked fairly innocuous – a travel guide for castles in Scotland. It was a popular topic, made even more interesting to the reader due to a Compulsion charm, causing one to be held captive by its contents until completing the guide. All the while, the object was spelled to suck one’s magic dry, leaving the witch or wizard worse off than a Squib after finishing the book.
Harry flipped to a piece of parchment that included Healer’s notes from St. Mungo’s. Currently there were four patients in the Janus Thickey Ward, hoping that a retrieval of the book from Dalrymple would help to restore their magical cores. He scrunched up his face as he made out the scratchy scribbles, noting that the depletion of magic was beginning to impact the victims’ mental capacity and acuity. He knew the clock was ticking to apprehend Dalrymple.
“Despicable Dalrymple. I hope you finally catch the gnarly bugger.” Harry looked up and saw Ron in the doorway, arms crossed with a grim look on his face. “Fenella said the tea trolley will be here in a mo, I know I’m early.”
“I have to find him this time. Those wizards in St. Mungo’s depend on it. Anyways, sorry I had to cut us from dinner to a woefully late tea.”
“I should have realized! A hearty meal and a Portkey are not a good combination. Besides, Demelza is trying to get me to try some Muggle fad called the South Beach diet to lose some weight. Those blasted American cousins of hers are always planting wild ideas in her head.”
Harry laughed. “Well I’ll be on their turf for the next few days. At least I know that the MACUSA Auror on the case is a decent bloke.”
Ron sat down across from Harry and drummed his fingers across the desk. “And is Hermione on the team?”
Harry shrugged. “Fletch didn’t say anything one way or another. I’ll meet everyone tomorrow.”
“She’s their best curse-breaker.”
“I said I don’t know,” Harry hissed. “If she’s on the team, she’s on the team.”
“Harry… When’s the last time you talked to her?”
“When’s the last time you talked to her?” Harry retorted.
“I’m not the one who left things with her so terribly before she left,” Ron replied, an edge in his voice. “It’s been nine years and you still won’t tell me why the two of you barely even exchange Christmas cards. And now you’re going to be in her orbit without a ‘how do you do’? It’s not right,” Ron shook his head.
Harry looked away from Ron and focused on the only framed photo on his desk, a moving image of Ginny holding James on a toy broom about a foot above the ground and Albus clutching her leg. James whizzed through the frame of the photo over and over again as the animation would reset, the rapturous look of joy on his face replaying every few seconds. Harry treasured moments like these with his firstborn, even if it had meant sacrificing his relationship with Hermione.
“I should head to the Portkey Office early, there’s always a queue,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence. “Feel free to take what you want from the trolley. And can you check in on James and Albus while they’re at the Burrow? Molly’s watching them until Ginny gets back from her quidditch training camp on Thursday.”
Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry, before expelling a long breath. “Yea. Sure. Safe travels, then.”
Harry fisted the cowboy hat in his hand, teetering on one foot and then the other as he tried to settle from the vertigo-inducing portkey. He unceremoniously dropped his duffel bag and leaned forward slightly, letting a wave of nausea pass over him.
“Welcome to the Manhattan Portkey Arrivals Lounge. You good?” Harry looked up to see a pudgy, baby-faced wizard standing in front of him, with a cup of water in one hand and a vial in the other. “Anti-nausea potion,” he added as Harry nodded and gratefully accepted the water and potion, downing them in quick succession.
Feeling immediate relief, he smiled and handed the cowboy hat portkey to the wizard, who he noticed had a “Department of Magical Transportation” badge pinned to his uniform. “Thank you,” Harry said as he reached for his duffel bag to make his way out of the lounge.
“Ahem,” the wizard cleared his throat and nodded his head slightly, pointing to his outstretched hand.
“Right right,” Harry muttered before he gathered a few Sickles from his robe’s pockets and placed them in the open palm.
“Pleased to be of service,” the wizard grinned as he pocketed the change. “And do you know where you are headed? If you need a magical taxi, you can schedule one at the window over there.”
Harry looked up at the large clock that was above the lounge’s exit, seeing it was just past three in the afternoon. “I’m staying at the Beekman, just across the way.”
“Ah, you must be here for MACUSA business then. I’ll leave you to it, sir.” The wizard nodded and Conjured another vial and glass of water for the next arrival.
Harry followed the stream of people out of the lounge and into a bustling lobby, reminiscent of the Ministry and yet distinctly American. Everyone seemed to have a destination in mind and walked with purpose. He also noticed more than a few wizards with Muggle technology in their hands and white wires somehow ending in their ears. He had a vague recollection of Demelza explaining to him, Ginny and Ron the Muggle magic of an “iPod.”
“Excuse you,” a gruff voice grumbled as someone gave Harry a hard shove from behind. “If you’re going to act lost, can you do it in the corner and not the middle of the hallway?” The wizard added a roll of his eyes for good measure as he walked away.
Harry chewed the inside of his cheek as he cast his eyes down and shuffled out of the way. Would he be as bossy if he had ended up moving here nine years ago? He shrugged the thought away, instead walking over to the Directory Wall, a whole wall in the lobby illuminated with various pieces of information – the closest toilets and lifts, upcoming meetings and their respective conference room numbers, and a MACUSA colleague directory, easily searchable with a tap of one’s wand. Even he had to admit that American efficiency did beat out British traditionalism with clever innovations like these.
After a tap and a trip in the lift, Harry found himself in the MACUSA Auror bullpen. While the Aurors seemed louder and more boisterous than their British counterparts, the setting was strangely familiar and comforting. He quickly had a warm hand grasp at his shoulder.
“Potter, we aren’t meeting until tomorrow! How’s it going?” Fletcher Grant was in his early thirties and Harry had worked with him on a cross-border case here and there. He may have had the brash demeanor one would expect from a lifelong New Yorker, but he was meticulous in his fieldwork and very strategic. Harry chuckled to himself, imagining Fletcher as the perfect mix of himself, Ron and Hermione.
“Fletch, good to see you again. I figured I’d say hi on my way to the hotel. It’s been since the Revolutionary Patriot gang last fall, hasn’t it?”
“What a fucking nightmare that group was. But they seem like a cakewalk compared to this wizard. Seems like a nasty fucker.”
Harry nodded. “Nasty is right. He was pretty small-time, but after his most recent release from Azkaban, he took a real dark turn. Here’s everything we know on Dalrymple. I know we’ve already passed most of this information over, but this also includes the patient notes from the victims.” Harry pulled out a small square from his pocket and tapped his wand, enlarging the folder back to its original size.
“Excellent. We also have some developments since placing a trace on him last week. I’ll let the team give you a proper download in our debrief.”
“Thanks Fletch, we’ll talk more tomorrow. Looking forward to escorting the bastard back to Azkaban.”
“We’ll get him, Potter. This fucker isn’t gonna get away with wreaking havoc in my city. Get some rest, international portkeys always wipe me out. I recommend the cheeseburger at the Beekman for a nosh before you nod off. Need any help getting out?”
“No, I’ll manage. See you.” Harry bent his arm and swung his duffel bag onto his back, walking down one hallway and then another. After a few turns, Harry wondered if he should have taken Fletch’s offer for a personal escort to the exit, before he found himself standing in front of a closed door with a familiar name.
Hermione Granger, Curse-Breaker and Runic Specialist
Harry reached out and traced the letters of her name with his finger, lingering on the final R in Granger, reluctant to break the connection. His eyes darted to the sliver of light streaming through the bottom edge of the door and the floor. As he saw a shadow pass across the gap, he quickly withdrew his hand and stepped back.
Not yet.
A Monday long ago
“Harry, got a minute?” Ron peeked his head over the partition that separated Harry’s side of the desk from Ron’s in the Auror bullpen.
“Not really, Robards just gave me this pile of paperwork, something about fewer resources to go around. As if doing our own paperwork wasn’t bad enough! Is it urgent?”
Ron’s eyes shifted to the sheets of parchment next to Harry’s arm. “Kinda, yea. Let’s go to the cafe trolley and get some coffee?”
Harry puffed his cheeks out before letting out a heavy exhale. “Good idea. I’ll need it if I have any chance of getting through all of this and still make it to dinner with Ginny.” He tapped his wand on the latest document he was working on, automatically scrambling all of the letters so no one could read what it said in his absence. “I hope they still have currant scones from this morning, they rival your mum’s.” Harry got up from his desk and followed Ron toward the cafe. “Don’t tell her that.”
Ron laughed. “I’m not an idiot, Harry. But I admit you may be right.” The two young men weaved through the hallway crowds, many of them with a similar idea as the line at the trolley was several wizards deep. “How bad has she been with wedding planning? Ginny being her only daughter has brought out a special…intensity that Bill escaped.”
“Well it didn’t help that she hasn’t had a chance to plan a wedding since, and that one was under the threat of a looming war! Merlin knows if Charlie and Percy will ever get married, and George eloping meant Molly couldn’t touch that ceremony.” Harry stood on his toes to look over the shoulder of the wizard in front of them, trying to deduce if he had a chance at the last few scones displayed atop the trolley. “I know she means well, though. Besides, it’s almost all settled at this point. A month til the big day. If I can survive all of this paperwork at work!”
Ron looked at his feet sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “About that. I was hoping I’d get to you before Robards did, but you should know… I’m the reason for the extra paperwork.”
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at Ron, before turning back toward the trolley as the trolley lady squawked for their order. Harry looked at the display once again, now with only crumbs of scones left. With a dejected sigh, he placed an order for two coffees and looked back at Ron. “Did Demelza finally convince you to take that extended holiday across the pond?”
Ron laughed as he grabbed the coffees and handed one to Harry, making their way back to their office. “Not quite. I still don’t get the appeal of this skiing business, but I’m sure I can’t escape her American cousins for much longer. No, I… I put in my notice, Harry. I’m leaving the Aurors.”
“What?! When?!” Harry stopped in the middle of the hallway, looking at Ron with shock. After Hermione left to New York, Ron decided to forgo working with George in the shop and instead joined Harry at the Ministry in the Auror training program. At the time, Ron had said that Hermione’s leaving had nothing to do with his change of heart, but as time went on, Harry had wondered if Ron had made the decision he had for Harry’s sake, so he wouldn’t be alone.
Ron sighed. “Harry, you knew it was coming. I’m glad I did the program, I really am. I would have regretted being on the sidelines while you were rounding up the last of the Death Eaters. But now that Yaxley’s in Azkaban and Greyback’s dead, I’m ready to move on.”
“You going to work for George?” Harry said slowly, resuming his walk back.
“No, actually. I took the opening in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the one Ernie left. You’re looking at the new Ministry liaison for the Quidditch League.”
Harry studied Ron’s face as they walked back into the bullpen and noticed a brightness in his expression that he couldn’t recall seeing since Ron first started dating Demelza. The once-constant tension that lived in his shoulders was seemingly gone. Harry wondered what it would feel like to experience that for himself. “Congratulations, mate.”
“I know I should have said something to you earlier, but you were busy with the wedding and Ginny getting selected for the English National Team… I could never find the right time. I’m sorry about that. But I’m not going anywhere, I’ll just be on Level 5. We can still do lunch or have a cuppa together every day if you want.”
“I’ll be fine, Ron. I don’t need a minder.”
Ron stiffened as he walked toward his seat in the bullpen. “That’s not what I meant by that, Harry. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
Harry tapped his wand twice on the pile of parchment in front of him, unlocking the documents he was working on. “I bloody turned the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time into a pile of dust. I’ll be ok without a desk partner, once I clear his paperwork backlog.”
Ron frowned as he looked over at Harry over the desk partition before beginning to sit down. “Oh!” Ron exclaimed as he shot up again.
Harry scowled. “What now?”
“I, er, forgot to mention. I had a Floo call with Hermione yesterday.”
At the mention of Hermione, Harry’s face immediately softened. “Did she say when she’s scheduling her Portkey for the wedding?”
Ron shifted from one leg to the other. “Not quite. She’s gotten assigned to some fieldwork you see, and she’s not going to be able to make it.”
Harry tightened his grasp on his quill, threatening to snap it. He gave Ron a curt nod in response. “Of course.”
“Harry, I can’t help the two of you if you won’t tell me what happened. For you to go from best friends to passing acquaintances… Surely this still can’t be about you deciding not to go work for MACUSA.”
After everything we’ve been through. Can’t you be honest for once ? Just this one moment. And then you can go back to your perfectly manufactured life and I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I just need to hear it this one time.
Harry redirected his attention from the past to the present, scribbling furiously across the parchment. “If she wants to tell you, she can. Otherwise, thanks for letting me know. I’ll be sure to tell Ginny tonight so she can update the seating chart for the reception. Now if you don’t mind, some of us still have reports due to Robards.”