harry james potter

           “ At least we know for sure why she wasn’t in Gryffindor. Trips to Honeyduke’s must’ve sent her over the edge.” Ginny almost feels bad about teasing the woman, but not really. This is what her and Harry did. Gossip and joke, and she loved to make him laugh. Even if it was at the expense of some woman who accused her son of using muggle drugs. Especially then.  

     Ginny frowns, taking a bite from her dinner as Harry sympathizes with Scorpius though and she shrugs, “ At least we haven’t heard him say his mummy will hear about this yet. He’s got some hope. ” Still, it must be hard to have absolutely no privacy. Even her own mum hadn’t dug through her stuff. Or maybe Molly did and simply had the decency to never bring it up. 

     She laughs as Harry tells her that they were in trouble more than Al for the cussing incident and she nods, “ Oh she was definitely annoyed. When she looked at me that night her eyebrows were so high on her forehead with judgement they’d disappeared into her hair. Honestly, she probably thinks I’m the worst mum. ” It’s a harsh statement, and she doesn’t think Molly assumes she’s the worst mum ever - but her mother’s standard of parenting had always been much higher for her, then say, her brothers whom had their own wives to mother their gaggle of kids. 

Harry laughs at her joking. It’s true - while Scorpius’ parents could be a bit insufferable, he’s a good kid. There’s a reason Al likes him - and Harry will be grateful for a Malfoy helping a Potter through the House of Slytherin. While someone like Scorpius to guide the whole, Albus might struggle to be accepted in a house like that.

“You’re not the worst mum,” he says automatically. “And Molly doesn’t think that, either.” Yes, Ginny and her mother are very different in their parenting styles - but Harry sees the pride in Molly’s gaze, even now. “Besides,” he says, holding up a spoonful of his pasta. “This isn’t so bad.” He might’ve been the main cook in the family, but that doesn’t mean Ginny doesn’t know how. She’d learned some things from Molly, after all.

They spend their evening in easy discussion, joking about the Malfoys or talking about work. They decide to write to Teddy tomorrow before heading off to bed, where Ginny might read a book while Harry drifts off to sleep. 

Hannah hated Tuesdays. She had relegated them to her paperwork days (so long as she didn’t have any emergency cases), so Tuesdays always meant she was drowning in policies and red tape as she tried to make her way through the mountain of paperwork. She was well known for being a Healer that pushed the envelope, which always came back to bite her in the butt (though that didn’t stop her from continuing to go against the grain).

Little did Hannah know, some more repercussions from her tendency to push the envelope were about to burst into her office and make her Tuesday that much harder.

Hannah looked up in surprise as the door to her office burst open, Harry storming in with a livid expression. Her eyes widened at his words, but it didn’t take her long to guess what it was he was so angry about. She bit her lip, kept sitting in her chair, and thought about the best way to approach this.

It hadn’t failed to cross her mind that sending that letter to the Daily Prophet might piss some people off, but Hannah couldn’t just sit back and let her patient die without doing absolutely everything she could to prevent that outcome. She had looked carefully through the St. Mungo’s policies to make sure that she wasn’t technically breaking any rules (luckily for her, they didn’t have good policies in place for how St. Mungo’s was supposed to work with the Ministry when it came to dark artefacts). 

Hannah met Harry’s eyes, knowing that it wouldn’t be that easy to calm him down. “You can go, Martha,” she said softly, looking past him to nod at the receptionist who had chased him all the way to the top of the building, where Hannah’s office stood. She turned her attention back to Harry as the door swung shut. “Would you care to take a seat?” She asked, motioning to the chair across from her desk. 

Hannah looks up at him with surprise - as though she thinks he shouldn’t have any sort of anger over her attempts to ruin their investigation! She’s lucky he didn’t come in her with a warrant for her arrest! She speaks to him softly, rather condescendingly, and it’s so annoying that it makes him fume even more.

He throws himself in the seat across from Hannah, but misses the way he’d been able to move around in the standing position. Never quite one to sit still - especially when it came to things like this. His anger is not something that can easily be tamed. 

It’s not every day he’s like this. It used to be easier to set him off, but a lifetime of war had helped - not to mention children and his position as Head Auror. Still, there are times where he reverts back to that kid in Dumbledore’s office, intent on breaking everything to stall the grief of losing someone he loved - someone who could possibly take him out of his life and into something better.

                   “ Harry, ” Ginny says his name in that way that communicates more than just his name. He was looking at things negatively, though he had a way of getting stuck in his head at places like these. It sometimes prevented him from having fun! And so she sends him a knowing grin when he playfully gives her a look that portrays he wasn’t having a good time. Which is a bit of a lie because he’s already flushed with Firewhiskey. 

     It makes her laugh affectionately at him as her hand finds a spot on his chest just to be close to him and she shrugs, “ What, and miss this for a roaring time on our couch? What would you rather be doing instead of cheering on ducks and having meaningful conversations with people we haven’t spoken with in years for a reason? ”

The way his name is said on her lips is a familiar one. A tad bit scolding, with a softness around the edges. A reminder for him to stop and think. He’s always been a bit cynical, while Ginny’s looked at most things with a ring of optimism. Things are rarely as bad as he thinks they are and, as he looks down at her and gives a soft sigh, he knows it. This is a fun night - seeing old classmates, hanging out with his mates. There’s no reason to be gloomy. 

“I could think of a few things we could do on the couch,” he says with a bit of a smirk, but his tone is lighter now that he’s around her and she’s reminding him that going out can be a good time. Most of the people here will leave him alone, anyway. “I nearly ran into Romilda Vane,” he tells her. “Got away from that one rather quick... but that meant spending a bit of time with Zacharias Smith. He claimed I’d be giving out autographs.”

“Four? You certainly have your hands full.” Terry could handly imagine handling one. “Professor Lupin’s kid, right?” He asks, already having known the answer. “Fine, I suppose.” He says impressively, “Things are fine, work is busier by the day.” Terry says with a tight-lipped smile, “Writing laws and negotiating treaties is glamourous, but only from the outside looking in.”

“Cerberus probably has your work cut out for you these days. Eh, Potter?” Terrence remarked. They weren’t personally close, though Harry and Terry had always been bound by a cause. First, it was Dumbledore’s Army, and then the Ministry of Magic. Their roles intersected often, both being involved in domestic governance. But as the years went by, their relationship had managed to stay strictly professional. Some times they were on the same side of a matter and other times they were not, but always in good faith. Terrence wondered which side of the fence Harry sat on now. But his wife was waiting, and as interested as Terrence was, he didn’t want to keep him from that, “Chances are keeping you busier than usual too.” Terry says, arriving at the Ministry’s entrance, he gives Harry a small smile. “You should get on home while you still have the chance, and while dinner’s still warm.” 

Harry sends Terry a light grin. “They can be - but they’re at school for most of the year now and Teddy’s moved out on his own. I sometimes miss the noise,” he admits with a bit of a dad-tone. If his daughter were here, she’d be making fun of him for getting sappy.

The mention of Professor Lupin is one he hasn’t heard in a while. Having gone from professor to just Remus to Harry during his lifetime, the reminder that Terry, too, would know of him is a bit of a jolting reminder. Sometimes, he forgets that others might’ve found those important to him important to them as well. It’s something Ginny often reminds him of - he’s not alone in anything. “Yeah, that’s the one,” he confirms. 

“Maybe not glamorous,” he agrees. “But important.” Harry himself is working on something that might pass over Terry’s department - the dementors in Azkaban. He doesn’t mention it now, though. Doesn’t want anyone to be able to claim he’s trying to bride Terry Boot. The law is an important one - he wants to make sure he’s officially going through the proper channels to get it passed. 

Harry nods, sticking his hands in his pockets as they walk. “Always busy - people are scared. And, when they’re scared, we get a lot more calls.” When they reach the pub, Terry lets Harry off the hook by telling him to get home. He doesn’t bother to correct his old classmate that he’s actually the main cook in the family and stretches out a hand to shake. “It’s good to catch up. Enjoy your evening.” 

With that, he turns to walk towards the Apparition point to get back home. 

Of course Harry wouldn’t turn her out. Silly of her. She really was feeling shut-off from things lately. Still, when it’s quiet enough to hear him, as always, she realizes how much she misses him. Their positions tend to be work-heavy, and Hermione wonders how many other people she forgets she misses until she stands in front of them. She snorts a laugh when Harry points out their work is, in many ways, one in the same, or perhaps a Venn diagram.

❝ Yes, well, yours or mine, I’ll talk about anything but pesticides. ❞ Her smile is a little acerbic, but there’s no knock at the door. Coast clear, right. ❝ Perfect timing, then. ❞

Relieved she can help, Hermione leans forward, an instinct borne of so many times at Hogwarts, heads bent together, sharing secrets. ❝ I have, actually. I had a letter from Hugo, went to check it out. ❞ Hermione frowns, remembering the worst part. ❝ Couldn’t get time with Neville that day, but I followed Malfoy on a patrol and we didn’t kill each other, so I found it successful. ❞ She thinks back, a slight frown crinkling her brow. ❝ No, I might like to go with you. Let me see if I can clear a place in my schedule today. Unnatural fog has never signaled anything good, and Malfoy and I didn’t see anything, but we could’ve had bad timing. ❞

Hermione, despite her protests about wanting to discuss anything but work, leans forward curiously at his words anyway. He knew she would. Something that hasn’t changed about Hermione Granger since he’s known her is her work ethic. She may claim she wants a bit of relaxation and fun, but Harry suspects she’d get boring after an hour without something to do.

Harry grins a bit as she says the patrol was successful simply because there was no death involved. Sounds about right in terms of any one of them dealing with Draco Malfoy. “Yeah, that works for me,” he says, keen on checking this out with her. In the presence of the Minster of Magic, Harry might not even need an escort to move around the castle. “But, if you can’t go, I’m still heading over there to check it out, alright?” he adds, making sure she’s aware of the compromise. “I don’t think it should wait much longer.” 

Zacharias has never liked Harry Potter and he’s always been very careful to do nothing that suggests he does; he has a reputation to uphold, after all. But in a rather unsurprising yet nonetheless saddening twist of fate, Potter has ended up with quite a lot of pull among wizards all around the Wizarding World and Zacharias has accepted that he’ll have to play nice with the man. Mostly. After all, not-quite-friends-but-also-not-enemies can have some banter, can’t they?

Still, Potter’s enthusiasm takes by surprise. “Harry,” he returns the greeting with a grin that’s just a bit too wide but he can’t help it. First-name basis with Potter, how about it. He can’t even deny he’s dying to know what’s got the man, the myth, the legend, Harry Potter acting so friendly. He follows him without complaint as they start walking, though it’s hard to resist throwing a glance behind his shoulder. “Never been better. I’m at this lovely reunion, I get to have a chat with all my old pals.” At this, he pointedly meets Potter’s eye because apparently, they’re mates now. “Can’t complain. But enough about boring old me, what about you? Has anyone asked for your autograph yet or are they trying to lull you into a false sense of security first?”

Zacharias grins at Harry and it’s easy to be relieved. It’s not like they’ve ever really been friends - but, as Harry looks over his shoulder and see it was Romila Vane eyeing him a moment ago, he knows that Zacharias is definitely better than whatever that conversation might’ve been like. He thinks it’ll be okay - his old classmate is being just fine and awfully mature.

Until Zacharias keeps speaking.

The moment autographs are mentioned, Harry drops his hand and grinds his teeth together. “I dunno why anyone here would want my autograph, considering I spent six years in school with most of them. And, if they did, I wouldn’t give them one. Just for the record.” Harry doesn’t know why it’s important to try and set Zacharias straight on that, but he’s tired of people assuming so much about him. It’s been over twenty years since the war... people should know by now what kind of person he truly is.

Hannah felt a sense of puzzlement overtake her at Harry’s obvious confusion over her treating Ginny. Was he not aware that Ginny sought Hannah out as her regular healer? Hannah knew that Ginny was downplaying her injury to everyone that she worked with out of fear of being forced into retirement, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Ginny had been downplaying her injury to Harry, as well. No matter, it wasn’t her place to clue him in (or entirely legal, for that matter).

At his question, she nodded, feeling on more familiar ground. “Yes, things are going pretty well,” she said, hesitating about whether or not she should try to continue small talk or just get down to business. Harry didn’t seem particularly keen on company, so she might as well dive right into what she really needed his help with. 

“Actually, I’m working on a case right now that’s got me pretty stumped,” she began, her mind turning to the woman who had been occupying her thoughts most of the time lately. Despite her conversations with Draco and then Ron, Hannah felt no closer to solving the case and finding a way to heal her patient than she had day one, and it was causing a lot of turmoil in her life. “I’m sure you know we’ve had a major influx of injuries related to Dark magic and cursed items lately?” It was more a question than anything else – Hannah knew there was some sort of protocol for communicating with the DMLE, but it wasn’t straightforward by any means. 

“Well, I had a patient come in at the end of last week who had been cursed by a necklace. I took it to Borgin & Burke’s to see if Burke could help identify it, but he ended up being fairly useless. He said his father might have sold something like it years ago, but now that his father is dead, he couldn’t answer my questions. I’m wondering if it could be the same necklace that cursed Katie Bell in our sixth year?” Hannah had been taken out of school for that year, so she only knew the story from the grapevine. “Do you remember anything about that necklace?” 

She doesn’t elaborate farther on how St. Mungo’s is doing and so Harry doesn’t ask. That is, until she mentions a specific case. It peaks his interests and he sits up, leaning forward as he takes another sip of the butterbeer, warming his body once more. She asks about the cursed objects and Harry nods - of course he knows! He’s the head of the Auror department in charge of trying to track down the individuals who have been smuggling them into the country, after all.

They’ve been stuck themselves - on figuring out whether the victims are intended targets or simply people with bad luck, as Katie and Ron had been way back in school. Wrong place at the wrong time. Draco Malfoy willing to hurt whoever if it meant getting the job done.

A necklace? Harry sits up completely, forgetting about the bottle in his hand, and looks at Hannah intently. “You took a dark artifact out on your own? How did you even get it?” He looks at her with surprise. Handling the objects is his job - hers his just to provide the cure. They are both very important things to do... but also very different. “I remember a lot about that necklace, but it’s not like I got the details of how it worked. It was taken to the Ministry. I was only a kid then - they wouldn’t really let me have a look.”

Harry tries to keep his voice even. “What I’m more keen to know is why you’re going off doing investigations on your own instead of bringing me the necklace and asking my department to help. Burke has the right not to answer any of your questions. You’re a civilian, Hannah. You really could’ve hurt someone. Do you still have the necklace now?”

The ease with which Ron moved into the sitting room and collapsed onto the nearest sofa was indicative of just how much time he’d spent in the Potter home. It felt almost as comfortable as his own - well, almost as comfortable as their old home, the one in which he and Hermione had raised their children. He didn’t dislike their new digs, but they’d only been there a year and he was still getting used to how large it was, how grand. He snorted, rolling his eyes over his shoulder at Harry’s question, but rather than giving an answer he slid the latest Prophet off the end table and shook it open. He scanned it lazily, waiting for his best mate to return, but when Harry slipped back down the stairs and into the kitchen Ron remained unaware, more engrossed in the news than he wanted to admit (so much of it now concerned his wife, after all).

“It’s bad compared to the loaf I kept for myself,” he answered without looking up, turning the page.

Ron had been friends with Harry long enough to know how much the man reveled in his work, albeit now in a slightly more healthy way. He wasn’t sorry for being a momentary distraction, but at Harry’s words he couldn’t help but look up, eyebrows raised and interest piqued.

“Oh, yeah? Which one?”

Harry laughs at his friend, tearing off one more piece of the bread before sealing the package again and throwing the bread onto the counter. He makes his way over to where Ron is sitting and plops down on the chair next to him, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “’Course you’d keep the good stuff for yourself,” he jokes lightly. 

When he looks over at his friend, it’s obvious that Ron’s interested by his words. Shoulders slightly up, leaning forward slightly - Harry’s seen this look in many Weasley’s before. Sometimes about who’s at the top of the league in Quidditch - other, sadder times, when discussing the war.

“It’s about the series of dark artifact injuries we’ve been having. We don’t know who’s been smuggling them back into the country or if the victims are random people or being targeted for a specific reason.” He pops the bread in his mouth, sitting up straighter, taking his feet off the table to lean towards Ron. “‘Fraid I can’t tell you much more than that without compromising myself.”

Saying Harry wasn’t happy about the article Hannah had written to The Daily Prophet would be an understatement. When he’d first read it, he’d fumed. Hannah hadn’t even reached out to his department on the matter of the dark objects that seem to be causing more and more injuries lately. In fact, St. Mungo’s as a whole have been rather quite and close-lipped about it all.

Which is mad! The Auror department is full of the only people able to make arrests. Harry himself would likely know more about dark magic - or be able to find the correct people who did know, if he doesn’t have the answers themselves - than a healer.

It’s not just the fact that they’ve kept Aurors out of their business that irks him. Hannah had promised anonymity and therefore immunity. It’s highly doubtful that anyone with knowledge would come to the Aurors - when they might risk consequences - instead of this sudden unapproved tip-line now. She’s hindering an investigation and hardly seems to care. 

He barges into her office a few days after the article - the only moment he’s had enough free time to get away. The Aurors have been scrambling since the news came out in the Prophet, trying to make sure their information was secure and contacted suddenly MIA informants. 

As Draco suffered to accompany Potter through the castle, he emptied his mind. Being marched around in the dead of the night had unsettling reminiscence of ‘98, when Severus would frequently accost him and tug him into classrooms, whispering harshly about his family, Draco’s stupidity, just what do you think you’re up to, master Malfoy? Unlike those nights, which always seemed black as pitch and endless as a nightmare, tonight a heavy moon sat in the velvet sky, plunging the sandstone corridors and sweeping stairs in shafts of waxen light. It created an atmosphere of portent, as if the scene was set.

Potter managed to keep his mouth shut until the Entrance Hall. Evidently, ten minutes of walking quietly was too much work for someone used to having everyone hang on his every word, because he started yapping away as if they were old chums discussing a Transfiguration problem.

Draco dearly wanted to give him a scathing glare. Instead, he permitted himself a disgusted side-long look, holding Potter’s eye long enough to communicate his utter loathing. Potter was really beyond the pale. Draco’s initial fear at being ordered about by an Auror had given way into a cold, mute fury that licked tongues of shivering blue flame along his skin. Despite the chill evening air, Draco felt hot inside his traveling cloak, and the hairs on his arms stood on end.

Ministry orders.

Draco did not reply until they were halfway across the lawn; he didn’t trust himself not to hex Potter until the same scars that criss-crossed his own body marred Potter too. Draco remembered the curse. Severus told him later it was one of his own. Potter wasn’t as nice as everyone thought: Draco took some comfort from that.

“Professor Longbottom believes the cause is Dementors,” Draco snipped. “I’m the Potions Professor. If you wanted any great insights into Dark magic you should have bothered Professor Thomas instead.” Stupid, Draco added savagely. 

Malfoy must’ve heard him - Harry was rather clear in his questioning - but his old schoolmate does not answer. It makes anger rise up Harry’s spine. Throughout the years, since that final battle where Harry had killed Voldemort using Draco’s own wand, they’ve had many encounters with one another - usually fairly unpleasant. Whether Harry had to search Malfoy Manor within his position as Auror or that one disastrously time shortly after the war where Harry given the wand back. But they’ve also had some moments of understanding, too. Glaring at one another across a picnic table because their children were running wild together. While Harry had more communication with Astoria about the kids than Draco himself - he’s so often at school, after all - there have still been times where there was an inkling of hope for them.

Not for friendship - but, perhaps, forgiveness.

It seems as though Harry’s approach tonight has ruined any chance to this evening being one of those times, however. He steels his resolve for it. They’ve done this before - and Harry isn’t afraid of Draco Malfoy. Finally, when they hit the grounds, the other man replies. It’s hard and bristly, making Harry grind his teeth together to stop from an angry retort.

Yes, he could’ve gone to Dean - he’d considered it, in fact. But one thing Harry has discovered in his time as Auror is that, sometimes, the people with the best insight are the very ones who you’ve had to fight in the past. Draco’s experiences with Dark Magic are different than his - are even different than Dean’s, who teaches about it every day. Harry doesn’t need someone with knowledge right now... he needs someone who’s done it.

All semblance of familiarity Cho had felt towards Harry disappeared when his endearing rambling was replaced with polite coolness. She was disappointed by his immediate refusal to even talk about the program, and chastised herself once again for not warming him up to the idea of it first. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bring up work at a social event. I don’t mean to be a sourpuss,” Cho backed off immediately, recognizing that a hasty retreat was the safest move for now. But at the same time, she couldn’t just give up. She had a feeling that if she didn’t do something now, she would have great difficulty finding an audience with Harry again in the near future. “I understand that being an Auror requires a certain level of violence and constant vigilance, and that can be taxing on anyone. I’d like to talk about potentially offering your department better resources for anyone who has difficulty dealing with that burden, is all.” 

Of course, Cho wanted to offer this option to everyone in the wizarding world, not just Aurors. But people in this world had a habit of looking down on muggle medical practices. Even muggleborns, after growing up surrounded by magic, had trouble buying that anything the muggle doctors had to offer could trump magical cures like Skele-Gro or Dittany. She knew that a cultural shift would require support from big-names like the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“I can Owl you more information and I’d love to talk about this in a more appropriate time and location.” Not giving him a chance to meet her response with a refusal, Cho flashed Harry one last smile before making her exit. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The polite smile Cho had forced onto her face slowly turned genuine as Harry’s rambling continued. For the first time in a very, very long time, Cho felt like she was a teenager back at Hogwarts again. Everything from Harry’s hand running through his still-messy hair to the way he accidentally alluded to Cedric before trying to double back on his words–it all felt so familiar. Cho nodded along as Harry awkwardly tried to explain himself, and she chose to do the polite thing by pretending she didn’t know why the maze was a touchy subject. Still, she had trouble stifling a chuckle when Harry tried to take a sip from his already-empty cup.

Cho was struck with the sudden concern that his awkwardness was actually discomfort caused by her sudden approach. That would be understandable, as this was already the longest conversation they had in years and it wasn’t like they had much in common to talk about. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s not weird for me to talk to you. I know it’s been a while,” Cho heard herself saying, the words leaving her mouth even as she knew she was making things even worse by acknowledging their lack of familiarity. “I’ve fallen out of touch with everyone over the years, so I’m just trying to catch up with every familiar face I see tonight.” Now who was being awkward? The long years had taught Cho that she couldn’t go around exploding her emotions out onto just anyone, but the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Still, she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t internally scold herself not to keep telling Harry Potter how lonely and alone she was.

“And I’ve actually been meaning to reach out to you for a while,” Cho said, steering herself back to the conversation she intended to have when she first approached Harry. “I wanted your input on some ideas I have about a possible pilot program for Aurors who experience trauma and stress while out in the field. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been conducting some research to test muggle medical techniques as possible alternatives to calming draughts.” Cho waited for his response cautiously, regretting not building up to her point more. But damnit, she was just so sick and tired of making small talk all night. 

She doesn’t laugh at him and pretends not to notice his awkwardness (or maybe doesn’t notice at all, though that seems rather unlikely) and Harry is grateful. They might not really be friends anymore - haven’t been since they’d chosen their sides between her and Marietta - but Cho has always been a kind person. 

When she apologizes for the weirdness of this conversation, though, it doesn’t do anything to alleviate the awkward tension, instead just making it worse. It’s like their positions change because, as Harry grabs the new full glass from the bar and places down a few sickles, Cho suddenly starts rambling about how she’s lost touch with everyone and how she’s trying to catch up. It spikes his curiosity. While he hasn’t heard much about Cho in the last twenty years, he knows she’s still in the magical world working at Mungo’s. For a girl who was always surrounded by friends at school, it seems odd that she’s fallen out of touch.

He’d just assumed she wasn’t talking to him - not that she’d stopped talking to everyone. Asking why would be rather bold of him, though, so he’s not sure what to say to her. Thankfully, she continues - though, this time, it’s about work. Is that the whole reason she came over here in the first place? Harry shifts slightly, taking a drink of the whiskey (a real drink this time) as he listens to her words.

It’s about her program. This isn’t the first time he’s heard of what she wants to do at St. Mungo’s, but he hasn’t paid too close attention either. The idea that she’s asking him to help pilot it makes him bristle though. The word trauma sticks out, tagging in his brain. He doesn’t like it - doesn’t like to think of the way Aunt Petunia’s voice turned to a judging whisper as she looked out the curtains and explained that the neighbor across the street was mental. How sad it was for her family who had to deal with her.

A DRAFT of a BILL to prohibit the use of DEMENTORS as guard-keeping within the location of AZKABAN PRISON

I, Harry James Potter, propose a bill to ENACT the following:

date: October 20, 2020

location: macdougal estate

closed to @harryjpottcr​

After months of talking herself in and out of Owling her old schoolmates, her invitation to this reunion had felt like a god-send. She thought this would be the perfect opportunity to reconnect with some friendly faces. Although Cho had managed to push herself into some polite conversations throughout the night, none lasted beyond the usual small talk material of how are yous and damn, Morag Macdougal is filthy rich. She had a feeling this was due to her recent feature in the Daily Prophet as a crazy radical who thought all wizards should expose themselves to muggles (which was absolutely untrue, despite the Daily Prophet’s refusal to print a correction or a follow-up interview clearing her name). 

Tired from all the conversations that went nowhere, Cho eventually found herself sulking in a corner taking sips from her third drink of the night. When she caught sight of Harry Potter however, she straightened up, smoothing down her dress robes. Harry was yet another person she had tried but failed to write in recent weeks, although not for a social call. It wasn’t like they had ever been great friends, after all. Cho still cringed any time she remembered their single outing at Hogsmeade together, so many years later. No, the reason she had been trying to get in touch with him was strictly professional. As Cho continued with her research project, and especially after that blasted Daily Prophet article, it was clear that Cho was going to have to work to win over the wizarding world’s approval of her research findings. She was hoping that Harry would be sympathetic to her cause. There was nothing that screamed trauma more than spending one’s entire teenage years battling a Dark wizard; Harry had to understand how important this work was. And hopefully with his background with the muggle world, he of all people would understand her point that muggle science and medical practices were worth considering. Hopefully he didn’t put much thought into that Daily Prophet article. Better yet, maybe he hadn’t read it at all. 

After weeks of putting off reaching out to him and now seeing him in the flesh, Cho knew that this was her chance. It didn’t hurt that she had a bit of liquid courage on her side. Cho downed the last of her drink and made her way towards her target. “Hello Harry. How are you?” she said with a friendly smile. She began reciting what had become her small talk opener of the night: “I always knew Morag was rich, but damn, the witch is filthy rich.“ 

Ginny is right - and shouldn’t he know by now to trust her judgement? - and Harry does end up having a good time at the party. While perhaps he needed to avoid people in the beginning of the night (those reminders of just who he is had been heavy when he and Ginny had first walked in), everyone’s moved on within a few hours. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol he’s consumed since then.

Either way, he tends to stick close to those people he trusts. Family and friends. And, apparently, Zacharias Smith, who had saved him from none other than Romilda Vane earlier in the night.

When he moves towards the bar to grab another drink, however, he’s surprised - or maybe not so surprised, people have been wanting his attention today - to hear a vaguely familiar voice call his name from behind. He can’t quiet place who it is until he turns around to find Cho Chang standing in front of him. The moment he sees her, it clicks into place. Her voice has changed a bit since school as they’ve aged, so it makes sense he hadn’t quite remembered it fully, given how little they’ve spoken since then. It’s ironic she’d seeking him out now, though - only a few days ago, he’d joked about her with his wife.

“Cho!” he says, a bit too loudly from the firewhiskey, but he’s not really drunk either, thank Merlin. He wouldn’t want to be having this conversation without booze - but he definitely doesn’t like the idea of stumbling around her after years of polite and awkward smiles whenever he’s seen Cho. In fact, he can’t even remember the last time they’d had a real conversation, it’s been so long. “Hi!” 

He sounds like a freaking teenager, it’s so awkward. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m good!” He looks around the sprawling mansion and nods. He can’t really say much about it, though. The Potters themselves are pretty damn rich these days. They just don’t live like this, preferring to be a bit more homey and humble. “Yeah, the ducks are a bit much. And apparently there’s a maze out back.” One he won’t be going in. Last time he’d been in a maze, he’d watched Voldemort be brought back to life and dragged a dead body back to school.

Hannah returned Harry’s smile, trying to hide the disappointment she felt at the fact that it was clearly a professional smile and not a personal one. In all these years, Hannah had tried everything she could think of to get Harry to see her as ally, friend, rather than mere acquaintance. After all, hadn’t they fought in Dumbledore’s Army together? Hadn’t they fought side by side in the war?

But Harry was just as reserved as he had ever been, maybe even more so now than when they had been a part of the same vigilante group under Umbridge’s nose in their fifth year. And despite the fact that she often found herself in the auror offices to tend to his aurors, Harry hadn’t warmed up to her one bit. 

She sighed inaudibly as she took the seat across from him and pulled two bottles of butterbeer out of her bag, leaving the firewhiskey where it was. Now she felt awkward about keeping him longer when he clearly wasn’t all that interested, but it would be worse if she turned tail and hurried out now. At least while she had his attention, maybe she could ask him about the necklace that she still hadn’t discovered anything about. It would save her another trip to his office, at least.

Uncapping both bottles with her wand, she handed one to him. “I saw Ginny the other day,” she mentioned conversationally, knowing that this at least was a topic Harry would be interested in. “Worked on her shoulder, actually. She’s really beginning to get in the zone for the start of this year’s season, isn’t she?” 

Harry eyes Hannah as she brings out the butterbeer. It causes him to raise his brows just slightly, having expected something stronger when she’d suggested a drink, but he doesn’t complain. He grabs one of the bottles gratefully and takes a swig, feeling the warmth spread through his body.

She seems a bit colder now - had he done something wrong? - but she’s still Hannah Abbott and kindness has always come easily to her. She brings up Ginny - a topic that many people try with him. He loves his family and often finds it hard not to talk about them.

“Oh yeah?” he says, trying to rack his brain to see if Ginny mentioned seeing Hannah at all. When she explains about the injury - a minor dislocation of the shoulder - he remembers. Ginny had told him about that. A quick trip to Mungos isn’t exactly uncommon for athletes, after all. He nods. “Yeah, the beginning of a season is always tough, you know? She pushes herself too hard sometimes.” 

He doesn’t tell her about the worry his wife has over the possibility of this being the final season, though. While she hasn’t announced her retirement, exactly, there has been speculation for years about when Ginny would hang up her Harpy uniform. She’s not old - but the sport of Quidditch is unkind and unforgiving. Most people would’ve ended their careers by now. “Things going well at Mungos, then?” he asks, wondering if it had been slow if someone like Hannah is performing healing for such simple injuries. 

     The mention of Hermione’s intentions shuts Ginny up. She loves her sister-in-law. One of her closest friends. Harry’s best friend. She was family and they knew her - she was doing her best. But good intentions sometimes had ill repercussions and she couldn’t help but feel like this would blow up in their faces. 

     They move to the table, and onto a lighter topic now that she’s at least made him laugh about his school day crush, but Harry changes the topic so quickly to someone visiting him after a mention of Cho that Ginny can’t help the confusion. Wait - what? 

            “ Cho? ” She blurts out her guess, not understanding why Cho Chang would be visiting Harry after all these years, but he corrects her and she can’t help but laugh. “ No way, she showed up here the other day to ask about bubble gum! I swear that woman is mad. She thinks Al us out to seduce her son with mugglecraft. Nevermind that Al is almost just as clueless as Scorpio probably. Ugh, remember when he asked dad about his telefuck. I thought mum was gonna piss herself. ”

Ginny blurts out Cho’s name and it causes Harry to give her a look, laughing at the joke anyway. Of course Cho Chang hadn’t stopped by and they both know it. In fact, while Harry’s seen Cho around Diagon Alley or St. Mungo’s a few times in recent years, she’s been largely out of the public eye since the war. 

Harry’s eyes widen at the mention of Astoria coming here as well. There are definitely times he regrets lowering the wards for the Malfoys. It had come after several play dates outside, yes - they had to gain trust first - but the idea of Draco Malfoy knowing where Harry and his family live is rather sickening.

Potter needed him. What tosh. There were plenty of his old Hogwarts lackeys hanging around - it seemed that despite the events after the war, remarkably few of their year managed to get out of the country (except Pansy, but Draco didn’t like reminding himself that she wasn’t around anymore). To illustrate how little he thought of this notion, Draco sniffed disparagingly and pretended to investigate his cuticles. 

It was Potter’s next words that made him freeze.

Ministry orders.

Draco was used to that sentence. When those laughable Ministry trials rolled out after the war, thugs like Potter and his ilk enjoyed dropping by the Manor unannounced. On Ministry orders, they’d say, chewing Droobles like cows, we’ve to search the premises. Time and again, the same image: Draco and Narcissa, standing stiffly in the entrance hall, angled toward each other; Lucius, nearly comatose in anger, staring in mute fury at the enormous painting of his own father, Abraxas, who peered down his long nose at the half-bloods and muggleborns traipsing across the authentic Persian rug, lugging heirlooms and artefacts, dropping the silver on the flagstones, tripping on the stairs. It was on Ministry orders that had Draco rounded up ever few years and brought into the black tiled interrogation rooms of the Department of Mysteries or even the Auror Office, sitting straight-backed as various Ministry dregs tried to pry non-existent “information” out of him. The first few times he fed the funny stories about Pansy in France; as the years wore on, he allowed silence to descend gravely upon him like a shroud.

Ministry orders. Draco should have that tattooed somewhere. Maybe on his arse.

“How typical of an Auror to resort to threats,” Draco remarked, the words so crisp and icy they snapped on his tongue. “It is indeed reassuring that the DMLE has not changed under your management. How revolutionary of you.”

He turned on his heel and went behind his desk, gathering his traveling cloak and sweeping it around his shoulders in a single motion. Draco’s hands did not tremble on the fastenings. He only felt the cold, dull anger pound in his jugular, his chest. The world was distant. He felt himself slip behind that opaque wall that had protected him in those tender, frightening months of 1998. Staring blankly at walls as Nagini slithered heavily across the floor. The Dark Lord’s patronising laugh. Ministry orders.

Draco pulled out his wand and extinguished the candles, plunging the office into semi-darkness. Twilight pressed against the windows: a sliver of moon was glimpsed behind slow-moving clouds. And below that, curling out of the Forest like tentacles from the deep, the endless fog.

He did not look at Potter. “Follow me.”

The words make Draco bristle, as Harry assumed they would. This isn’t the first time his family has been under Ministry eye like this - it’s not even the first time Harry himself had done the orders. It’s the truth, after all. Hermione had told him to come here herself - and she’s the Minister of Magic. The biggest title there was in this world, from a political stance. Harry might’ve come on his own anyway... but he now could claim Ministry orders without lying.

Malfoy, however, doesn’t seem thrilled with the notion. No surprise there. He’s icy in his reply, which might’ve phased Harry a long time ago. Caused anger to rise in him because this is Draco Malfoy. Now, however, he hardly blinks. Most people aren’t exactly nice to Aurors whenever they come around questioning - Harry’s grown used to the tone Draco’s using with him. Not to mention, despite everything, Malfoy has kept out of the public eye for years. There have been such few call-ins about dark magic or suspicious activity surrounding Malfoy Manor lately that Harry is hardly worried about the former Death Eater.

He’s got bigger dark wizards to chase.

“It’s not a threat when it’s the truth,” Harry tells Draco breezily. In fact, Harry does want Draco, specifically. If there are dark magic remnants down by the forest, Harry needs someone who wouldn’t go running scared. 

For a moment, Harry thinks that maybe Draco is denying him and that this will be harder than it seemed. However, the other man just grabs his cloak and Harry does what’s asked of him - he follows. One step behind Draco, though nearly next to him, they walk in near silence. Very few students are out this late - one of the reasons Harry had chosen this time - but the couple that notice him stare. At the scar - or the Auror robes - Harry isn’t sure. They might not even know who he is. It’s better that way, in fact. A world where the war is so far away from the world that these children weren’t even born yet. If he weren’t working, Harry might’ve smiled at the thought.