This is getting old
Diagon Alley was bustling with wixen and gossip. The autumn sun illuminating the tense street as fervent glances and whispers were being bandied about with abandon. Storefronts that would have been alien and foreign only a few years ago had activity akin to a beehive milling through their doors.
The lone wix walking down the street however, drew no attention as his notice-me-not charm was working at full capacity amongst the crowds. Long, purposeful strides brought him swiftly to a set of stairs leading to a flat, above the now famous prank shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Having been added to the protections surrounding the living space some time ago, this particular Wizard simply walked straight in after a short knock on the door.
Harry Potter removed his cloak with a sigh as he quickly removed the charm which allowed him to move about unseen through London’s premier magical district. Now that he was safely ensconced in one of the few places, he considered safe, the muscles in his neck and shoulders were actually beginning to loosen slightly.
“That bad, huh?” came the, recently, familiar voice of one Carl Hopkins.
Looking up, Harry caught sight of the blond hair and grey eyes belonging to his friend, standing in the entrance of the kitchen. Movement could be heard from inside as his other friend, George, appeared to be preparing some food for lunch.
The black haired, green eyed, wix couldn’t help the snort that escaped him as he drew further into the flat.
“Well, that would depend on your definition of bad, Carl,” the sarcastic comment came out with a bit of a snap that had him wincing. Harry honestly hadn’t meant to take out his frustration on his friend. He shot an apologetic look that had the blond rolling his eyes and bumping his shoulder on his way to the small kitchen table.
George called out a, “Wotcher, Harry,” in greeting, along with a raised eyebrow at his words.
Sighing in defeat as Carl set a steaming mug in front of one of the place settings, Harry elaborated, “The gossip is starting to escalate again,” he shot a look at both of his friends’ sarcastic expressions. Before they could comment on that very obvious bit of news, he continued, “and it is causing a bunch of commotion in the other departments. Everyone is starting to make noise about how a certain hero should be able to take care of any naysayers.”
Both of his friends winced at the sheer amount of venom he managed to interject into the word ‘hero’. Harry couldn’t exactly blame them, his mood had been rapidly deteriorating every time he stepped foot into the ministry, let alone the DMLE. Barely managing to take down an insane moron with more magical power than sense did not make the last Potter invincible. With the way wizarding Britain in general acted, however, you would think that his very existence was a miracle fix-all.
Carl stared at him for a moment as he gulped a bracing mouthful of tea before he spoke, “Seems like the barmy old cowards who took over all those vacancies haven’t made much good progress, huh?”
Harry felt himself slump in on himself at that question. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts had ended the cowards who had hidden behind the corpses of children had crawled out of the woodwork in the dozens. The hunt for Moldyshorts’ minions and sympathizers had been at the forefront of all those that sought change. Their preoccupation had allowed those cockroaches to scramble for opportunity whilst no one was looking. They had grasped onto all the power they could, and then had clung to it while the so called ‘victors’ had tried to set things to rights.
George interrupted this depressing train of thought with a flick of his wand as he sent a few plates of fish and chips to their respective places. A snort slipped out of his older friend’s mouth as he took a seat next to Carl, “Well, guess nothings really changed that much then.”
Both Harry and Carl smiled humorlessly at the rather depressing observation before tucking into their plates.
When Carl had started working and living with George, Harry had been rather wary at first. Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t that he didn’t like or trust Carl, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for either he or George to move into the apartment after Fred had died during the final battle. As time had moved on, however, he found that the difference in having someone simply be there without expecting anything from George was far more of a blessing than a hindrance. Unlike the rest of the Weasley family, Carl didn’t push George to talk or be anything other than himself. Harry certainly empathized with the Weasley patriarch and matriarch; they had lost their child, but he had noticed that their attempts to care for their children by pulling them in even tighter than before was not helping his friend in the slightest.
They slowly finished their respective plates and were simply sitting in a comfortable silence when Harry blurted out, “I think I’m going to drop out of the Auror program.”
Carl and George blinked at him for a moment while he closed his eyes in exasperation. That was not even remotely how he had planned to tell either of his friends what he was planning to do.
A snort had him opening his eyes in surprise just in time to see a smug looking George holding his hand open towards Carl in a “hand it over” gesture. Carl rolled his eyes in response before digging in his pocket for a moment and dropping a few sickles into the waiting palm.
Harry felt his eyes widen in incredulousness before he found himself asking, “Did you bet on me quitting?”
George was still smirking as he turned to his younger friend and explained in an innocent tone that no one believed for a moment, “Well, you see young Harry. Carl and I noticed that you’ve been much less enthusiastic about your work and training than ickle Ronniekins.” Harry felt a twinge in his heart at the familiar words. He also noticed a slight twinge in George’s smirk, as if the familiarity wasn’t unnoticed on his part either, but he continued anyway, “After the first year, it felt like we were both watching a broom wreck with the way the stooges at the ministry were treating you, so…”
Carl picked up the train of thought after George trailed off, his tip twitching upward from his normally neutral expression, “It’s been obvious for a while that you were getting more and more miserable and peeved the longer you stayed. We simply bet on when you’d have enough and finally sack off.”
Harry opened and closed his mouth for a moment, unable to find words, before he sagged into his chair. The relief he felt in that moment was actually a little surprising. He hadn’t realized how much of the tension he had been carrying lately was from the wariness he felt at his friends’ reactions to his decision. Quite frankly, it was no longer ‘thinking’ of quitting. He already had a speech prepared for the moment he went to Robards, the new head of the DMLE, and handed in his resignation.
Even though Harry had always thought he wanted to be in the auror force, just like Carl had, he found himself disliking it the longer he stayed. The excitement had worn off fairly quickly when he noticed that unlike other new trainees, he was being treated like he already knew the majority of what was being taught. Formalities and paperwork, protocol and hierarchy, tactics and formations, were practically skimmed over and he was thrown into work and missions like he had already been there for years. To be fair, the others were given more of a workload as well, but they had far more support than he himself did. The expectations felt exactly like they had when he first entered the wixen world at eleven years old. The condescension and huffiness from people who should have known better than to expect the level of competence they did was maddening.
Ron had acted for all the world like he was having the time of his life. Whenever Harry even so much as hinted his discontent, his best friend would look at him in disbelief that he wasn’t happy at not being treated like the rest of the rookies. Hints of old jealousy and resentment coloring his first friend’s words felt like sandpaper against raw nerves the longer this farce continued.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked over to see Carl looking at him with a rare expression of sheer warmth in his face. When he spoke, it was with exasperation and a hint of sly humor, “Harry, we never particularly expected anything of you after the war, but to live the way you wanted to. Its not like either of us were particularly goal oriented either.”
Harry Potter felt an odd jolt of something as he looked at both of his friends while they simply watched him. Until this particular moment, he hadn’t realized that he wasn’t expecting them to react based on his own wants and needs. Just like every other wixen he had met, he had been waiting for them to react based on the image others had of the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Man-Who-Conquered: not Harry… just Harry.
A stinging sensation started in his eyes as he looked down at the table, suddenly finding himself fascinated with the wood grain. He heard as George got up and heard the clinking of dirty dishes rising in the air to start cleaning themselves in the sink. A clearing throat and a pat on his left shoulder as he gruffly stated, “Make sure you tell me when you plan to tell the rest, I want to be there to see their reactions.” He left the other two in the room before he made his way back down to the shop, his own lunch break evidently over, whether it was self imposed as the boss or not.
Not really wanting to look up yet, Harry found himself slightly startled when instead of trying to change the topic or ignoring the obviously emotional moment like Ron would have, Carl scooted over and asked, “Want a hug? Or a moment alone? Maybe just some background noise? I can talk about the pygmies all day after all.”
Head shooting up in bewilderment, Harry found himself staring at Carl through wavering vision. Blinking rapidly to try and mitigate any embarrassing displays, he opened his mouth and choked out a questioning, “Hug?”
Carl, for the first time since he had met him again in Fred and George’s home three years ago, smiled a small, sad smile. Instead of answering the questioning non-statement, he simply said, “Ok.” And Harry found himself enveloped in a gentle hug. The embrace wasn’t the harsh sort of squeezing Hermione always gave him when he had scared her with his recklessness yet again, nor was it the questioning awkwardness of Ginny, or the smothering attempts to make up for the lack of maternal warmth from Mrs. Weasley. In that moment, Harry felt for the first time in his life, the hug of an older brother, sturdy yet soft.
For the first time in a very long time, Harry Potter let himself cry.
Five years later:
Diagon Alley was once again bustling, and while there was still an underlying tension different from 2001, the crowds were a result of the general push for school shopping. This particular wix trod a familiar path that he took at least once every week when he could manage, only this time he wasn’t rushing. Notice-me-not charm in place, he meandered from his workplace at Cozy Cottages Architects to meet Carl and George for lunch.
When he had finally fessed up to the rest of his friends and the Weasleys that he was leaving the ministry, he had gotten exactly the reactions he was expecting from all but a few. Neville, Luna, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur and surprisingly Percy had been shocked but not particularly bother one way or the other that he was no longer going to be an auror. Ron had thrown an epic tantrum that his ‘best mate’ was abandoning him, and the row they had gotten into over his hypocrisy and jealousy had strained their relationship quite a bit. Hermione had been horrified to learn that he was not going back to Hogwarts to complete his education, though had been slightly mollified to when he explained that he would be using private tutors, as though she had any say whatsoever in his life choices. The Weasley family had been quite ‘disappointed’ in him and had felt the need to make comments about him ‘giving up’ and turning his families legacy, which did not make him feel anything but resentment. His former brother/sisters in arms had acted as very reluctant to support his decision, but had mostly just sort of ignored him after that, as though he had somehow let them down. The rest of the general public acted like they had been tricked, and fell right back into line with the drivel they normally spouted when he didn’t act like the perfect, shiny, Gryffindor in heroic armor.
Finishing his schooling had been surprisingly easy when there were no madmen hunting him, or, at the very least, none that could get through the extensive warding of Grimmauld Place. When he had taken his NEWT’S and found a new passion for arithmancy and runes, his connections found through Carl had led him to a fascination with building and restoration. Arnold Bowlrench had been hesitant at first, as his firm was more of a family business. However, after going over his test scores and seeing firsthand Harry Potter's passion for learning, he had folded and offered an apprenticeship.
The papers had taken months to move on from his decision to leave the ministry, and then yet another few months from his ultimate career path. Thankfully though, his ‘boring’ job had contributed to a much smaller obsession with following the Savior’s every move. He was still more than a little bit of a celebrity, but when you did as much as you could to retain your privacy and make sure no one in power dragged you back into the cesspit of wixen politics, well, people got bored.
So, as the magical architect made his way up the stairs to the flat that George and Carl still shared, Harry Potter couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of contentment. Nothing was perfect, and he wasn’t as close with the majority of his old friends as he wished to be. The life he was building now, though, could certainly be counted as a decent one.
Knocking on the door a few times, Harry waited for on of the occupants to answer the door. He was surprised however, that when Carl answered, it was with a harried expression on his face as he held a finger to his lips with a wince. He could hear a conversation coming from the now opened flat, and could hear that the words sounded rather terse. Entering as quietly as he could, Harry looked around and couldn’t see anyone in the living room.
Before he could look any further though, Carl motioned for him to follow as he led the way to his room. It took a moment before the doorway closed again to shut out the sound of voices, but Harry realized that the other voice belonged to Ron. Raising an eyebrow in question, Harry grabbed a seat at Carl’s desk as the owner of the room sat on his bed.
Carl’s room had never really felt lived in. This room had once belonged to George, because while his former best friend’s older brother had been more than willing to let Carl stay, Fred’s room had remained untouched for a long time. Carl had tried to get George to just let him camp out in the living room so the other could keep his own space, but at the time George had been sleeping at the rebuilt Burrow to try and soothe his mother’s anxiety. Once George had moved back in, he was ready to pack up Fred’s old things, and found that remaking the flat in a completely different way than before had helped chase out lingering phantoms.
Carl though… while he had become close with George, he could never really call the flat home, and bringing it up tended to lead to an awkward silence. So, as they sat in the room that had the bare essentials and nothing else, Carl spoke up again, “Sorry Harry. Ron’s been making himself a nuisance lately. Trying to guilt trip George into visiting the Burrow more often.”
Harry couldn’t help a wince at that. Although George had joked about wanting to witness the chaos of the Savior’s decision unfold, in truth, he had wanted to be there to shield Harry from any backlash his announcement would create when the Weasley’s were informed. The war had changed the dynamics of all their relationships, but it seemed that whenever Harry was involved, it turned shit.
Jumping suddenly, Harry found himself startled at a sharp pain on his forehead. Nothing bad, just a sudden impact between his eyebrows. Jerking his head up, he saw Carl standing in front of him with a deadpan expression and his hand lowering from where he had just flicked his younger friend.
“Harry, the strain between George and his family has very little to do with you,” when Harry opened his mouth to object, Carl shot him an exasperated look. “No, we aren’t arguing about this…” Carl trailed off for a moment before he heaved a sigh and flicked his wand so that the wooden seat Harry sat on slid across the floor to settle in front of the bed where the blond settled again. For a long moment both men simply stared at each other, neither speaking before Carl looked at the floor for a bit before speaking. “You know, we’ve always had a sort of understanding that no one has ever had to speak about… but sometimes I wonder if maybe we shouldn’t’ve done it that way.”
For a moment Harry found himself confused, but before he could ask, Carl continued.
“We’ll always have each other’s back, yeah? Regardless of what the tosspot’s want to beak off about,” Carl waved his hand as if to indicate the alley, and wixen in general, outside the walls of the flat. Harry found himself nodding in agreement. “When I decided to join the DA, and then when I-… when Jack-… we joined in the final battle, it wasn’t because of you, well, at least not completely. We fought because we understood that it was our freedom on the line… our lives, really. We were a part of the war not because you were, but because the so-called adults gave us no other choice.”
Harry blinked rapidly for a moment, finding himself stumped. Carl never really spoke about Jack, his little brother. The only thing he had ever really heard about him was that Carl had fibbed about where he was going that night in May, but Jack had followed in secret, and then died during the fighting. He had also never really spoken in depth about the war in general. Just bits and pieces that were horrifying on their own and painted an equally depressing picture.
Sucking in a breath, Carl kept going, “When I chose to support you, and face any gits or bloody wankers who think they get to comment on my life or choices, that isn’t your doing. It’s the same for George and his family,” Harry opened his mouth a little less belligerently this time, but Carl simply held up a hand to silence him. “That’s just a part of family, friends and life in general. Humans and any other sentient beings are complex blighters who tend to have more than one motivation for anything we do. You can’t tell me that you aren’t the same, either, Harry. Your involvement in George or Ron’s lives might be a part of some tension in their relationship, but it isn’t like you control either of them. We all make our own decisions and come to our own conclusions. Bloody hell, you haven’t even been that close to the Weasley’s outside George for about four years now.”
Harry thought for a minute, and was reminded of the night he had been moved to the Burrow. Losing the last protections granted by Lily Potter's sacrifice on the Dursley’s old house had left the teen a bit of a mess. Ron’s words had struck a chord as he followed his friend out into the night, and brought home some of the enormity of what they were a part of before the war started in earnest. A part of Harry felt a little silly, and sheepish, for his reflexive need to blame himself for something that didn’t really have much to do with him. Being the focus of so many people tended to get to his head sometimes.
Carl huffed at the understanding crossing his face and smiled ruefully, “Don’t get stuck in your own head little brother, they’re both big boys who can make their own decisions.”
For a second both of them froze as they processed what Carl had just called Harry. Coughing and turning red, Carl looked away with a bit of a wince.
Swallowing, Harry replied, “Right, guess I needed to hear that.”
The silence turned awkward before there was a knock on the door. Carl called out to George and he opened it enough to let them know lunch was ready, already aware that their regular guest was here due to the wards. Harry got up to leave the room, his own cheeks dusted red, before he blurted out, “I know you don’t see a shadow when you look at me. Its ok.” Then he fled to the safety of the kitchen.