Chapter 1
“Oi, Harry! Over here!” Ron bellowed from a table at the back of the pub, hands waving in the air.
Harry winced as every head in The Green Dragon whipped around to stare at him. For a second, all was quiet and then the pub exploded in excited chatter.
“Oops,” he heard his friend squeak from somewhere in the back of the room, followed by a thump and another “ow!”
Ah, Harry thought with a smile. So Hermione made it after all.
“Harry Potter! What an honour!” an old man next to Harry cried, clutching Harry’s arm as he made his way past crowded tables to get to his friends.
Harry sighed inwardly. He knew it was a bad idea to try somewhere new.
It had been nine years since Harry defeated Voldemort, and people still treated him like some sort of celebrity. He was sick of the hero worship.
It was partly why he became an Unspeakable, to stay out of the spotlight. Instead of soaking up the glory with the Aurors like everyone expected of him, he chose to hide away in the Ministry basement, working behind the scenes to stop growing threats. On the rare occasion that he was sent into the field, it was undercover.
For all the world knew, Harry Potter was a washed up shut in.
But for some reason, the minute he stepped out of his door for a social outing, it was suddenly breaking news.
The voice in his head that sounded too much like Hermione for his liking told him he knew the reason.
It’s because you’re such a recluse. If you would only make a few public appearances every so often…
Of course, it probably didn’t help that Hermione WAS regularly a voice in his head.
She was often his “Q” as Ron liked to call her — and blast it all if Harry didn’t regret introducing his best mate to the wonderful world of James Bond — when Harry was out in the field.
Harry sighed and let the thought go, bringing his attention back to the crowd that had gathered around him. The old man moved his grip from his arm to Harry’s hand, shaking it excitedly as he rambled on about some kind of marketing campaign he would love Harry to sign on to.
As if.
Harry smiled politely and moved away, mumbling an apology as he made his way further into the dimly lit tavern.
He felt eyes tracking him and heard a few wolf whistles as he passed. He clenched his fists against his body and continued walking.
People were getting a bit too bold for his liking ever since it came out that the saviour was once again single. Bloody Prophet.
It took about 20 minutes and three heartfelt thank-yous, a few outlandish pick-up lines and a drunken marriage proposal from a giant who looked to be there for her hen party before Harry finally sat down next to Ron with a sigh.
“So, when’s the wedding?” Ron laughed, nudging Harry in the arm and passing him a drink.
Harry scowled at his friend before gulping at his beer.
“When’s YOURS?” he retorted, wiping his mouth and putting his now half-empty glass back on the table, grinning victoriously as Hermione laughed.
She gave Ron a pointed look. “Well?”
It was a running joke between them. Ron had proposed to Hermione just as soon as the trio completed their so-called eighth year at Hogwarts after the war – and was utterly flabbergasted when she laughed in his face.
She had thought it was a joke. It took some coaxing but Ron finally admitted it was definitely NOT a joke, and YES he was avoiding her because he was heartbroken, and thought this was the end for them.
“We’re just SO YOUNG, Ronald, don’t you want to see who we become without the threat of death constantly looming over us?” Hermione said at the time.
In the end, Ron wanted to do whatever Hermione did as long as it meant they were still together.
That was eight years ago. But despite being together that long, living together for the last three years, and many conversations where Hermione reassured him that she DID want to marry him and he could ask ANY day now – Ron was still terrified to pop the question again.
“What – I…YOU said…Harry!” Ron spluttered as his face turned the colour of a tomato.
“Relax, mate. Only joking.” Harry said slyly, winking at Hermione.
Ron looked at Hermione cautiously and relaxed when she squeezed his hand and gave him a warm smile.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway…you lot ready to order? I’m half starved!”
Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry eyed the menu, nodding his agreement.
“Right, well I’ll have the fish and chips…what, Hermione, it’s FRIDAY and besides, we’re celebrating!”
Harry looked up, ignoring his friends’ bickering over the importance of healthy eating.
“Celebrating what?”
Ron smirked and leaned conspiratorially closer to Harry with a glint in his eye that always reminded Harry painfully of Fred.
“This,” he said, pulling his Auror badge out of his robes and placing it smackdab in front of Harry with a triumphant grin.
Except, it wasn’t the usual brown badge junior Aurors wore in the field. It was a distinguished silver badge with the words “Ronald Weasley, Senior Auror” unfurling in precise block lettering and settling into the shiny surface above Ron’s Auror number at Ron’s touch.
Harry took it in, feeling his face split into a smile, chest bursting with pride for his friend.
“Ron! Mate, this is brilliant! Congratulations! But when – is this what Robards wanted to talk to you about the other day?”
“Yep!” Ron beamed.
Harry hit him on the arm. “You arse! You told me you got in trouble for the Crawley case!”
Ron broke out into another grin, shrugging his shoulders and accepting a kiss on the cheek from Hermione.
“This is amazing, really.” Harry offered sincerely, feeling the weight of the badge in his hands, and the responsibility it carried.
He looked back up to see Ron staring back at him uncertainly.
“Thanks, mate. The thing is…”
Harry narrowed his eyes as his best friend rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“What?”
“Well…with my promotion and everything…erm, someone else will have to be your Auror liaison…”
Harry felt himself relax.
“Is that all? I mean I’ll miss you and everything but I’m sure I’ll make do with another partner for joint missions. For a second there you had me thinking it was something serious,” he laughed. But Ron didn’t join him.
“Well, the thing is…the Auror who’s taking my place is, well, Malfoy,” he mumbled.
Harry choked on his drink.
“What?“ he asked, coughing to clear his airways. “I’m sorry for a second I thought you said it’s..”
“I did. It’s Malfoy, Harry. I’m sorry. He’s the only one qualified for the job.”
Harry sputtered, his glass coming down hard on the table. “Come on Ron, that CAN’T be true! What about…” Harry wracked his brains but came up empty.
When he finally offered Ron a list of names, only to get back “quit, fired, retired, died, quit, in training, too old for in field missions, not a real person,” it became clear Harry wasn’t as familiar with the Auror department as he thought he was.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Sorry, mate.”
“Honestly, you two!” Hermione chimed in, having grown tired of watching the aimless back and forth.
“Malfoy’s not THAT much of a git these days…” she started, biting her lip and sounding unconvincing even to herself.
“And BESIDES,” she continued over Harry and Ron’s twin snorts. “It’s not like you’re out on missions very often Harry, so with any luck, you’re unlikely to cross paths with him at all.”
“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “With any luck.”
**
Three days later, it became evident to Harry that he did not in fact possess any luck.
Of course given his track record of successfully evading death on multiple occasions and then coming back to life when it finally got him, all before the age of 27, some might argue he’d already used up his stores.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the universe was having a laugh at his expense when he walked into work on Monday morning to a memo on his desk requesting his presence at the 1 o’clock Auror meeting for an urgent new assignment.
With a sigh Harry set the memo aside and got to work.