Lightning & Thunder
As the resounding roar of thunder reverberated across London city, the magical community wondered about the mysterious source of thunder that boomed through the city streets. Devoid of any visible tempestuous skies, the bewilderment deepened, confounding even the erudite Unspeakables well-versed in the mystical arts, which led to the whispers of conjecture and suppositions amidst the magical community. It was evident that something truly extraordinary and unprecedented was occurring within the heart of London city.
Following the closure of an office door, a dishevelled man with his hair pulled back let out an audible groan. His intense emerald eyes fixated on the door, daring anyone else to interrupt his moment of solace. The ongoing storm outside had inundated his life with an endless stream of requests and questions from both wizards and witches. Despite the Ministry of Magic's official statement that the storm was not caused by magic (reports of tests confirming this), individuals continued to demand answers from him. Despite declining the position of Head Auror, they persisted in asking him to save them and sacrifice his life for their sake, time and time again. He was none other than Harry Potter, the legendary hero, yet all he wished to convey was that he was just Harry, a single father of three. His entire life now revolved around those three souls. He could no longer recklessly put himself in harm's way as he used to. His family depended on him, and he couldn't bear to leave them orphaned like he was.
"Potter!" Harry's door flung open, revealing a redhead in an auror uniform.
"Bones", Harry droned. "Do you not know how to knock." His green eyes looked at her boredly.
"No. Not after what you have just done!"
"-and what have I done?" Harry rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.
"You rejected the head Auror position!" Bones slams her hand down on his desk. Harry doesn't flinch. "Do you know who they have in mind for it now?"
"Who?"
"Tiberius Mc-Fucking-Laggen!" the redhead fumed.
"Oh shit..." Harry groaned.
"Oh shit, indeed", Harry stared blandly up at her as she glared down at him, "instead of having a kind but strict head who would have treated us all equally and respectfully. We will now have a misogyny, conceited pillock!" Bones pushed herself back off his desk and took a deep breath in. "But be thankful that Hermione and I have some sway over the others and an added bonus that Kingsley is on our side. Also, it helps that Mclaggen isn't an auror." Bones plopped herself in the chair across from him and looked at him sternly. "You've got a year-"
Harry sits up straight and glares at her. "No-"
"Shut up, Potter. You have a year to make a decision. By then, Lily will be in primary, and you will have eight hours free, five days a week." She cut him off. "You have been a trainer for three years, giving the department the best newbies we have ever seen. You bring out the best in all the Aurors, and they are loyal to you. How do you think they will react when someone like McLaggen gets the position that is meant for you? They will Revoult!"
Harry does flinch. He can imagine the chaos in the department, even the country if someone like McLaggen took the position. "Even with a year up, I will still say no. I have my three kids to think about. I can't put myself in dangerous situations that could leave my children orphaned!" Harry raised his voice, his anger coming out. He couldn't understand why everyone was so desperate for him to take the position. "My kids come first!"
"Oh fuck off", Bones retorts. "You're just scared," she shouts back. "My aunt was my only family, and she took the Head position. And she had plenty of time to care for me. Plus, we both know the position is a cushion job. Why else would someone like McLaggen even be a choice for the position? You don't go out in the field! It's why my Auntie worked her bloody ass off to get that position. But here you are-" she looked at him with disdain. "They offer it to you on a silver fucking platter, and you say no! Bloody, take that position, Potter, and your kids will know you will be safe and coming home every night. Staying here as a teacher only puts you at risk! The new head can pull you out and put you back in the field at any moment! Just because you got a good deal with Robards doesn't mean you will get it again. McLaggen will throw you into every mission and parade you like a shiny toy."
Harry watched Bones roughly push the chair back to stand, glaring down at him. "You've got a year," she said before exiting his office with the door slamming behind her.
***
"Seriously, Hermione, who gave her the right to dictate my life?" Harry's voice was exasperated and frustrated as he stormed into Hermione's office. She remained focused on her paperwork, seemingly unphased by his entrance. "Look, Hermione, I appreciate your concern, but she's not seeing the full picture here," Harry's tone was tinged with annoyance. "It's not just about my kids. It's about the promises I made, the sacrifices I've endured. I can't just throw that all away for the Head Auror position."
Hermione finally looked up, her dark brown eyes meeting his emerald gaze. Her expression was determined. "And I'm not suggesting you should, Harry. But sometimes circumstances change, and we have to adapt. You, of all people, should understand that. Like this storm outside, sometimes unexpected things force us to reevaluate our choices."
Harry scoffed, his scepticism clear. "Comparing my life to a storm? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed, her resolve unwavering. "You know what I mean, Harry. This storm, this mysterious thunder—it's a symbol of change, of things beyond our control. Just like your situation. You can't always predict what's going to happen."
Harry's eyes widened as a new thought struck him. "Hold on, Hermione. This storm has nothing to do with magic. It's a natural phenomenon. I can't draw parallels between that and my situation."
Hermione's eyes flashed with a mix of determination and exasperation as she leaned forward, her voice lowered. "And who's to say what's truly natural and what's influenced by magic? The Unspeakables, for instance, keep secrets until they fully understand them. Just like this storm, they are keeping quiet. We don't have all the information. But I've heard the whispers spreading through the department of mystories?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Whispers? What are you talking about?"
Hermione leaned in closer, her tone conspiratorial. "Rumors among the old magical families speak of two ancient spirits, long lost to history, might be awakening. Whispers say they have the power to control the four elemental spirits."
Harry's scepticism remained, but curiosity flickered in his eyes. "Ancient spirits controlling the elements? It sounds like a fairy tale."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her expression serious. "Remember the Deathly Hallows, Harry? We thought those were legends, too, and they turned out to be real. Our understanding of magic is limited; just because something seems fantastical doesn't mean it's impossible."
Harry's eyes widened as he made the connection. "You're suggesting that these spirits could be real?"
Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm suggesting that the line between myth and reality is thin in our world. The Unspeakables are researching these whispers because they recognize the potential truth behind them."
Harry sighed, his scepticism still present. "All this talk about storms and ancient spirits—are you trying to distract me? To manipulate me into taking the Head Auror position?"
Hermione's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and mild indignation. "Harry, I would never manipulate you, and you know it."
Harry's tone dripped with sarcasm as he raised his hands in mock quotation marks. "Oh, of course not. It's just a coincidence that you are comparing my life to a storm and weaving tales of ancient spirits. It's almost like you're trying to trigger my 'people-saving' complex."
Leaning forward, Hermione rested her hands on the desk. "You're being facetious, Harry. And you're missing the point. Just because something is hard to believe doesn't mean it's untrue. The Unspeakables investigate these whispers precisely because they don't dismiss unusual occurrences. The hallows if they found out you had all three." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't think I haven't noticed that they keep returning to you. Like the storm, you would be just as thoroughly investigated by them."
Harry reclined in his chair, a hint of defensiveness in his posture. "So, I'm supposed to start believing every fantastical tale that comes my way?"He rolled his eyes. "Hermione, I have yet to meet Death... so it undoubtedly looks like I'm no master of Death. It was just a silly tale. The three brothers created to cause chaos."
Impatience tinged Hermione's voice. "Certainly not, Harry, but you shouldn't dismiss possibilities outright either. The Unspeakables pursue these whispers because they recognize that magic and reality are often woven together in ways we can't fully grasp. Just like the Hallows, for example—originally dismissed as a legend but turned out to be real. And just because you haven't truly met Death in the way the tale suggests. Who's to say that your encounter with Dumbledore at the train station wasn't a metaphorical meeting with Death? So take This storm, for instance, this enigmatic thunder reverberating through the magical community—see it as a symbol of change, of circumstances beyond our control. The future can't always be predicted. But we can forge something out of it."
Harry rolled his eyes, his sarcasm once again evident. "So now my life is like an uncontrollable tempest?"
Hermione's patience seemed to waver slightly, her tone firm. "Harry, stop twisting my words. I'm not trying to paint your life as a dramatic metaphor. I'm suggesting that sometimes, even the most unexpected events can lead to opportunities for growth."
Harry sighed, his frustration and scepticism mingling. "Opportunities for growth? Is that what this whole Head Auror thing is to you?"
Hermione leaned back, her gaze steady. "Yes, it is. Just like the storm, it might seem chaotic and uncertain right now. But storms pass, and when they do, they often leave behind a fresh start, a chance to rebuild. Your situation might feel overwhelming, but it's a chance for you to step into a role that could make a lasting impact."
Hermione's words hung in the air, countering the rumbling storm outside. The atmosphere in the room seemed charged as if the conversation itself were caught in the crosscurrents of opposing viewpoints.
Harry leaned back in his chair, his expression weary. "You're talking about fresh starts and lasting impacts, Hermione. But all I want is to take care of my kids. They've already lost so much, and I can't bear the thought of them losing me too."
Hermione's eyes softened, her voice gentle. "Harry, I understand your fear. Losing Ginny was a terrible tragedy, and I can't imagine how difficult it's been for you and the kids. But you're not alone in this. You have friends, family, and a support network that cares about you and your children. Taking the Head Auror position doesn't mean you're abandoning them—it means you're using your strengths to protect them and others in a different way."
Harry's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his internal struggle evident. "I know I have support, Hermione. But being a Head Auror would mean putting myself in the line of fire again, potentially leaving my kids without anyone."
Hermione's response was swift, her voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Harry, you need to understand that the position of Head Auror doesn't necessarily mean you're heading into the frontlines. In fact, it's often more of a leadership and strategic role. The department needs someone who understands the field and can make informed decisions to protect everyone, including yourself."
Harry shrugged. "I can still do that as a teacher."
Hermione leaned forward, her expression intense. "Harry, I want you to consider something. Staying as a teacher might seem safer, but have you thought about what could happen if McLaggen becomes the Head Auror?"
Harry's brows furrowed in thought. "What do you mean?"
Hermione's voice grew more urgent. "McLaggen is known for his recklessness and arrogance. If he takes the position, he might disregard safety protocols and put you and others in unnecessary danger. He might use you as a pawn to prove himself without truly caring about the consequences."
Harry's eyes widened as he began to see the bigger picture. "You're saying that staying as a teacher might not necessarily keep me out of danger if someone like McLaggen has control?"
Hermione nodded emphatically. "Exactly. The Head Auror has influence over assignments and decisions. If someone like McLaggen is in charge, he could put you on unnecessarily risky missions. And he might not prioritize your safety."
Harry sighed, his frustration mixing with a growing sense of concern. "So, either way, I could be in danger."
Hermione's voice was firm as she leaned in closer. "Yes, but by taking the Head Auror position, you'll have a say in department policies and strategies. You can ensure that safety is a priority for yourself and all the Aurors under your command. You have the experience and the respect of your colleagues. Use that to protect yourself and others."
Harry leaned back in his chair with a sigh, his weariness apparent. "I'll think about it, Hermione. I promise."
Hermione's eyes held a mix of understanding and determination. "Good. Just remember, you have time. Susan and I managed to get you a year to make your decision. It's not something you have to rush into."
Harry managed a small smile. "You're relentless, Hermione. Always pushing."
Hermione grinned back, unapologetic. "It's for your own good."
Harry checked his watch, realizing the time. He stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. "Thanks for the talk, Hermione. It's almost time to pick Lily up from nursery."
Hermione nodded, her expression softening. "Take your time, Harry. We're here for you, and give Lily my love?"
As the two friends shared a parting look, the storm outside maintained its unyielding rhythm, a mirror to the tumultuous conflict stirring within Harry's chest. With a weariness etched into his features yet a tenacious glint in his eyes, he departed Hermione's office, his thoughts an intricate dance of contemplation and determination. The resonating cadence of their dialogue echoed in his mind, interweaving with the distant growls of thunder. It served as a poignant reminder that even amid the tempests of existence, the courses he charted were sculpted by his own hands.
***
Amidst the casual bustle of the café, Harry's unwavering gaze took in the scene. His emerald eyes swept over the interior, observing the ebb and flow of patrons engrossed in their own conversations and the soft hum of activity from the staff as they navigated the orchestrated chaos of serving customers. Seated by the window, he found himself drawn to the world outside, where raindrops danced their melancholic ballet against the glass surface. The rhythmic tapping created a soothing cadence, starkly juxtaposing to the tempestuous currents of thought churning within him.
With an hour to spare before he needed to retrieve Lily, he had sought refuge in the familiar haven of the café. It was a brief respite from the intricacies of his life—a sanctuary where he could immerse himself in the mundane symphony of chatter and savour the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, carrying him back to the days when he, Ron, and Hermione would frequent such places during their Hogwarts years, finding solace in the simplicity of these moments.
Outside, the storm seemed to mirror the turbulence of Harry's thoughts. His gaze remained fixed on the rain-soaked streets, his mind navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of his memories and uncertainties. Amid the welcoming ambience of the café, he grappled with his own inner storm. The past weighed heavily on his shoulders, the present seemed veiled in mist, and the future remained a realm of enigmatic possibilities.
His fingers drummed absently on the table, marking time with the rhythm of his thoughts. His attention was momentarily arrested by the sight of the red-haired waitress approaching, her steps punctuated by an inadvertent stumble. It was a subtle reminder of her previous encounters with him—memories of spilt coffee, nervous energy, and the resulting endearing awkwardness. He couldn't deny the weariness that clung to these interactions, leaving a faint sense of trepidation in their wake. Her unfathomable nervousness around him had perplexed him from the outset.
Yet, a shift in the atmosphere caught his attention—a chime as the café's back door swung open, heralding the arrival of a new presence. Harry's gaze shifted, drawn to the figure that entered. His eyes fell upon a young woman adorned in shades of blue, an image that effortlessly captured his focus. Strands of dark, curly hair were artfully tied atop her head, with a silvery strand of hair that added an unexpected touch of uniqueness. He couldn't help but notice the hue of her hair—a shade darker than his own, carrying a subtle hint of blue when the light kissed it just right. However, it was her eyes that held him captive.
Ocean eyes. The words resonated in Harry's mind as he gazed back at her, captivated by the striking colour that met his gaze. The familiarity of her eye colour wasn't lost on him; it bore a resemblance to his own gaze. Yet, these eyes held a depth beyond the surface—a chasm that seemed to contain the very essence of the ocean itself. They were the colour of a Patronus charm—those shimmering guardians of light and hope.
Her eyes were like twin lumos spells, casting a radiant glow that reached into the depths of his soul. They held the same warmth and protective light that his own Patronus carried—the stag that had stood as a symbol of his father's sacrifice and his own resilience. He glimpsed a kindred spirit in her eyes, someone who carried her own stories of triumph and tribulations, just as he did.
But there was more to it than just the colour. The woman's eyes held an emotional resonance, much like the sensations one felt when casting a Patronus charm. A mixture of happiness, hope, and a touch of sadness—the complex cocktail of emotions that made up his happiest memories and provided the strength to ward off the darkest of creatures. It was as if her eyes were a reflection of his own Patronus, a mirror image of the magic that had always been a part of him.
As their gazes locked, the connection felt stronger than mere coincidence. It was as if their eyes held the same enchantment, the same incantation whispered to the universe—a shared secret that bound them together. Just as his Patronus bore the power to dispel darkness, her eyes seemed to radiate a light that could illuminate even the murkiest corners of his heart.
Time seemed to slow as the waves of recognition and connection washed over him. It was a recognition beyond appearances—an affinity that transcended the ordinary and tapped into the wellspring of magic that flowed within their souls. In those ocean eyes, he found a sanctuary where the storms of life could be calmed and the tides of fate redirected.
Her gaze held a captivation that was both inexplicable and undeniable. It was like an invisible thread tugging at his senses, drawing Harry closer. He felt an unmistakable surge of magic, an enchanting force that transcended the ordinary. Her eyes seemed to hold a magnetic pull, inviting him to explore the depths they concealed, to unravel the mysteries they harboured.
But their connection was as ephemeral as it was intense. The spell was broken as the red-haired waitress hastened over, redirecting her attention to the waitress with the ocean eyes. Harry's heartbeat quickened, a shiver coursing down his spine in response to the abrupt end of their shared gaze. As he averted his eyes, he couldn't deny the lingering imprint of their connection. Raindrops trailed down the windowpane like the threads of destiny weaving their path.
Even as his gaze returned to the external world, his thoughts remained anchored to the enigmatic woman with the ocean eyes. Her presence had ignited a spark of curiosity within him, an unquenchable desire to unravel the secrets that lay beneath the surface. The tapestry of their lives had intersected in the café—a chance meeting that seemed to hold a promise of something more profound.
Amusement twinkled in Harry's emerald eyes as he continued to observe the scene unfolding around him. The interactions of the red-haired waitress, the ocean-eyed woman, and Mrs. Berry were like vignettes in a larger narrative. Her description of his eyes reducing the red-haired waitress to a "bumbling baby giraffe of goo" evoked his amused smile. The tales of his distinctive green eyes and their effects on others were not new, yet witnessing their impact remained an endless source of lightheartedness.
Mr. Berry's laughter reverberated through the café, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared camaraderie. Harry exchanged a knowing glance with Mr. Berry, an unspoken acknowledgement of the simple joy that these interactions brought. In these moments, the café felt like a community—a haven of connection in a world that often felt overwhelming.
The woman with ocean eyes, graceful and poised, moved closer to his table. Harry's gaze remained steadfast on her, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts churning within him. There was an undeniable magic about her—a presence that transcended the mundane and beckoned to a realm of possibilities. Her patronus-like eyes seemed to hold a reservoir of untapped power, an ancient wellspring of mystique.
In the symphony of their encounter, the magnetic pull between them intensified. Her gaze held an echo of his own emotions—introspection, curiosity, and an undercurrent of melancholy. The air between them seemed to shimmer with an undercurrent of destiny, intertwining their paths in ways they couldn't yet comprehend.
"Black coffee?" she inquired softly, her words carrying a delicate vulnerability that brushed against his senses. It was as if her voice bore the weight of unspoken stories waiting to be shared. In the pregnant pause that followed, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with an energy that defied explanation.
"Yes, thank you," Harry's response resonated with a husky timbre, echoing the myriad emotions that surged within him. Each word seemed to carry a weight, an unspoken connection that stretched between them. As the words left his lips, an almost imperceptible shiver of magic danced in the air, like a faint whisper of enchantment responding to their encounter.
Locked in a wordless exchange, their eyes held steady, unyielding to the passage of time. The café's surroundings faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a shared universe. Her eyes, akin to an unfathomable ocean, pulled him in with an irresistible gravitational force. The tempestuous currents of emotion swirling within her gaze mirrored the storm outside, an intricate dance of chaos and mystery.
In that suspended moment, the boundaries of time and space seemed to blur. Their connection defied reason, an unspoken understanding that bypassed the superficial layers of existence. It was as if their souls had recognized each other, a symphony of convergence that surpassed the limitations of individual lives.
As the ocean-eyed woman gently placed his order before him, their fingers brushed fleetingly, sending a shiver down his spine. A sensation of recognition pulsed through him as if he had rekindled a long-lost memory. The magic that lingered in the air was a testament to the extraordinary nature of their meeting, a reminder that their interaction was no ordinary occurrence.
With his gaze steadfast on the depths of her eyes, a profound realization dawned on Harry. Time appeared to stand still, granting him a glimpse into the depths of her very soul. Within those depths, he saw a reflection of his own desires, fears, and dreams—a connection that transcended the superficial layers of reality. It was a recognition that resonated at the core of their beings, an acknowledgement of shared existence.
He found himself captivated by her eyes, a familiarity that eluded explanation. It was as if they had traversed lifetimes, their paths intersecting across the fabric of time and space. The intensity of their connection was magnetic, a pull that stirred a deep yearning within him. It was a sensation that echoed the tales of ancient bonds, of souls destined to find each other amidst the cacophony of existence.
Observing her closely, Harry marvelled at the intricate choreography of fate and magic that had orchestrated their meeting. Their encounter was more than happenstance; it was a symphony of destiny played out in the language of shared glances and unspoken understanding. Within the depths of her oceanic eyes, he glimpsed the tapestry of a future woven with enchantment and connection.
Her tentative words, "If you need anything, just shout," held a tremor of vulnerability, a fleeting glance into her inner turmoil. Harry caught the shadow of fear that flickered in her ocean-green eyes, an emotion she attempted to mask. As she distanced herself slightly, a pang of regret tugged at him as if his mere presence had unexpectedly stirred something within her.
"I will do," his voice, a mixture of sincerity and huskiness, reverberated with an undertone of shared sentiment. The electric current of connection between them seemed to flow through his words. It was a connection that carried the promise of more, an unspoken invitation to explore the uncharted terrain they had stumbled upon.
He observed her swallow, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes about the emotions coursing through her. The vulnerability she couldn't hide stirred something within him, a sense of protectiveness. Her brisk nod marked the end of their fleeting exchange, leaving an air of finality. Swiftly, she turned, retreating to the comforting embrace of the coffee counter. Harry remained rooted, his posture almost possessive, his emerald gaze unwavering, fixed on her diminishing figure. A smug satisfaction danced in his eyes, an acknowledgement of the effect he seemed to wield. The surge of exhilaration he felt couldn't be denied, the knowledge that his presence had triggered such a response. It was as though a dormant magic within him had awakened, resonating with the currents that flowed between them.
Outside, the storm continued its chaotic overture, a reflection of the tumultuous emotions within him. Amidst the tempest, a clarity emerged—a recognition of the connection he had experienced. He was determined to delve deeper, to unravel the enigma that was the woman with ocean eyes. The spark of curiosity burned brightly within him, urging him to uncover the layers of mystery that awaited.
As he contemplated the intricate interplay of fate and magic that had united them, he couldn't escape the feeling that their meeting held a significance beyond the ordinary. Their connection was a testament to the intricacies of the universe, an orchestration of threads woven together. Amidst the stormy sea of his emotions, he acknowledged the inexplicable truth that their paths were interwoven by the hand of destiny. As his emerald eyes surveyed the rain-soaked world outside, a sense of eager anticipation stirred within him—a yearning for the journey that awaited them.
***