London Flat

The lights of London looked like distant reflections of the stars in the clear night sky as Harry neared the outskirts of the city. It was a welcomed sight at that late hour; he should never have allowed Hagrid to convince him that another round at Rosemerta's was a good idea. Regardless of the celebratory mood, it was already past two and in a few short hours Harry was expected to report for his first day of Auror training at the Ministry. He should have been home hours ago. He wouldn't have made the trip at all if he hadn't received an owl from Headmaster McGonagall requesting he pay a visit the previous afternoon for tea in her office. Not altogether an unusual request, the fact that she asked on a Sunday, the day before school term resumed, was a bit odd.

The broom Harry was riding through the cool night air was trailing a bit from the long journey and he couldn't help thinking that his old Firebolt would have made the trip without a trace of over-exertion. But it wasn't Ron's fault; he was kind enough to lend his Cleansweep to him in the first place. It was obvious Harry had put off buying a new broom long enough. The idea of shopping for one was less than exciting. He had the gold, sure, but with three years of training ahead of him, he wasn't in any position to spend it; at least not on any broom that he actually thought worth buying. After having a Firebolt it would be difficult to settle for anything less.

Harry swore as he went into what should have been a graceful dive. Instead, he slid forward several inches as the broom lurched uncomfortably with an alarming jerk. Perhaps he should've apparated after all. As much as he preferred flying, it would have gotten him home sooner and a whole lot warmer.

Nearing the low-lit street where he and Ron shared a flat, Harry slowed, thinking maybe it was time to get that new broom. After McGonagall's request, it would be nice to have reliable transportation, not to mention a proper training tool for all those new first years. That was if he took the job. Harry hadn't decided. It would be fun, sure, teaching Hogwarts students to fly and overseeing all the school's Quidditch matches. But it would be more responsibility when he was just starting a new career. On the other hand, it would be an enjoyable responsibility, with plenty of desirable time away from London in the fresh air of the mountains. It would be time spent at Hogwarts, and with the stress of becoming an Auror, periodic trips home probably wouldn't be a bad idea.

Harry landed with lesson plans on proper flying techniques already forming in his mind. When his feet hit the concrete beneath the light of a flickering street lamp, there was a clash of broken glass and, looking up, Harry saw that he had nearly crashed into a stumbling, rambling drunk who had flung himself against the brick of a shop wall, a broken, leaking bottle of spirits at his feet. "Obliviate," Harry murmured after pulling out his wand and pointing it at the frightened man. The bloodshot look of surprise faded into a dreamy, blank expression and, before the bum came around, Harry was gone, ducking into the shadows of a doorway tucked between dark shop windows.

Inside, a dirty, creaking old staircase rose into the murky light of a single bare light bulb swinging in the breeze caused by the open and closing of the door behind him. Harry, broom in hand, stowed his wand and climbed with weary steps. If he fell asleep immediately he'd still get in a few hours before he had to get up again.

The flat was on the second floor, directly above a muggle electronics shop and right below a dedicated trombone player. The walls were thin, the carpet threadbare, but the rent was cheap and no one seemed to notice when they had the occasional owl sweep through an open window delivering the morning post.

The light was on over the sink when Harry stepped into the cupboard-sized kitchen from the hall, leaning Ron's broom against the wall and dropping his keys on the overloaded Formica table covered in everything from forgotten mail and Weasley Wizard Weezes promotional items to dirty plates with bits of stale toast still on them.

Passing through the tiny living space, avoiding arm chairs and the sharp corners of end tables, Harry moved into the adjoining room where he and Ron shared sleeping quarters. Immediately after entering, he was hit with a small twittering ball of feathers carrying a letter. "Ouch!" Harry grabbed the miniscule owl and turned it over to read the name on the piece of parchment attached to its leg, rubbing his ear where it had hit him. His stomach turned over at the familiar writing.

"He's been bonkers all day wanting to give you that." Ron's voice met Harry in the dark from his pillow on his side of the room.

"Sorry," Harry took the letter, releasing Pigwidgon and going to sit by the window lit up with the light from the street lamp below.

"Must have been quite the tea," Ron turned over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. "What'd McGonagall want?"

"What?" Harry looked up absently, having ripped open the binding on the parchment, eager to read what it said. "Oh, just…just had a question…"

"And that took all night?"

"Ah…no, sorry. Hagrid," he explained. "Hey, when did this come exactly?" he held the letter up.

Ron shrugged, falling back on his pillow ready to fall back to sleep. "Not long after you left. She probably wrote it on the train." There was a hint of disgusted sarcasm muffled by his pillow. "Couldn't wait to tell you all about everything that happened between the station and the first stop past London."

Ignoring Ron's comments, Harry tilted the page to cast more light on the words that flew off the page in a voice so familiar it hurt.

Harry,

I know we just saw one another, but I wanted to thank you for such a great weekend. Granted, Mum kind of drove everyone nutters though didn't she? But it wouldn't be a Weasley family holiday without her nagging, I suppose. George seems to be doing well. I think he likes having Ron around at the shop, though he would never admit it. Anyway, he was more like himself the past few days. Particularly when Dad tried to get those Muggles to teach him how to water ski, I think I laughed more at George's impersonation than of Dad's actual fall. Was it two flying flips or three?

It's good to be back at camp, but from the posted schedule for tomorrow it's going to be a brutal week of training. I saw Wood at dinner and he said the closer we get to a match the harder they work us, and this from the man who used to make you play in gale-force winds and rain. They haven't posted the season schedules yet, but there's a rumor we'll be playing Bulgaria first match, so try to come!

Don't be nervous about Auror training, Harry, you'll do great. How could you not? I wish I could be there to see you off in the morning like you did for me, but I will see you in a few weeks. Maybe we can finish that 'conversation' we were having yesterday. Take care, Harry.

Ginny

Harry re-read the letter three times before folding it and laying it on his bedside table. Lying back on his bed, he stared at the shadows playing on the water-stained ceiling and replayed the best moments of the weekend through his mind. A short holiday at Bill and Fleur's, three days of salty air, sea breezes and Ginny. The night before Harry took her to the train to return to Quidditch training, they had walked the beach at sunset hand-in-hand, talking about nothing and everything. He used to fear never seeing her face, never feeling her fingers entwined in his. Never feel her soft kiss under a careless evening sky. Now they had all the time in the world and nothing to keep them apart; nothing except a professional Quidditch career and Auror training.

Harry rolled over, feeling sleep slowly steal over him. It didn't matter, it was only three years, and Ginny wouldn't play Quidditch forever. Plus, they would always have the weekends.

Ministry of Magic

"Honestly, Ronald, you're going to make us late."

"Then leave! Nothing's stopping you. Don't let me be the one keeping you from your work."

"Relax, Hermione." Harry rubbed his tired eyes, replaced his glasses, and bent to straighten the cuffs of his trousers over his shoes. "We have plenty of time."

"Not if we want to get there early," she argued, pacing the patch of cluttered floor in the sitting room anxiously. "I'm not going to start my first day by being late."

"We won't be late."

"Why are we even waiting for him anyway?"

"That's nice," Ron stuck his head out of the bathroom, mouth foamy with toothpaste, toothbrush sticking from his open mouth. "Such a sweet girlfriend I've got, Harry. Didn't I tell her to go on without me?"

"We're waiting," Harry argued, rising from the sofa and following Ron back into the bathroom to make an attempt at combing down his hair, "because it will be easier to apparate inside Diagon Alley than on a muggle street."

"Yes," Hermione huffed to the door with arms crossed and leaned against the frame just outside. "But we can do that without Ron. Like now," she looked at her wrist watch impatiently.

"Oi," Ron gestured to the fact that he was only dressed in a towel around the waist having just stepped out of the shower, shooing her back out the door. Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Don't be pathetic, you left the door open. Harry, please hurry," she pleaded. "My manual for Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures training is very explicit in its rules on tardiness, and besides that, I want to introduce myself to each of my superiors before hand, get to know them, ask a few questions…"

"A few?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Go get dressed." Turning back toward the bathroom she addressed Harry who was in front of the mirror fixing his tie with some frustration. "I would think you would want to do the same, get to know your trainers, introduce yourself?"

"Introduce himself?" Ron scoffed from the bedroom. "He's Harry, Hermione. I think they know who he is. He knows the Minister personally, I'm sure he'll manage."

"Well, it can't hurt to be proactive," she argued, moving in and straightening the troublesome tie.

"I think you mean pushy," Harry replied, checking his refection one last time.

Hermione frowned. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Harry left the bathroom and headed for the door. "Ron, let's go."

"Hold on, I've got a knot." Ron rushed out of the bedroom holding a shoe with the laces all twisted. "It's a bloody mess, I can't get it undone."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione grabbed the shoe. "What are you, a Squib?" Whipping out her wand, she tapped the shoelace which immediately loosened itself and became straight. "Come on!"

The street below was busy with early morning commuters and no one paid them any mind as they wound their way down the block and around a corner. The flat had many positives besides the cheap rent. Living in the muggle world was something that Harry had never imagined he would want to do again, but since his defeat of Voldemort, life in the Wizarding world had become a bit stressful. Witches and wizards of all sorts had always known his name but his fame had increased ten-fold since his success in taking down the most dreaded wizard of all time. It was welcoming, at least when it pertained to home life, to live among people who could care less who he was and didn't give a second glance to the faded scar on his forehead. Besides that, the flat was in close proximity to the Leaky Cauldron, a must for Ron who worked with his brother George at his shop in Diagon Alley.

Ducking inside the inn, the three of them pushed passed a growing crowd of traveling witches and wizards, some eating breakfast at the bar, others chatting while holding long scrolls of shopping lists. A pair of goblins passed in deep conversation on their way to Gringotts and Tom walked in from the back room carrying a towering tray of tea kettles steaming and whistling over his customers' heads.

Several eyes darted their direction as they politely pushed their way through. Many wished Harry a good day, a few tipped their hats, and even one hunched old wizard with a wart waddled forward and shook Harry's hand. Harry was reminded of his first visit to the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid when he was just eleven and uncomfortably attempted to make a speedy retreat to the alley behind the inn. Maybe they would try disapparating from the flat's rooftop from then on.

Hermione tapped the brick wall of the alleyway with her wand and they waited for the entrance to Diagon Alley to appear before stepping through and quickly making their way down the crowded street to the front entrance of Weasley Wizard Weezes.

"You're late, Ron." George opened the door as they approached, having just unlocked it for business. "Hi-ya Harry, Hermione." He nodded at them with smile. "Ready for your first day then?"

"Yes," Hermione replied anxiously. "And we need to get going. Have a good day, Ron." She said with a rapid kiss goodbye. "See you tonight."

"Yeah, dinner's upstairs," George directed a nod toward the flat he kept above his premises. "We'll celebrate your new career paths. Let's go Ronnie, work to be done. Puking Pastils to sell."

Harry supposed Ginny was right in thinking George was fairing a lot better than he had of late. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, as Hermione tugged his sleeve to get his attention, ready to disapparate into the Ministry. Preparing himself for the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through from one space to another, Harry turned on the spot and landed moments later in the atrium of the underground Magical offices. They had to report to the security desk to have their wands inspected and to be given instructions on where to go. The wizard behind the desk gave them each badges to attach to their clothes declaring them to be in training in their separate departments.

"Isn't this exciting?" Hermione could hardly contain herself as they moved into the long queue outside the lifts to take them to their perspective department levels. "I'm on level four, you're level two." She checked the slips of parchment they had received from security as they finally pushed their way behind the clanking doors of the lift. "Oh I'm so nervous, do you suppose they'll have us immediately working with magical creatures? I'm sure they won't, I mean not the first day."

"Hermione…"

"Oh! This is me. Have fun, Harry. See you!" She bounced out of the lift with flushed cheeks and Harry was only glad that she hadn't hugged him in her excitement as there were several others sharing the small space, all watching him with covert glances.

"Level two?" a voice behind him spoke over his shoulder and Harry turned to look upon the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. Beneath them was a curiously bemused half smile on a young attractive female face.

"Ah…level two, yeah. You?"

"What department?" she asked without answering.

"Auror office," he said, conscious of how close they were in the tight space. Her raven hair fell across her face near his ear as she leaned forward with that close-lipped smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Me too."

"Do I know you?" She seemed vaguely familiar to Harry.

"I doubt it, the only Ravenclaws you spent any time with at school was Luna."

Harry looked at her in surprise, turning slightly and accidentally knocking his elbow against a short, bearded wizard beside him. "You were in Ravenclaw?"

"A year behind you."

Harry racked his brain trying to place her name but came up empty as the lift door opened on level two and they were shunted out into the hall. He hadn't spent much time with many other Hogwarts students in any year but his own, except for his fellow Gryffindors. Even when he, Hermione, and Ron had returned to complete their seventh year, he had lived in Hogsmeade and they had done most of their lessons privately with Professor McGonagall. Harry had finished school alongside Ginny and her fellow seventh years but had hardly known any of them; certainly not the one walking down the hall toward the Auror headquarters.

"I'm sorry," he apologized for not recognizing her.

"Don't be," she shook her head, stopping outside the open door of their training office. Holding out her hand, she gave him a secretive smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, Harry Potter."

He returned the smiled and took the offered hand. "What's your name?"

"Diana." She released it and turned to enter the room. "Diana Wescott."

Harry followed, stepping into a rather cramped classroom of sorts, low-lit with only two small windows allowing in a magically conjured view of sunlight between intermittent clouds. At the front of the room opposite the door was a wall-sized blackboard covered in sprawling chalk writing which wiggled about on its own accord forming a group of instructions one moment before moving on and replacing itself with another. Harry caught the words "decoy" and "transfigure" as they chased one another in a zigzag pattern down the left edge of the board. A small podium stood before it, sheets of parchment littered about its base, rolls of scrolls stacked haphazardly on its surface.

Diana moved off around a row of small tables facing the podium to the opposite corner where several cabinets lined the wall full of books, instructional pamphlets and small devices used for detecting and aiding in capturing, many of which Harry was familiar with. Passing a table at the back of the room, he looked over its contents curiously; miniature foe-glasses, secrecy sensors and other dark detectors he didn't recognize. At the end he stopped, smiling at the small wooden bowl full of a black glittery substance he knew at once to be Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

"What?" Diana moved alongside him, noticing his look of amusement.

"Nothing," he turned as someone new entered the room wearing a heavy traveling cloak. He was young, short in stature but with a thick frame, sleek dark hair that fell past his ears, and a pointed prominent chin. He looked briefly at Harry and Diana, turning away without acknowledgment and briskly removed his cloak to hang it on a hook by the door. Diana exchanged a look with Harry, eyebrows raised.

"Hello," she attempted to engage the newcomer politely.

He turned stiffly as though just realizing they were there. "Oh, hello," he nodded curtly with a brisk American accent before turning back and giving the room a probing once-over.

"You're American," Diana seemed interested.

He looked at her with a pinched, pompous expression. "Raised so, yes, but Canadian born," as if this clarified things. Harry wondered what a Canadian-born American wizard was doing training to be a British Auror, but didn't have the opportunity to ask as they were soon joined by their Superior who walked briskly into the room and, with an unexpectedly booming voice, told them to take a seat so they may begin.

"I am Margaret Dale and I will be your Auror Instructor for the first phase of your training here at the Ministry." She was a robust woman, tall in pointed heels and finely-tailored robes, in her middle years with her light hair pulled back in a very McGonagall-like bun at the back of her head. Her face, however, was as much un-McGonagall-like as was possible. Ms. Dale had a strong jaw with a determined but likeable expression with twinkling eyes that betrayed her sense of adventure and dedication for her position. "These next three years will be a test of your abilities, your endurance on the field and your strength against some of the darkest forces we of the Wizarding race will have to face. Simply because a certain dark wizard is out of the picture," she gave Harry a fleeting dart of the eyes, "doesn't mean everything is as safe as it should be. It will be your job as an Auror to hunt down any and all dangers and eliminate them in a safe and respectable manner before they grow too strong. It is my job to teach you how."

Ms. Dale began their first few hours of training by loading them down with several feet of parchment: legal documents that needed to be read and signed before they could continue. She left them to this, disappearing with instructions to read every word carefully and jot down any questions to be answered when she returned. Not exactly the thrilling start Harry had hoped for, but he settled in at one of the tables and started to read.

You, the Auror-in-Training, hereby accept the responsibilities of the position, henceforth considering yourself under obligation of the Great Britain Ministry of Magic to follow all rules, regulations, and conditions stated in the following…

…any rule breaking or insubordination will result in an immediate expulsion from the training program in which the accused will be given a fair trial under the direction of the Wizagamont in which they may present their case for re-instatement…

…any injuries, amputations, splinchings or spell damage as the result of your training must be reported to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and a hearing will be scheduled to determine the responsibility of the incident in question…

"Amputations and splinchings?" Diana spoke up from her table next to Harry's. He looked over and caught her shaking her head with a smile, clearly more excited than worried. "They're very encouraging aren't they?"

He laughed, leaning back in his chair and picking up the parchment, already tired of reading. "Yeah, especially the part on 'the Ministry is not responsible for any training operations resulting in death…' "

"Where's it say that?" she quickly ducked her head back over her paper, searching for the line.

"Paragraph ten, section B."

"Blimey, I can't wait for that training exercise," she grew visibly giddy. "I wonder what they'll have us do?"

"Perhaps subdue dragons?"

Both Harry and Diana looked around as the American spoke. His head was bent over his contract and after a pause he glanced over it at them with a placid face. "But that wouldn't be a problem for you would it?" There wasn't any humor in the stare that Harry received from him, nor any malice or curiosity. The American was as unreadable as blank parchment.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "It's been a few years; I'm bit out of practice I think."

"Yeah," Diana smiled teasingly. "And I don't suppose they'll allow you to use a broom for many of these exercises."

"I guess I'm in trouble then," Harry replied humorously and faced forward, prepared to plug on through the heavy reading.

"I'm actually quite surprised," the American continued. "I wouldn't think you'd need any training at all, Mr. Potter. I would have assumed they would have just awarded you Minister of Magic right off the bat." There was no mistaking his feelings behind his words this time. Harry stiffened slightly, turning back to look him once again. "Isn't that the majority opinion over here? That Harry Potter is Wizard Royalty?" The American looked at Diana to confirm this, a faint trace of a sneer appearing on his thin lips. Diana didn't oblige him with a reply, though she looked prepared to say something else. Harry cut her off.

"Look, can we just get back to reading?"

"What's your name?" Diana ignored him, addressing the offending foreigner.

"Devon Goldberg," he replied haughtily, removing his gaze and returning to his paper before him on the table.

"And why, Devon Goldberg, are you here?"

"Here, as in London? Here, as in the Ministry, or the Auror office itself? Be clear, woman."

Harry glanced apprehensively at Diana whose eyes flashed like ice in deep water.

"I meant, why are you here wasting space and our time, you unintelligent pig."

Devon regarded her coolly; face falling back into its blank, unmovable stare. "I needed a change of scenery," he said. "Your Ministry had an opening in its training program and they accepted my application. Apparently there were many openings since our friend Mr. Potter changed the course of history and outted many Ministry workers under the employ of a certain dark wizard."

"His name was Voldemort, and yeah, I did," Harry retorted. "Without any Canadian-American help."

"Don't you have your own Ministry to work for?" Diana regarded Goldberg with deep dislike.

"Your European charm is so welcoming."

"Your American chauvinism is appalling."

"Can we get back to reading?" Harry repeated, speaking over then both. "Ms. Dale will be back soon and she expects us to be finished."

Diana held her cold glare a prolonged moment before she turned with a flick of her long hair and settled roughly in her seat. The room fell silent and Harry attempted to focus on the contract, pushing away feelings of anger toward Goldberg and his opinions. It was the same everywhere, either overdone expressions of gratitude or sneering dislike and jealousy. Harry just wished everyone would forget about what he had done and get to know him for what he could do. He didn't want to just get by on his famous name; he wanted to learn like everyone else how to become the best Auror he could be. But he should have known it wouldn't be that easy, that there would always be guys like Goldberg reminding him of the view the world had for unintentional heroes.

Ms. Dale returned to collect their paperwork and released them for a short break before she gave them a tour of the facilities. Harry and Diana left Goldberg to his own devices and stepped into the hall to take a stroll and stretch their legs.

"What a little wanker," she retorted as soon as they were out of earshot, passing the water cooler and several open office doors with flying memos zooming in and out.

Harry agreed with her whole-heartedly but gave Goldberg the benefit of the doubt. "He probably just feels threatened, you know, being from America and coming here."

"Well, he never should've left then," she wasn't sympathetic. "Ooh, look!" Diana pointed excitedly at a closed door at the end of the hall labeled 'Evidence.' "Come on," grabbing Harry's arm she dragged him toward it, prepared to enter.

Harry looked hesitantly over his shoulder at the deserted hallway. "I don't think we're supposed to just go snooping around—look, see it's locked."

"No worries," she took out her wand and tapped it, releasing the lock with a click. Harry thought that the Auror offices should have considered a more sure-proof way of keeping people out than that.

Diana pushed open the door on a long cool storage closet lined with shelves. Pulling Harry inside, she shut the door and enclosed them in darkness. "Lumos," her wand ignited, reflecting in her eyes before she directed it around the room, carefully inspecting the objects on the crowded shelves. Harry saw such things as threatening looking daggers with little tags labeled with serial numbers and signed with a department wizard's initials. There were boxes of papers labeled 'testimony' and dusty jars of incased memories. Holding up his own wand, Harry lighted it to read the scrolling writing on the curling paper labels. A name on a rust colored bottle caught his eye, causing him to stop. Moving an obstructing bottle for a better view, he looked closer. The inscription on it read: 'evidence for R. J. Lupin given by A.P.W.B.D.' Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"Hey, check this out!" Diana whispered excitedly from farther down the aisle, holding up a clanking chained steel trap with razor sharp teeth. "I can just imagine what crime this was evidence for."

Harry wasn't listening, holding the bottle with Lupin and Dumbledore's names written on it, wondering himself what crime his god-son's father had committed that Dumbledore had to give evidence for.

There were voices outside the door, and nearly dropping the memory, Harry hastily replaced it while Diana motioned for him to quickly follow her to the end of the aisle. "Put out your wand!" she grabbed his arm and pushed him into a corner hidden by towering boxes of evidence and dousing her own wand.

"Knox," Harry muttered just as the door swung open and light from the hall streamed in behind two conversing wizards.

"I told Farmers that I put that document on his desk weeks ago, but of course he claims he never got it."

"How would he notice, his desk's the aftermath of a hurricane on top of a tornado."

"That's what I said—" The two walked halfway down the aisle, the first writing something on a envelope while the other held up his wand to give him light. They stored the envelope of evidence on a shelf and turned to leave, berating Farmers for his untidy tendencies.

Harry breathed in relief as the door closed, feeling Diana move beside him in the dark. She re-lit her wand and they looked at one another, chuckling in nervous laughter.

"We should get back," he said, side-stepping her to remove himself from the tight space of the corner.

"Yeah," Diana followed. "Break's over."

Passing the row of shelves stacked with memories, Harry cast a glance over the one he had replaced and, though tempted to take it, he walked on by out the door and back into the hall.

Ms. Dale's tour of the facilities led through more offices buzzing with the chatter of Aurors in their cubicles and work rooms where tests were being done on new potions or devices to change a wizard's appearance or encourage an unwilling wrong-doer to divulge information. In one room, several Aurors were going through what looked like an expanded obstacle course, fighting off every sort of conjured threat to exercise and put to practice their defensive skills. Harry watched with interest as a tall, slim witch blocked a spell and twisted gracefully around to cast another at a boggart which flew out from a curtain in the wall to her left.

"This is more like it," Diana's face lit up with anticipation.

"Don't get too excited, Miss Wescott," Ms. Dale called over her shoulder, leading them on. "You're several months away from this stage of your training."