Dirty Politics Chapter 1 (Patreon)

The first chapter of a commission I've been working on for a while. I'll be getting out of doing commissions for a while once I've finished the ones I'm currently working on and have decided to start publishing some of them. Enjoy

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest as he bolted from the burial chamber, pursued by a small army of inferi. The ancient tomb he’d just finished plundering was buried deep in the Carpathian Mountains, and it was only thanks to his ritual-given night vision that he could see more than a foot in front of him.

“You’d think that one of these dark arseholes would think of something more clever than inferi to guard their shit,” Harry thought to himself as he turned down a sharp corner and ran towards the bridge he’d crossed on his way here.

No sooner had he thought that, then a roar sounded behind him, and a twelve-foot-tall monstrosity pushed its way through the crowd. Conjuring a floating mirror in the air above him, he saw that the creature was another sort of inferius, one that looked like it was stitched together from multiple corpses.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t ask for it,” Harry muttered.

As he neared the rickety rope bridge that he’d leapt over entirely the first time he saw it, he sent a couple powerful cutting charms at the ropes, severing them cleanly. As he watched the bridge fall before he reached it, he smirked, for while a normal man might have doomed himself with what Harry had just done, he didn’t need the bridge at all. Having long since mastered flight, he leapt into the air and hovered safely out of reach of the army of the dead. To his disappointment, none of them flung themselves over the edge, and so he didn’t get to watch any fall into the deep, cavernous expanse below.

“All in all, a good day,” Harry said to himself as the massive abomination pushed its way to the front and snarled up at him, its multiple mandibles stretched unnaturally wide. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

Holding his hand out before him, he took a moment to form the complex spell in his mind and then unleashed a massive wave of fiendfyre at the horde. Cursed, magic-consuming flame engulfed the entire cave he’d just exited from, sapping the animated corpses of their pale imitation life as quickly as it seared the rotting flesh from their bones. The large one didn’t last any longer than the others, which Harry thought it might have, but was turned to ash in moments.

Looking around with his high attuned mind more than his eyes, he searched for any hint that something had survived the conflagration, and when he didn’t sense anything, he landed on the other side of the gap that the old bridge had linked and disapparated away.

“Master Harry,” Kreacher in greeting as soon as he arrived. “Firewhiskey?”

“Yes, please,” Harry said, smiling to himself as he sat down in his favorite chair and pulled the prize he’d gone to that dreadful tomb to acquire. “The grimoire of Lugoj Bacsa.”

“So you were successful then, master?” Kreacher asked.

“Quite,” Harry said, checking the book over for any curses. “As a young man, Voldemort sought any writings he could find of this old bastard’s. He’d be green with envy and utterly horrified if he were still around and learned that I’d acquired this book.”

A master of blood magic, Lugoj terrorized much of modern-day Hungary and Romania during the fourteenth century. Harry had no idea just what sort of foul magic he’d find in the man’s grimoire, and he fully intended to lock it away where no one else could find it once he’d finished combing through it.

“A letter arrived while you were out, master,” Kreacher said, “from Hermione Granger.”

Harry put out his hand to receive the letter while thinking of the remarkable progress he’d made with his house-elf. Just a few years prior, he still would have referred to Harry’s old friend as ‘the mudblood.’

Placing the book down, he opened the letter and started reading.

Dearest Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well, wherever you are these days. It occurred to me the other day that you’ve officially been out of my life for as many years as you were in it. I know you had your reasons for leaving, but I still miss you terribly. When last we spoke, Ron said that the next time I wrote to you, I should tell you to hurry up and finish what you’re doing so you can come back. He’s quite busy these days, having been hired as an assistant coach for the Cannons. They’re apparently still dreadful, but he seems to be enjoying himself.

I also find myself in the position of potentially getting a new job. Kingsley has said that he’s going to step down at the end of his current term next year and has persuaded me to run to replace him. If I won, I would be the youngest minister for magic in the history of this country. It will be a great challenge, I know, and I still don’t truly believe that I’ll win, but he seems to think that I have a good chance, and I feel that I owe it to myself and to magical Britain to at least try.

As I prepare to enter this new, exciting phase of my career and my life, I cannot help but think back on all of our old adventures. Despite how challenging, terrifying, and, at times, truly dreadful they could be, those were some of the best years of my life, in large part due to our friendship. I know why you left, and I’ve no idea whether or not you’ve yet managed to find what you were hoping to, but if at all possible, I wish that you could return, even for a short trip. Seeing you again would be a great gift.

Now and forever, your loving friend,

Hermione Granger

Harry set the letter down and knocked back his glass of firewhiskey in one go. Hermione’s fervent desire to see him again tugged at his heart and left him conflicted.

“Is something wrong, master?” Kreacher asked.

“I’m just wondering if I’ve put off returning home for long enough,” Harry replied.

“Does the master want to go back?” Kreacher asked.

“Of course I want to go back,” Harry said, “and I’ve been ready to go back for two years. It’s just…”

Harry paused and stared into the fireplace for a moment.

“I have a lot of memories from Britain, both my own and otherwise,” he said. “Going back there, returning to my old life, if that would even be possible, it’s going to be difficult.”

“Master would have friends in Britain,” Kreacher said, “and it isn’t as though master has not returned before.”

“Seeing Teddy on his birthday is one thing,” Harry said. “This would be different. This would be seeing friends that I haven’t seen in seven years, though, given the current state of my social life, that would still be an upgrade. All I’ve really made since leaving are acquaintances and enemies.”

That and the significant string of women he’d seduced into bed for one-night stands. If not for Hermione’s letter, he’d probably have dipped into the nearest city for just that purpose, looking to celebrate his success with some beautiful company. He read Hermione’s letter over again and was engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. She was right about one thing: for as difficult as those years were, he did have quite a number of very nice memories from them.

“It’s not like I have any leads on other books or magical trinkets I could track down,” Harry said.

“Shall I pack the master’s things then?” Kreacher asked.

“Alright,” Harry said, making up his mind. “I might not stay any longer than I need to to see Hermione, the Weasleys, and Teddy, but we’re going back.”

“Yes, master,” Kreacher said. “Do you want me to pile everything into the mokeskin pouch?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. “Once that’s done, go ahead to Grimmauld Place. I’m going to take the scenic route.”

“As you wish, master,” Kreacher said, getting to work.

Harry stared at the letter again, hoping that he wasn’t going to regret this.

*****

“I suppose that’s it then,” Hermione said, craning her neck and scowling as it failed to crack. “Head home for the night, Olivia.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?” Olivia Myers, her private secretary, asked.

“I am,” Hermione said. “There’s little else that we’re likely to get done tonight and nothing that we can’t deal with on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Olivia said. “Please try not to work all through yours.”

“I make no promises,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

The younger woman just sighed and smiled before turning to leave. Hermione watched her go and buried her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on her mahogany desk.

“I guess the convoluted layout of this place isn’t the only thing that hasn’t changed,” a deep, rumbling voice came from behind her, and Hermione jumped to her feet immediately.

Whipping around, she saw a hulking figure standing by the portrait of her that Ron had commissioned and stuck to the wall without her permission. He was shrouded in shadow that had to be magical in nature, as, while her office wasn’t terribly well lit, she still should have been able to make out all of his face normally. He was exceedingly tall and broad, with wide shoulders and well-muscled arms filling out the white muggle dress shirt he had tucked into black slacks. His hair was black and fell to his shoulders in messy waves, framing what, from what she could see, was a very angular, likely quite handsome face. She drew her wand and pointed it right at him, a dozen different spells of varying levels of danger right on the tip of her tongue.

“Who are you?!” Hermione demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“I disillusioned myself, slipped through your admittedly impressive security, and walked,” the man said, a confident smirk on his face. “As for who I am, I know it’s been a while, but do you really not remember me? It was your letter that made me come back after all.”

“Let…” Hermione trailed off as he canceled the shadow spell and she finally saw his vibrant green eyes.

They were eyes that she’d always thought were too pretty to belong to a boy, and which she’d seldom seen uncovered by glasses as they were then. Their possessor could hardly be called a boy now, either.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice faltering slightly at the mere possibility that her old friend had returned. Well-trained instincts kicked in a moment later, and she hissed, “Prove that you’re you.”

“If our first year, you were convinced that expulsion would be a fate worse than death,” Harry chuckled, and her wand fell out of her hand onto her chair immediately.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione whispered, leaping into his arms, which wrapped around her quickly. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m struggling to believe it myself,” Harry said, holding her tightly.

The two of them clung to each other for a good couple minutes as Hermione felt her heart soar. She had wanted this reunion to happen for so long and would have thought she was dreaming if not for how different Harry looked.

“I can’t believe how you’ve changed,” Hermione said as she pulled back and looked up at him.

“I’m not the only one,” Harry said, running his fingers through her wavy brown hair.

“I finally bothered to learn how beauty charms work; you grew a foot,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t that short,” Harry said in faux offense.

“You weren’t this tall either,” Hermione chuckled. “I’ll get a crick in my neck looking up at you nOW!”

As if on cue, her stiff neck throbbed and her shoulder flinched up as the tight muscle pulled further.

“Let me check that out,” Harry said, spinning her around and massaging her shoulders lightly, just probing to see what he was dealing with.

“That’s not necess...oh God,” Hermione gasped, barely managing to hold in a moan.

“Have you relaxed once since I left?” Harry asked. “These knots are huge.”

“There was this one time in ‘99,” Hermione said dryly, making him chuckle. “I do have a private life, you know. I’m actually meeting Ron for drinks at the Three Broomsticks later.”

“How are you two?” Harry asked as he started really kneading the sore muscles.

“We’re...ah...fine,” Hermione grunted as he worked what she was starting to think might be actual magic. “We might not have worked out, but we ended things amicably, and it’s been years. He’s actually seeing Demelza Robins right now.”

“Whoever you’re seeing has been awfully neglectful,” Harry said. “Your neck and shoulders shouldn’t have been allowed to get this bad.”

Hermione was about to respond when his hands heated up, and she felt her muscles loosen up almost instantly. Unable to stop herself from moaning that time, she marveled at what he was doing as he lengthened her tight, bunched-up muscles back to how they should be. By the time his large, strong hands left her, she felt more relaxed than she’d ever been in her life.

“What on Earth was that?” she asked.

“A couple spells and techniques I picked up in China,” Harry said.

“No wand needed?” Hermione asked, turning to look at him as she tested out her restored range of motion.

“I rarely use a wand at all these days,” Harry replied. At her stunned look, he said, “I’ve learned a lot in my time away.”

“You did manage it, right?” Hermione asked. “You got rid of his memories?”

“Voldemort’s memories are mine,” Harry replied. “It didn’t end up being possible to purge them outright, but I turned out not to need to. The trick was coming to terms with having more than fifty years worth of memories forced into my brain at once.”

“When you left, you were having nightmares,” Hermione said. “I remember you telling me that you recalled all the awful things he ever did.”

“Everything he recalled from his early years to his first death in ‘81 was given to me when the horcrux in my scar was destroyed,” Harry said. “Learning to disassociate myself from the most grizzly of them was the first step and was made easier, ironically, by his memories of learning occlumency. I did find a sage in Bhutan who was a far greater master of the mind arts than Voldemort ever was, though, and he ended up being a great deal of help.”

“So, do you think you might stay?” Hermione asked, hope blatantly clear in her chocolate brown eyes.

Harry sighed, saying, “I’ve gotten rather used to just being a guy rather than Harry Potter in my time abroad. I can’t imagine Magical Britain has forgotten me after just seven years, given the reception I got after a decade away from them.”

“No, you’re more beloved than ever,” Hermione reluctantly admitted. “Can you at least stay a few days?”

“I’ll stay long enough to catch up with everyone,” Harry said. “Beyond that, we’ll have to see.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Hermione said. “Would you like to join Ron and me tonight? I know he’d love to see you.”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Just give me a moment.”

Conjuring a mirror in front of him, he transfigured his face, narrowing his jaw a bit, changing the shape of his nose and lips, and turning his hair red. To finish the look, he changed the color of his eyes to brown, a similar shade to Hermione’s.

“You look like the lovechild of Ron and me,” Hermione chuckled.

“Thinking about what could have been?” Harry asked.

“No,” Hermione said flatly. “I love Ron, but we’re friends and don’t really work as anything else. That wasn’t a compliment, by the way.”

Harry chuckled at that.

“Your human transfiguration has improved a lot,” she added.

“The last several years have been quite educational,” Harry said.

“Unlike the previous several years,” Hermione quipped.

“Hey, I learned a lot at Hogwarts,” Harry laughed. “Not as much as I could have, of course. One thing that Voldemort’s memories showed me was just how bad a student I could be at times.”

“You were still top of our year in defense,” Hermione said.

“Well, I was given extracurriculars in that particular subject every year,” Harry chuckled. “Shall we go?”

He offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitating, feeling her pulse quicken when she felt his muscles under her fingers. It amazed her just how much he had changed since they last saw each other.

*****

“Ah, Hermione...who’s this?” Ron asked, his brow furrowing as he spotted the man next to his oldest female friend.

“An old friend,” the man said, sounding amused and holding out his hand. As Ron shook it, the man added, “I swear these bones still feel different from the old ones, but that’s what I get for letting a foppish fraud try to heal me.”

“Hea…” Ron trailed off, his eyes widening as the realization hit him. He looked to Hermione. who nodded her head, and then pulled Harry in for a one-armed hug, saying, “I was beginning to think you’d never come back.”

Harry returned the hug, pleased that his best mate had the presence of mind not to mention his name. The disguise should have been enough of a clue that he didn’t want his identity broadcast to all and sundry, but back in school, Ron had had a habit of putting his foot in it when he got emotional. The disguised wizard found himself wondering just how much his old friend had changed in the years since he’d last seen him.

“I’ll go get us drinks, my treat,” Ron said.

“Thanks, Ron. A glass of elven white, please,” Hermione said.

“Butterbear will be fine,” Harry said. “It’s been years since I had the stuff.”

“Alright,” Ron said, smiling as he went to the bar to order.

As Harry sat down, he said, “He acted more like Mr. Weasley just there than the bloke I remember.”

“You’re not the only one who’s changed over the years,” Hermione said. “Ron’s a lot more settled and mature than he used to be. Mum’s the word until he says something, but he’s planning to ask Demelza to marry him on their next anniversary.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “I’ll have to see her again while I’m here.”

He recalled his old teammate well enough, but she had only been on the team in his last year at Hogwarts, and he hadn’t spoken to her more than just in passing before that.

“I think with Ginny so settled with Luna and all of his brothers married, it’s dawned on him that it’s time to get serious,” Hermione said. “He’s been mad about her for ages anyway.”

“Well, good for him,” Harry said. “You aren’t exaggerating about us all changing, though, are you? You’re seriously running for minister at twenty-four?”

“I was surprised to learn that there wasn’t a higher age limit in place, but yes,” Hermione said. “I’m not even the only one our age running. As a matter of fact, of the four likely candidates, only one is older.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “This place really has changed.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Hermione said. “I still think Ogden’s the likely shoo-in due to his age, but the minister insists that I have a real shot.”

“So, what on Earth have you been up to all these years?” Ron asked.

“Quite a bit,” Harry said. “The last thing was…”

“Ron, Ron!” a rather portly man exclaimed as he rushed to their table.

“Higgens?” Ron asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Dorkins needs to see you,” Higgens gasped, panting for air.

“What, now?” Ron asked incredulously. “I’m in the middle of something here.”

“Richards got caught gambling,” Higgens said.

“What?” Ron asked.

“The league’s coming down on him like a rampaging troll,” Higgens said. “Fines up to his arse and a lifetime ban. Dorkins needs a new head coach before Saturday’s game, and he wants you to take the job.”

“I...I…” Ron stammered.

“Now, it’ll be interim to start, but if the team continues to improve as they have, Dorkins is open to giving you the job outright,” Higgens said.

“I,” Ron said, looking at Harry with a face full of indecision.

“Go,” Harry said. “I’ll be in Britain for a little while yet.”

“Thank you,” Ron breathed, sounding like he was half-convinced that he was dreaming.

“Higgens, is it?” Harry asked. “Could you apparate him over? The last thing the team needs right now is for him to splinch himself in his state.”

“Quite right, sir,” Higgens said. “Coming Ron?”

“Right,” Ron said. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Later, Ron,” Hermione said, “and good luck.”

“What she said, mate,” Harry said, smiling.

The two men rushed off, and Harry grabbed Ron’s butterbeer, which he hadn’t even had a chance to touch yet, as well as his own.

“So who else is running?” he asked.

“Susan Bones,” Hermione replied, “and Daphne Greengrass.”

“Daphne, Daphne,” Harry mumbled, trying to recall the name. “Slytherin right?”

“Are you concluding that because you remember her or because you don’t?” Hermione asked.

“The latter,” Harry said. “I recall a Cygnus Greengrass who stubbornly refused to join Voldemort’s cause despite their shared politics, but I can’t recall Daphne.”

“Blonde, quite pretty...actually that’s her in the third booth from the corner to our right, sitting with her best friend, Tracey Davis,” Hermione said.

“Ah,” Harry said as he discreetly glanced at them. “They do look vaguely familiar. Susan, of course, I recall from the D.A.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “She’s changed a fair bit as well.”

“I’d imagine,” Harry said. “So, what’s everyone’s basic political position?”

“Tiberius Ogden is as status-quo a politician as you can get,” Hermione replied. “That is one of multiple reasons why I expect him to win. Things are good in Magical Britain right now, and as much as I’d like to push for more radical changes, at least in the muggle world, the appetite for that sort of thing only really comes in difficult times. Greengrass is more of a traditionalist than Ogden, and frankly, if she had her way, the Wizengamot would be the sole government body in this country. She actually sided with me when I got greater protections for house elves implemented, but seems to have little use for the Ministry at large. As for Susan, well…”

“What?” Harry asked when Hermione trailed off.

“I don’t think Susan ever got over the death of her aunt,” Hermione replied. “She was like a bloodhound the moment she became an auror, and most of the Death Eaters who escaped justice in the immediate aftermath of the war were brought in by her, and rarely in one piece. By sheer reputation and force of will, she’s already become Head Auror.”

“Impressive,” Harry commented.

“The problem is that she doesn’t just view the Death Eaters as a problem,” Hermione said. “She’s successfully lobbied for increased funding for the DMLE and managed to train a much larger force of aurors and hitwizards, but the complaints coming in about excessive force have been mounting. She also seems to be entirely too fond of the sort of magical regulations that the American Congress uses, and I honestly think that, given the chance, she’d turn this place into a police state.”

“I see,” Harry said. “What about you?”

“I want a fairer society,” Hermione said. “I want the ministry to have more control over creating the laws. I want stronger libel laws to stop the press from being used as a weapon and more stringent laws against bribery. Those are positions I have in common with Susan, as it happens. I think it’s frankly ridiculous that the law is still handled by an unelected body of nobles, and while I know removing the Wizengamot entirely would be nigh-impossible, filling its ranks with people who reflect the larger population would be a good compromise. On the whole, I just want to ensure that this is no longer a country where idiots like Fudge and monsters like Umbridge can hold positions of power, because while Kingsley has done wonders for clearing out the rot, I fear it could return if the greater foundation isn’t changed.”

“So a rather progressive platform,” Harry surmised. “Greengrass and Ogden will likely split the more traditionalist vote, while Susan will attract people who would be more willing to vote for you than either of them but are still quite angry about the war. Do you think some compromise could be found with her? Offering her her aunt’s old job in exchange for dropping out and endorsing you, for instance.”

Hermione smiled widely at Harry, impressed by how quickly he grasped the political situation. It wasn’t that complicated, and his suggestion wasn’t groundbreaking, but considering how utterly disinterested in politics he had been before, it was yet another sign of how much he had matured and changed.

“Merlin, if he had been anything like this back at Hogwarts, I don’t know if I would have been able to string two sentences together around him,” she thought to herself. “I wonder if he’s seeing anyone.”

“That was something that I hoped to accomplish before today,” Hermione replied, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger, “but Susan was dealt a pretty harsh blow in the Wizengamot earlier, and it’s made me reconsider.”

“Oh?” Harry asked.

*****

“You should have seen the look on Bones’ face,” Daphne cackled.

She was usually more reserved than that, especially in public, but she rarely had this big a reason to feel pleased with herself. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t silenced their booth anyway as soon as their wine arrived.

“I take it her proposed reform bill is dead on arrival?” Tracey asked.

“Even bloody Longbottom looked uncomfortable when Ogden asked her if she really intended to require people to seek a permit just to carry their wand,” Daphne chuckled.

She was about to continue boasting when the woman she had so thoroughly outmaneuvered entered the pub and made a beeline for their booth.

“You utter cow,” Susan hissed.

Daphne smiled and pointed for her to sit down, tapping her ear and mouthing the words, “silencing charm.”

“Getting the Prophet to publish that filth is low, even for you, Greengrass,” Susan snarled as she sat down, “and don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.”

“The Daily Prophet is an institution in this country, Bones,” Greengrass said. “To suggest that they would take orders from members of the Wizengamot is an sult to them and just shows how out of touch with Britain you are.”

“It’s not going to work, you know,” Susan said. “The people of this country are too smart to fall for something this blatant.”

“They’re your words, Bones,” Daphne said. “Whichever proud Brit informed the paper of your conversation with Ambassador Leyland was just doing his or her duty to the country.”

“Those quotes were taken wildly out of context,” Susan hissed.

Daphne smirked, steepling her fingers under her chin, and said, “That really doesn’t matter. All that the people of this country are going to hear over the next several weeks is that Susan Bones wants to bring American-style tyranny to the shores of free Britain. I am so looking forward to the debates.”

“This isn’t over,” Susan snarled before leaving the booth.

“She isn’t wrong,” Tracey said. “I still say that this would have been a better bombarda to drop just before the vote. The public could forget, or worse, grow numb to our repeated advertising about the topic.”

“A risk worth taking if it can stop Bones and Granger from teaming up,” Daphne said. “Granger has her smarts and her lasting connection to Potter, but she lacks Bone’s political acumen. Bones knows how to make deals and get idiots on her side. She’s not as inflexible as her aunt was and is more than willing to use her sex appeal to her advantage. Half the lecherous old pigs in the Wizengamot who side with her do so because of her tits alone. Together, they’d be a formidable pair, but Granger doesn’t want to turn Britain into a police state, and she’s smart enough to realize that if Bones is being smeared for wanting to bring American-style regulations to Britain, she has no hope of securing Goblin funding for her campaign.”

“The little blighters are less than fond of the yanks,” Tracey said.

“Even less than they are of us,” Daphne said. “With one simple article, timed just before Bones was set to bring a proposal to the Wizengamot, I’ve made her toxic. It won’t last forever, of course, but it should stick long enough to ruin her campaign this time around.”

“Who’s that with Granger?” Tracey asked, noticing their political rival walk in. “Looks like he could be another Weasley.”

“Merlin forbid,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes. “Hmm, no, he’s not one of them. The most likely Weasley is sitting there, waiting for her. This guy isn’t Percy, or the one who runs the joke shop. He’s too young to be the curse breaker, and if I recall correctly, the one who works with dragons is shorter and stockier.”

“Weasley’s embracing him like family,” Tracey commented, and Daphne felt her run go cold.

“Damn it!” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Tracey asked, turning back to her and looking concerned.

“There’s only one man I can think of who Ronald Weasley would look that pleased to see other than one of his brothers,” Daphne muttered, burying her face in her hands.

“Potter?!” Tracey exclaimed, looking back at them for a moment, before returning her gaze to Daphne. “That could be a complication.”

“Understatement of the bloody century,” Daphne groaned. She laughed humorlessly then and said, “I go to all this trouble to cripple Bones’ campaign so she can’t team up with Granger only for the little swot to bring back bloody Potter.”

“It might not be him,” Tracey said.

“Let’s hope it’s just her new muggle boyfriend,” Daphne said, “because if it is Potter and he starts helping her out, she might have a better shot at becoming Minister than any of us.”

*****

“So, can I count on your endorsement?” Hermione asked.

Harry took a long, slow breath at that. “That would involve speaking to the press.”

“I know your history with them is terrible, but they’re not quite as bad as they used to be, and it truly would mean the world to me,” Hermione said.

“The vote’s not for another couple months, right?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

“Then let’s put a pin in anything that would involve me making my return public for a while and let me try to help you in another way,” Harry said.

“How so?” Hermione asked.

“Susan Bones,” Harry said. “Let me see if some sort of deal can be reached there first.”

“As things stand, her endorsement would very likely hinder me rather than help,” Hermione said, wincing.

“Just dropping out would be enough,” Harry said. “Her supporters aren’t going to go over to Greengrass, which will leave it to you and Ogden to try and win them over, and you’ll likely have an advantage there. You wouldn’t even need to mention making her the head of the DMLE unless specifically questioned, and if she doesn’t endorse you, why would anyone ask?”

“Hmm, I suppose that could work,” Hermione said, “but do you really think that you’d have much sway with her? I’m sure she’s still eminently grateful to you for ending Voldemort’s reign of terror for good, but you two weren’t all that close in school, and she hasn’t seen any more of you than I have.”

“Leave that to me,” Harry said, downing the rest of his second butterbeer.

“Alright,” Hermione said. “Now, not that I haven’t been thrilled to have a chance to catch up with you, but I have some work that I need to get done tonight if I’m going to have any free time this weekend. Would you be available to come by for dinner on Sunday?”

“I should be free,” Harry said.

“Lovely,” Hermione said, standing up. “It really is incredible having you back. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Harry said, pulling her in for a tight hug.

Hermione let herself sink into his embrace and buried her face in his muscular chest.

“Goodbye,” she said as they parted.

“Until we meet again,” Harry replied, smiling warmly at her.

She returned the smile and reluctantly departed, leaving him alone. Harry wandered into the restroom and said softly, “Kreacher?”

“Kreacher has found the redhead,” the old house-elf said in lieu of a greeting.

Harry had summoned his loyal servant while Hermione went to the loo earlier, and after putting the image of what he recalled Susan looking like in his head via Legilimency, he asked him to check Hogsmeade for her.

“She is here, then?” Harry asked.

“The Bones woman is having a drink in the less nice pub,” Kreacher replied.

“The Hog’s Head?” Harry asked.

“It is called that,” Kreacher replied.

“Good work,” Harry said. “That will be all for now.”

As the house-elf popped out of the room, Harry turned and left, making his way to Aberforth’s old establishment. To his surprise, the ancient wizard was still there, tending the bar as he had been the last time Harry was in there, but his attention was quickly drawn to the attractive redhead nursing a firewhiskey at the bar. Susan Bones had been one of the most beautiful girls in his year, and if he hadn’t been so focused on the danger he so frequently ended up in, he’d have likely noticed her more back then.

The years had been exceedingly kind to Susan, it seemed, whose face had lost some of its youthful roundness and whose curves seemed to grow only more incredible. That gorgeous, heart-shaped face, with its high cheekbones, slightly upturned nose, and full lips, was marred by a heavy frown as Harry sat down next to her.

“Firewhiskey, neat,” he said, turning to look at Susan, who gave him an unimpressed look.

“Let me guess, ‘what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ or ‘a woman as pretty as you shouldn’t be drinking alone,’” she snarked. “I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Not even the company of an old teacher?” Harry asked.

Susan cocked an eyebrow at that and said, “I had many teachers over the years and remember them all…”

“Even Lockhart?” Harry asked, handing Aberforth his sickles as he set the drink down in front of him.

He noticed Susan’s wand slip into her hand from the holster hidden in her sleeve as she said, “Who are you?”

“As I said, just an old teacher of yours,” Harry said, placing his hand next to his drink, palm up. “If you want a reminder of the sort of lessons I taught…”

He trailed off and focused on constructing the patronus spell in his mind. He had experimented a great deal with the spell over the years and had managed to change the size of the corporeal patronus he made. He could make it truly massive, as Andros the Invincible had been able to, and also quite small if needed. Susan’s blue eyes went wide, and her frown disappeared as she watched the tiny, ghostly white stag prance in circles around Harry’s large palm.

“Potter?” she breathed, sounding shocked.

“In the flesh,” Harry said, dispelling the charm. “If you require more proof than my patronus, after the second D.A. meeting, you apologized for wearing one of Malfoy’s badges the year before,” Harry said.

“Right,” Susan said, grimacing slightly. “That was less than mature of me.”

“You were fourteen,” Harry said, shrugging.

“Wow, I just realized that the tournament was a decade ago,” Susan said. “Does it make sense to say that it simultaneously feels like yesterday and centuries ago that we were at Hogwarts?”

“My every year there felt like decades, so yes,” Harry chuckled, sipping his firewhiskey. “Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy myself a lot during those years, but it was just never normal.”

“That last year you elected to avoid wasn’t particularly normal either,” Susan said. “I don’t think anything really could be after what we went through. Neville says that it’s a lot more peaceful these days.”

“Oh?” Harry asked.

“Professor Sprout retired last year, and Neville replaced her,” Susan said.

“Really?” Harry asked. “I guess herbology was always his forte.”

“Yeah,” Susan said. “He married Hannah, you know. She’s off tonight, but she works at the Three Broomsticks most nights. I think Rosmerta’s thinking of retiring and selling the place to her.”

“Whatever will the boys of Hogwarts do without their busty barmaid?” Harry asked, earning a sharp laugh from the redhead.

“I’d say Hannah qualifies,” Susan chuckled, “though they may be less willing to ogle one of their professors’ wives than they were with Rosmerta.”

“I never did any ogling myself,” Harry said. “I was always too preoccupied.”

“None of us ever realized just how crazy things were even before the dark prick rose again until Ron started sharing stories,” Susan said.

“So, are you drinking here tonight instead of there because Hannah’s off?” Harry asked.

“No, but there was someone there already who I had seen more than enough of for the night, or a lifetime,” Susan said darkly.

“Sounds ominous,” Harry commented.

“Moreso infuriating,” Susan muttered, knocking back the rest of her drink. “I’ll have another, Aberforth.”

“Make that two more,” Harry said, finishing his drink. “My treat.”

“Buying me drinks now, are you?” Susan asked, turning towards him and leaning in enough to give him a good view of her substantial cleavage. “One might think you want something.”

“Good company,” Harry said.

“Well, you’ve made me into better company than I was when you sat down,” Susan said. “What shall we talk about?”

“How about what put you in such a bad mood to start with?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid the amount of alcohol it would take to make me want to talk about that might actually kill me,” Susan said flatly. “How about we start with where the hell you’ve been all these years?”

“I could tell a few tales,” Harry said. “Why, just the other week, I was in rural Romania searching for a long-lost tomb buried deep in the Carpathian Mountains.”