Double sigh. I give up. I'm obviously stuck in a fanfiction phase for the next few years, so I'm just going to keep writing. Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling.

"Too what for his what?"

"Too big for his britches," Wiffleston said tightly. "It is a figure of speech, Mr. Malfoy."

There was a pregnant pause.

"It's a stupid one," Malfoy said, his usual sneer temporarily usurped by an expression of utter incredulity. "When you sass-talk the Headmaster and insult the cook, you're too big for your britches. When you split your soul into seven pieces and murder half of Europe, you're certifiably insane."

Harry nodded slowly, wishing suddenly and fervently that he hadn't gone to Ron's midweek pub night last night. He was sure he would have a far easier time concentrating on the current conversation if his eyeballs would stop throbbing.

Egbert Wiffleston sniffed. "The rumours of He Who Must Not Be Named's escapades have been greatly exaggerated. A fact that should be painfully obvious by the knowledge that he was defeated by a seventeen year old boy with a disarming spell." He pointedly did not look at Harry. "As I was saying-"

"What the hell would you know?" Malfoy spat. "You spent the entire war sun-baking on the coast of California."

"What. War. Mr. Malfoy?!" Wiffleston hissed through his teeth. "Pockets of rebellious fighting do not a battle make. As I was saying-"

"No, a battle a battle makes, you half wit," Malfoy practically yelled, making the walls of Wiffleston's tiny office shake. "Don't you read the Prophet?"

"The Daily Prophet has a history of falsifying facts in pursuit of lucrative headlines," Wiffleston said very quickly before Malfoy could get a word in. "Taking such articles without a grain of salt is the mark of ignorance."

Harry closed his eyes. This was their punishment. Somewhere, in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebot was crying with laughter, Harry was sure of it.

This was all because of that thing they did the other week. What was it again? Excessive Use of Force Leading to Obstruction of Justice. At least, that's what they were calling it. Repeatedly slamming Malfoy's head into the dashboard of their stakeout car while the perpetrator snuck out the back door was what Harry called it. And Malfoy had deserved it, although Harry couldn't exactly remember why. Something about switching Harry's Firewhisky for Veritaserum while he was talking to a very attractive witch, and then asking him about the time he had been found wandering around Hogsmead singing 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' wearing nothing but a Christmas hat. And then something about asking him whether or not the attractive witch was the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen – which, when you've seen Fleur Delacour, is just plain unfair – and then something about a chocolate fountain, which Harry couldn't remember at all.

Regardless, the Excessive Use of Force was justified and certainly did not warrant Egbert Wiffleston giving them one of his trademarked three hour lectures on their next assignment, interspersed with snide commentary regarding the over-inflated egos of Ministry favourites and the blatant disregard for anti bribery laws shown by – quote – bad eggs. Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was more insulted by the suggestion that he bribed his way into the Ministry, or by being called something so lame as a bad egg, but either way, neither of them had been in the best of moods when they were summoned to Wiffleston's office.

And now this: proof that Hermione hadn't been lying when she had told him about a disturbingly increasing number of wizards who were refusing to believe that the war had been as bad as the media reported. But then, Harry had never held much stock in the intelligence of Ministry employees. The fact that he now was a Ministry employee – and what's more, by choice – only served to make him angrier.

"As I was saying," Wiffleston continued, his lips pursed tight. "Just because He Who Must Not Be Named is gone does not mean the Auror department has reason to put their feet up. The world may not be full of Dark Wizards, but it does contain bad witches and wizards who mean harm to other witches and wizards. The need to catch and restrain these wrong-doers is just as urgent as it was for He Who Must Not Be Named. Even if it is not quite so," he gave a small cough, "glamorous."

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Wiffleston continued loudly. "He Who Must Not Be Named was an anomaly. A mildly talented wizard whose infamy ultimately exceeded his skill and who misunderstood the limits of his power. It is regrettable that you engaged with him when you were young and impressionable, and therefore believed that the world would be full of such dangers. But that is no excuse for shirking your responsibility to the danger you have resolved to defeat! It may not be prestigious. It may not be noble. But it is necessary!" Wiffleston glared at them, panting slightly with the effort of self-restraint. "Now go back out to your automobile, drive to the address listed on your assignment, and this time when the perp leaves the building, catch him!"

Harry hated Wiffleston, from his thick toupee right down to his knock-off Italian loafers. He glared at him. "You're nothing but a pathetic little worm, Wiffleston," he said through gritted teeth. "You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, and now he says something!" Malfoy announced to the wall, waving his arms at Harry as if he were presenting him at an auction. "The Great Lord of The Docile Temper finally decides to contribute."

"DON'T SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIORS LIKE THAT!" Wiffleston screamed, finally losing control. With a pop, Harry and Malfoy found themselves sitting on the pavement outside the Ministry of Magic, curious Muggles eyeing them as they walked past.

"Where were you on that one, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, glaring at Harry as they both stood up and dusted themselves off. "You crack it if someone butters your sandwich badly, but you'll leave me yelling at that imbecile on my own?"

"I have a headache," Harry muttered.

Malfoy smirked. "Professing the unearthly beauty of certain Veela-related Weasleys again, were you?"

Harry punched him.

"Oh, sod off, Potter," Malfoy grunted, rubbing his shoulder. "That witch was a gold-digger anyway. Get in the damn car. Let's go catch this- what is he again?"

"Smuggler," Harry said, fumbling for the latch of the car, which they had left invisible again.

"Smuggler?!" Malfoy cried, looking stricken. "I just got chewed out for two and a half hours because of a smuggler? Oh my god, Potter. Pay attention this time. I don't want to be forced to sit through another lecture because we didn't apprehend someone who probably sold me my bloody potions cabinet."

"You have no scruples, Malfoy. Has anyone ever told you that?" Harry said, finding the latch and opening the door. He disappeared inside, while Malfoy went around and fumbled with the passenger door.

"Of course I do, Potter," Malfoy said airily opening the door and sitting down. "Why else would I be here in this stupid car with you, fighting for the good of wizard-kind?"

"Because Shacklebot wouldn't pardon you if you didn't join the Auror Department, where you could be kept under a strict watch while you repaid your debt to society."

"You wound me, Potter."

"Not nearly enough, Malfoy."

Malfoy ignored him and pulled out the address. "Go straight," he said.

They drove to the new hide-out in mutinous silence. Harry had no idea why Malfoy was silent, other than that he was a melodramatic prick, but Harry was silent because Wiffleston was right. Not about the war – that was such a daft notion that it shot well past being funny to being just plain scary that anyone could be so ignorant. No, Wiffleston was right about the world in general. There were no dark wizards scheming behind closed doors, ready to take over the world as soon as Justice was distracted. There were no evil plots waiting to be foiled. There was no darkness lurking beneath secret passages filled with deadly creatures.

There were only smugglers and drug dealers and petty criminals hatching dastardly plans that took the Auror Department a matter of days – sometimes hours – to disentangle and avert. It was no wonder he and Malfoy kept missing the perps on account of inconvenient distraction. They were just so damn bored. It wasn't that Harry wished Voldemort would come back, or even that he wished another wizard would take his place. He just wished that something about the world and his life would make sense again and make him feel like he was doing something worthwhile. And no, dammit, he didn't need it to be prestigious or noble, whatever Wiffleston might say, but he did need it to be something more than the pathetic waste of time it felt like now.

"Potter, I like swimming as much as the next person, but I don't particularly feel like doing it right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You're about to drive off the peer."

"Shit!" Harry slammed on the brakes just before they went over the edge of the jetty. "Could you have said something a little earlier?!" He snapped, glaring at Malfoy who was calmly rearranging his shirt cuffs.

"I was wondering how far you'd get before noticing," he said airily. "You must have been very distracted. I nearly had to Disapparate."

"Malfoy, you're a git," Harry muttered, reversing the car until they were back outside the house they had been searching for.

When they were parked up on the curb where hopefully no one would try to park in the 'empty' space, Harry turned off the engine and they settled back to wait.

"Bet you I spot him first," Malfoy said after a long silence.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons I spot him first," Malfoy repeated.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons and-"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted. "You're not going to spot him first."

"Why not? You're just scared you're going to lose ten galleons. Go on, why won't I spot him first?"

"Because I've already spotted him. He's taking a leak on the front fence."

"Shit."

They threw on Harry's invisibility cloak and shuffled over to the smuggler whose name temporarily eluded Harry. Really, they needn't have bothered with the cloak. The smuggler was too focused on the difficult task of holding himself up by the fence to notice anything going on around him.

"NobodyknowsthetroubleI'veseen," the man sang, slurring the words into one big mess and slowly falling sideways.

Malfoy and Harry shared a look and unanimously decided to wait until the man was finished 'concentrating'.

The man continued to fall until he was almost horizontal before he suddenly hoisted himself up and zipped up his fly.

"Nobody knows!" he sang with gusto.

"Incarcerous," Harry muttered, hardly bothering to lower his voice, and whipped off the cloak.

"Heywhat'sthisthen?" the man muttered, looking down at the ropes binding him. He looked up at Harry. "Where'd you come from?"

Malfoy pulled off the cloak and eyed the man, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Caw, how'dyoudothatthen?" the smuggler muttered, squinting at Malfoy.

"He is a wizard, isn't he?" Malfoy asked, still sneering at the man.

"Shertainly am," the man said proudly.

Malfoy sighed. "This is utterly degrading."

"Don'tfeeldegre-re-re-ing."

"I didn't mean for you, you stinky bastard," Malfoy muttered.

Harry flicked his wand and sent the man sprawling into the back of the car.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this life of elegance you lead, Potter," Malfoy said drily.

"Get in the car, Malfoy."

They drove back to the Ministry accompanied by a sparkling rendition of the entire soundtrack of Jesus Christ, Superstar.

"Got him," Harry announced, dropping the smuggler on Wiffleston's desk with a loud crash.

"What are you doing bringing him here?!" Wiffleston exclaimed, jumping back as paperwork flew everywhere.

"Since you were so invested in our success," Malfoy said. "We thought we'd stop by personally to show just how moved we were by your inspirational speech."

Wiffleston preened. "Well, I-"

"I'm being sarcastic you dolt."

Wiffleston bristled under Malfoy's sneer and Harry's glare. With another pop they found themselves outside the Ministry once again, this time thankfully without the smuggler.

"I thought that would be more satisfying," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Messing up his desk and stinking out his office with eau de drunken-homeless-man. Instead I just feel listless and empty."

"Insulting Wiffleston just isn't what it used to be," Harry said dully, getting to his feet and dusting himself off for the second time that day.

"None of this is what it used to be," Malfoy muttered.

Harry eyed him shrewdly. Malfoy returned the look but didn't say anything. If they said it, they'd have to acknowledge it. This was life. It didn't get any more exciting than tax returns and eau de drunken-homeless-man.

"Get in the car," Malfoy muttered, taking the driver's seat. "Let's go to the pub."

"It's only one thirty," Harry said, getting into the passenger seat.

"Good, maybe we'll get fired."

"Hey, what's this?" Harry asked, leaning back and plucking a small vial of from the back seat of the car. It glowed faintly, catching his attention immediately.

Malfoy looked at it and shrugged. "Smuggler must have dropped it. Probably an explosive. We'll hand it in when we get back." His eyes suddenly gleamed. "Or, we could-"

"We're not blowing something up just to get fired," Harry interrupted.

"Killjoy."

Harry slipped the vial carefully into the glove compartment and promptly forgot about it.