It has been said that, in life, there are two things that cannot be avoided: death, and taxes. Harry Potter had a rather distinguished history when it came to the former, starting his life of evasion at the tender age of one-and-a-quarter. At the still-somewhat-tender age of twenty-one, he began his career of evading taxes.

Laura Madley, one of the fresh recruits in the Administrative Registration Department didn't yet know her role in the whole affair.

Nothing about the cottage stood out to her. If she hadn't known it was charmed to look like somewhere utterly boring, well, she doubted whether it even needed to be. A thatched roof, and barely large enough for four rooms, and a shed to the side—it didn't exactly break the Statute of Secrecy. So dull that, by the time she reached the door, she was half-convinced he'd given a fake address of some Muggle. Not like anyone would double-check his papers.

'Oh Merlin,' she muttered to herself, knocking.

Any moment, some old pensioner would call out, and she'd have to apologise, and try to get away without being invited in for tea and biscuits and a conversation that lasted the better half of the afternoon.

But, before she thought further down that line, a young man shouted, 'Coming!'

Taking a few mental steps back, she began to prepare herself for the slim possibility that he actually did live here. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived, out in some shack in the middle of nowhere. Of course, the inside probably had all sorts of magic done to make it huge and extravagant. Besides, with a pot of Floo Powder, it might as well have been a flat in London, just with a better view and less noise.

The door opened, and she came face to face with a strange looking man. Not that he looked odd, but, it was just… she had seen him so much already, that it was like the black-and-white photograph was the real one. Harry Potter didn't have peach skin, or green eyes, not as far as her brain was concerned.

'Can I help you?' he asked.

She felt stupid for thinking as much, considering she'd seen him a fair bit while in Hogwarts. It had been her first few years only, but they had been rather unforgettable years, though it was the year he hadn't been there that she would never, ever forget.

His hand touched her shoulder, and she broke from her thoughts. 'Are you okay?'

Pushing herself straight-up, she tried to hide her embarrassment behind posture, pushing his hand away. 'I'm fine. Long morning, very busy. You know how it is.'

'I don't, actually,' he said, smiling with humour. 'But I'll trust you.'

Before she could let herself fall off-balance, she retreated to her notes. Checking her one pocket, panic struck, though she didn't react. Slowly, she checked her other pocket, and the dread set in. 'I, I am here on behalf of the Administrative Registration Department,' she said. 'Laura Madley, junior tax investigator.'

'Ministry, eh?'

'Yes,' she said, firmly, or at least it sounded firm to her. Her hand creeping up, she checked her shirt's pocket, and let out a sigh of relief, before quickly returning to the stern look she used for work. 'I am a member responsible for the verification of tax records, and have some important questions about the financial situation of one Harry James Potter. Do you have time at this moment to discuss further, or would you like to make an appointment to visit the Ministry at a later date?'

He shook his head. 'No, no, now's fine. Do you want to come inside? I can put the kettle on.'

'No, I would prefer to complete this visit as swiftly as possible,' she replied, peeling open the hastily-folded piece of parchment. 'First of all, may I verify that you have failed to pay tax in the last four years?'

Scratching his chin, he said, 'Well, yes.'

'May I ask why?'

'I have no money.'

She went to speak, and no words came out. Her hands tried to convey a sense of confusion, before she finally asked, 'Pardon?'

'I have no money,' he said, calm and clear. 'None at all.'

'You have no money?' she asked, turning her ear slightly towards him.

He nodded. 'No money.'

She brought a finger to her lips, and then loosely pointed at him. 'May I ask why?'

'I kind of robbed Gringotts, and stole a dragon. They've said they forgive me, but, well, I wouldn't be surprised if any cart I went in had an accident,' he said, tone and smile dry.

She stood very still for a moment, and then, taking out a small notebook and pen, wrote and said, 'No bank account.'

'Ah, but that doesn't really answer your question, does it? I've not been working, so nothing to tax.'

'I see,' she said, writing that down too. 'I, well, this has been… informative.'

'Glad I could help.'

'Yes, you've been very helpful and co-operative. It makes my job easy, so I appreciate that,' she said, as though reading off a training cue card. 'I may have further questions after processing this.'

'Sure, I'm here most of the day and most days.'

She nodded, adding another note to her page. 'I understand. Thank you for your time.'

'No problem,' he said, bowing his head. 'Have a good day.'

'You too,' she said.

He closed the door, and she stood there. After a minute, she came to a conclusion.

'He's having me on.'