A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the same. Rated T for violence and language.

Chapter 1: A Bittersweet Anniversary

"For fuck's sake!"

Ron Weasley cursed as he threw himself to the ground, allowing a jagged spear to whistle over his head. Back on his feet in a flash, he wordlessly threw a cutting curse at his foe's exposed back. He wasn't surprised when the faint purple glint of a shield charm materialised right before the spell hit home. Ron wasn't looking to land the final blow in this fight. He sidestepped his rebounding spell before rolling back the other way as a couple of iron chains snapped together in the spot he had just vacated.

"Merlin's Beard, he's gotten quicker."

Beside him, Neville Longbottom was not faring much better. While Ron attempted to catch their opponent by surprise from behind, Neville conjured a mass of thorny vines, sending them snaking forward only for them to shift colour and drop harmlessly to the floor, the remnants of what looked suspiciously like confetti streamers.

As their foe straightened casually, Neville and Ron began to circle around towards each other. The palpable tension was broken by Ron trying his luck with an exploding spell, only for it to smash into a large glass shield, which shattered into a million shards, each of which screamed through the air at the circling wizards. They scrambled for and broke into a sprint till they stood side by side. After fighting a war together, words and glances weren't necessary to communicate in a fight. The duo launched a perfectly coordinated assault, a pair of nasty-looking purple curses spewing towards the dark-haired wizard.

"Aguamenti!"

The seasoned duellers couldn't help but fall for it. They saw an opening and they took it. Their opponent had barely yelled out the spell when lightning sizzled forth from their wands, aiming to bring the duel to an end.

Harry smirked. They had reacted just as he predicted they would. After years of silent casting, Aurors and duellers couldn't help but react instinctively to loud, audible incantations. As his left arm completed the wand motion to cast the water charm, the right hand darted forward and the water morphed into a wall of solid rock.

The twin lightning bolts crashed harmlessly against the block of rock and it exploded outwards, raining boulders upon the surprised attackers. As they collapsed to the floor, a shrill whistle sounded and a smattering of polite applause went through the audience.

"Never fails to get old, does it?" said Ron, as he picked himself off the floor of the Auror Office Duelling Hall and offered Neville his hand.

"Bloody hell, Harry, keep it up and this lot aren't gonna believe we were of much use in the War," said Neville with a scowl before breaking into a wide grin. "How the hell do you seem to get faster with time, I barely even saw you move."

Harry Potter shrugged nonchalantly. "If only the two of you quit ogling at your women throughout the week, you'd notice a great many things," he said, a small smile on his thin lips. The trio turned to face their audience and bowed, before joining the gathering of spectators.

They spread out amongst the sea of people, nodding at acquaintances and greeting the bigwigs. It was the 8th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic had turned the day into an annual celebration of sorts, with a plethora of events to remember the fallen and acknowledge the progress the wizarding world had made since.

While people flocked around Ron and Neville, the crowd afforded Harry Potter more space than one would have expected. The three were well known in their own right but Ron and Neville were widely acknowledged as the more open and friendly survivors of the War. Harry Potter's reputation, on the other hand, preceded him.

While many had taken time to recover after Voldemort's fall, the Boy Who Lived had immediately taken up a post in the ailing Auror Office of the newly reinstated Ministry of Magic. Sharp and direct, he had been instrumental in rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, especially those who had managed to escape to foreign shores. His rise was meteoric, if predictable, and five years later, by the age of twenty-three, Harry Potter was the Head Auror, the youngest ever; and according to rumour, a shrewd businessman.

War changes people. There was no doubt that Harry Potter had changed, although the changes itself divided opinion. The public had grand hopes for the Head Auror, with many predicting a leading role in shaping the future of Wizarding Britain. Those close to him, however, believed he would never embrace such a fate, not after a decade of being in the spotlight.

Harry Potter adhered to neither.

In fact, few could have predicted what Harry Potter would become after the War. He no longer shied away from Ministry affairs and was a regular, if silent attendee at Wizengamot sessions. He was occasionally witnessed at balls and events for the cream society, events and gatherings which he would have given his right arm to avoid in his Hogwarts days. His raids threatened to pass into the realm of legend, as rumours swirled around his mounting body count.

What was even more unexpected was the slow but steady gap that opened between the erstwhile DA. There was no drama or scandal or public spat but Harry had drifted apart from his once indispensable circle. Many who claimed to have inside sources indicated there was no particular reason behind it, only that 'Potter had become his own man'.

He was neither here nor there. Harry Potter was always in the public eye but at the same time, nobody really knew Harry Potter, not even those who could have once claimed to know him best.

Cyrus Greengrass liked to believe he was an intimidating man. Tall and well built with silver hair, a matching beard and piercing grey eyes, he was the typical pureblood male, a fact backed by the size and wealth of his business empire, which revolved around luxury fashion, cosmetics, and body care products amongst other things.

However, he had to admit that despite his immeasurable self-confidence and calm demeanour, he felt unusually uncertain at the moment. He turned to the couple next to him and said, "Are you sure you want to be here, Lucius?"

"No, he doesn't," said Narcissa. "Lucius, dear, don't you think it would be more prudent to wait outside?"

Lucius Malfoy didn't argue. In fact, he didn't look particularly miffed at being ordered out by his wife. If anything, he appeared to be in a hurry to get out of the Duelling Hall.

Cyrus Greengrass watched as Harry Potter strode through the crowd. The man did not seem to hold eye contact with anyone but there was no doubt that his vision missed nothing and nobody.

It did not ease Cyrus' anxiety, though he was careful to not show it. Abruptly, the approaching man froze for a second before walking towards them.

"Madam Malfoy," he said.

"Head Auror," replied Narcissa.

Harry Potter gave Narcissa a slight bow before kissing the offered hand.

"Lord Greengrass," said Potter, but before Cyrus could respond, he noticed that Potter was not looking at him. The cursory but formal greeting and especially the lack of attention that followed was slightly foreign to him. Potter's eyes were fixed on Narcissa Malfoy, who paused before beginning –

"I wanted to ask you for a –"

"Anything, Narcissa."

Cyrus Greengrass was more than a little surprised, the abrupt switch to something akin to familiarity between the two speakers was not lost upon him. But then, Potter was the primary reason Lucius Malfoy had avoided Azkaban. While it was true that the Malfoys had fallen from grace, there were many who had been shocked by the apparent leniency, support even, that Harry Potter had shown them. To Cyrus, it was apparent then that there was more to it than what met the eye. Harry Potter did not deal in favours, especially without even knowing what was going to be asked of him.

Narcissa's expression did not change but she shot a grateful look at Potter before gesturing towards Cyrus. "Lord Greengrass here asked me to invite you to his humble home. At your convenience, of course."

"And could Lord Greengrass not ask me himself," came the slightly mocking response. Potter still did not bother to look at Cyrus Greengrass.

"Well, our families joined in union recently, as I'm sure you're aware..."

Potter knew what they were up to, Cyrus thought, as the Head Auror raised his eyebrows before smirking and inclining his head. "I believe congratulations are in order. I am happy for Draco." Whatever reply Narcissa had on her lips was cut off as he pressed on, "If it is business that is to be discussed, perhaps we might drop into my office on the seventh floor. It would save the Lord some time."

Loathe to remain a silent spectator any longer, it was Cyrus Greengrass who interjected, "You would honour us with your presence, Lord Potter. What I wish to discuss with you is of significance and importance." It was as close to beseeching persistence as the pureblood Lord would stoop to.

Harry suppressed a scowl at the use of his formal title and finally locked eyes with the older man. There was no smile, no mocking look. He matched his blank gaze for a second before speaking. "I await your owl. I am at your disposal, Madam Malfoy." A quick bow and a nod to the witch before he added, "Lord Greengrass." Another perfunctory acknowledgement and Harry Potter was gone.

"You know Potter." It wasn't a question.

Narcissa looked at him before shaking her head, "No, I will not pretend that I do. But let us say he owes me a debt. A debt that is not easily repaid. Potter is a man of his word. He will come."

"Also, do yourself a favour, Cyrus, and avoid the formalities when you're talking to Potter. He doesn't find it very endearing."

Cyrus Greengrass was intrigued and a little offended. The wizarding world had changed but the dealings and politics of purebloods continued to be an intricate game of chess, a game of half-truths, of polite fronts and concealed disrespect. After decades of leading his family, he would hardly consider himself a novice, but he had to admit, Harry Potter had left no doubts as to who held the cards in this particular game.

"I'm warning you, Potter, one step further and she dies," the hooded figure cackled, holding a gleaming silver knife to the pale, trembling throat of the young woman pulled up against him, his freehand pointing a wand at the black-robed Auror.

For the umpteenth time, Harry Potter mentally cursed the Death Eaters. Not only for their remarkable durability and refusal to die out but also for their utter lack of imagination. His grip on the holly wand, held in his left hand tightened. "Let her go Selwyn and we can negotiate, there is no need-"

Mid-sentence, he struck. With a wave of his empty hand, he sent a bone-breaking curse at the Death Eater, who threw up a shield charm, never noticing the holly wand pointed right between his eyes.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash, a rush of wind and Selwyn's eyes widened before his hastily erected shield disintegrated and the green burst struck him straight in the face. His lifeless form dropped to the stone floor, while his captive collapsed as well, before curling up into a ball and crying softly.

Harry Potter turned to the corpse and flipped the body over with his toe, hiding the face from the distressed woman.

"It's all right Miss Greengrass, you're quite safe now."

"Oi mate"

Harry's eyes snapped open as the door burst open. He wearily dragged his feet off the table before burying his head in his hands. The table was littered with papers, files and photographs. The Ministry did not hold back from providing everything necessary to the senior Aurors and while the office was untidy, it was certainly comfortable. Large boards with crossed-out names and maps hung on the walls, while two plush cushioned chairs rested in front of the desk, one of which was currently occupied by ex-Auror Ron Weasley.

"I know it's the anniversary of our victory but do we really have to parade ourselves for the entertainment of politicians and ministers?" Ron grumbled.

"The people look up to us Ron, we have no choice. This world needs us to be their leaders."

His friend scoffed, "needs you to be their leader, you mean. Piss off Harry, we did our bit, didn't we? We played our part."

It was one of the main reasons Ron had left the Auror department. The war survivor had seen enough of bloodshed. Despite their young years, most of the resistance had had their share of action. Ron was no different. After his premature exit from the Ministry, he returned to the Wizard Wheezes, where he aided George in research and development, avoiding interaction with the regular customers unless absolutely necessary.

Harry stated into space, before replying, "this world needs us more than ever now Ron," drawing another scoff from his old partner.

The change that had overcome the wizarding world was not absolute. Tradition is not so easily broken. The sacred twenty-eight still controlled the majority of decision making power in the Wizengamot and the Ministry. The mind-set and attitude might have shifted but the machinery and players remained the same. There were always many in the mould of the Lucius Malfoys and Yaxleys of old, waiting in the shadows, eyes watching for the first opening where they could push forth their agenda.

Nonetheless, the Hogwarts class of 1998 had melted into the background. Neville Longbottom had become the youngest Herbology Professor in Hogwarts history. Hermione Granger had gone through the gruelling training to become a healer of the highest order. The Patil twins had moved back to India while Seamus Finnigan had crossed the ocean to the Americas. Whether it was Luna Lovegood selling her beloved Quibbler to become a freelance writer or Cho Chang establishing her very own apothecary, most of the infamous batch had chosen to distance themselves from the Ministry. Most, except Harry Potter.

They would never truly see eye to eye on this matter, thought Harry sadly. A change of topic was at hand, he decided.

"How's Ginny?"

"Happy," came the curt response. Ron hesitated for a moment. "She's the top scorer in the league," he said with a hint of pride.

"No surprise there," Harry muttered. No. He couldn't let his mind drift there again. "Well Ron, I better get back to work. Is Hermione still on for Sunday?"

Ron recognised a dismissal when he heard one. "Sure Harry, she's already put in extra hours over the week to make sure she's available."

"Excellent. I look forward to it. Give her my love will you," said Harry absent-mindedly, shuffling through a set of documents.

"See you around mate," and with a small shake of his head, Ron was gone. Harry stared at the papers for another second before throwing them aside, jumping out of his seat and walking aimlessly around his office.

The fiasco with Ginny had not helped his relationship with Ron. It was by no means the main cause for the distance between the two but it had contributed. The separation had not been scandalous but it was not a clean break either. Nonetheless, it had worked out for the best. Ginny was a celebrity, England's finest chaser and on course to be awarded the captaincy of the team very soon. Her dating life was the talk of the town AND the prophet naturally.

Harry, on the other hand, kept his personal life far beyond the reach of the paparazzi. Sure, he got around once in a while, but nothing more than the occasional fling while under disguise. Short and fleeting.

Sometimes he wondered why he never got into a stable relationship again. He always arrived at the same conclusion. Women he was familiar with, from the past, still carried the same baggage he did. They were all damaged, no longer whole, a heavy weight on their hearts and minds that nothing could ever truly lift. Eight years of peace could not heal the wounds of over a decade of darkness. The unfamiliar, new women he came across were a more straightforward explanation. They saw the Head Auror, the Boy Who Won, not Harry Potter, the man who had no real friends, who had no family and was alone in his own head.

Dragging his attention back to the problems at hand, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a bottle of Japanese gin. Over the years, his choices of intoxication had grown increasingly muggle. He poured out a glass and threw it down his throat, before heading out to his next appointment.

"He's got eyes at the back of his fucking head, that's what it is."

"Confetti? Really? The look on Longbottom's face was priceless."

"I still don't think any of them were trying particularly hard."

The Conference Room of the Auror Department was buzzing, as they dissected and discussed the morning duel. A hush fell upon the seated wizards and witches when the door swung open and Harry Potter walked in.

"Wicked moves boss, never thought you'd let us down," chirped Rose Rowle, a short red-haired witch seated at the very front.

"Stop gloating Rowle or I'll be forced to take my cut off your winnings," Harry deadpanned, as the entire room chuckled appreciatively. Rowle had the courtesy to look abashed before grinning at her boss. Betting on Harry Potter in a duel was the safest bet in the country and despite the Ministry restrictions, transactions between the employees were rampant.

"Alright, so Selwyn is off the charts," Harry crossed the name off a chart with a lazy flick of his wand. There were 20 or so names on the list, all struck through. A solitary blank remained, next to which a few question marks were scribbled.

"I do not believe Selwyn was working alone. These last few attacks have not been the work of desperate madmen. A certain degree of organization and planning was present. However, I do believe only the kingpin remains. Any guesses why?"

It was Adrain Pucey, the oldest member of his admittedly young team, who responded.

"Whoever the boss is, sent one man to do a team's job. If there were more remaining members, we would have found them there."

"Correct Pucey. I don't think Selwyn was expendable either. Our man does not have the luxury of wasting his already strained resources. Right, you lot, get to work. I want you to work on Selwyn. Get snooping, see who he spoke to, where he was, what he did."

His team stared back at him. He thought he heard someone mutter, "but it's the anniversary…"

"I know it's the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Stephen. I fucking ended it. I need this information and I need it two hours ago, now MOVE." He allowed himself a smile as the occupants nearly stumbled over each other as they bolted from the room.

"I don't think I ever saw people flee Severus that quickly."

The attacks first began a year ago. At first, the Magical Law Enforcement's Hitwizard team was the first point on the case. Every month or so, a report would come in of a random kidnapping, followed by an anonymous ransom demand. The families of the first four victims paid up, arriving at the directed location with large sums of money, only to be confronted by hooded figures who would slash the throats of their victims in front of their very eyes. After six months of bungled operations, failed arrests and no progress, Kingsley had roped in Harry Potter.

The turn of the tide was instantaneous. The Auror Department foiled the attempted murders of the next five victims. The younger Greengrass daughter was number ten.

For all their accomplishments, Harry and his team had been unable to take any of the criminals alive. It seemed to be a common theme across all the operations that the kidnappers chose to go down fighting. Insider reports also indicated that the Head Auror seemed to be in no mood to capture and question the offenders either. Indeed, five of them had fallen at his own hands. In spite of the lack of conclusive answers, the frequency of the kidnappings grew rarer and the number of criminals involved in each incident continued to fall too, culminating in Selwyn's solo stand against Harry Potter a few weeks ago.

He was so close, thought Harry, as he stared at the board. For months, he had brooded over the list of victims and the criminals who had abducted them while he searched for a pattern. The victims invariably belonged to pureblood houses - families with wealth and money. The violators, on the other hand, were a strange mix of distant Death Eater relations and mercenaries – individuals linked to the Notts, the Mulcibers, the Yaxleys and others. Why even Karkaroff's half brother had been killed in one of the raids. All the Death Eaters were dead or slowly losing their minds in Azkaban, from where no breakouts had been reported since the War ended.

The mystery was, who was driving them? Who was the lynchpin?

"I hear your saviour will be joining father for dinner tonight."

"Oh joy, let's hope he doesn't kill Draco, shall we? I'm not quite ready to move on yet."

Daphne Greengrass grimaced as she fixed her long, silky, black hair Despite being assured the contrary, Britain and her own household had clearly failed to move on from their obsession with the Boy Who Lived.

"For all I know, you'd try to fuck his brains out the minute Malfoy hits the floor. I miss France. The only people they obsess over are chefs and their pretentious architects," she complained morosely.

"Coming from someone who hasn't gotten laid or married in years, that's rich. Really rich," bit back Astoria. "You'll be back in Marseille in a few weeks anyway, so quit your whining, sister dearest."

For what felt like the hundredth time in a week, Daphne acknowledged how much she loved certain aspects of her job. She glowered at the willowy form of her retreating sister before snapping. "Astoria, do I really have to? He might not even know I'm in the country. Fuck it, he might even have forgotten I exist. "

It was wishful thinking, but the taste of the season changed quickly. The last time she was at one of her father's parties, it felt like almost half the guests didn't recognise her anymore.

"It's Harry Potter, do you really believe he won't be aware of the British envoy's presence? Merlin, he probably knew the minute your portkey arrived."

The Deputy Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was a prestigious post. The pay was extremely satisfactory, not that it mattered to a Greengrass. It allowed her to travel the world and make some extremely useful connections with some extremely important people. Most importantly, it had allowed her to leave the country almost unnoticed after her incident at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Satisfied with her preparation, she looked herself over in the high, gold-rimmed mirror. Daphne Greengrass was beautiful. While she did not share her younger sister's model-like slim figure, everything about Daphne was stunning but simultaneously and against all odds, comforting.

Her navy blue evening gown left just enough to the imagination. With her carelessly elegant, sleek hair falling over her shoulders and high, hollow cheekbones, she was the archetype for the Pureblood heiress. If anything, her radiant face, which often wore a pleasantly laidback expression, looked ever so slightly out of place when compared to the effortless arrogance that most pureblood ladies were so adept at pulling off.

Her most striking feature, however, was her twinkling, sky blue eyes. Over the years she'd received and ignored numerous compliments about the warmth and genuine life, whatever that meant, one could see in her eyes. Her colleagues and counterparts in the French Ministry swore that one would be hard-pressed to come across a more eager, attentive and open-minded listener than Daphne Greengrass.

"Shows you how much people know."

"Windows to the soul indeed," she sneered bitterly as she waved her wand over her face, setting the illusion firmly in place.

At that very moment, Harry Potter was pacing about his flat in Knightsbridge, pouring over the Greengrass family files he'd picked up at work. Choosing to reside in Muggle London had been an easy decision. It gave him a false sense of security and separation from his hectic professional life. With his financial resources, arranging accommodation in the upscale London residential area had been no trouble, although the insides of his home did not reflect the extravagance of the neighbourhood.

His reading complete, he changed into a pair of Madam Malkin's finest dress robes, black with a fine golden lining. Perhaps a tad extra but the occasion probably called for it, he thought dispassionately. After growing up in Dudley's roomy 'hand me downs', Harry had been more than happy to expand his wardrobe with something more suitable once the War had ended. It had surprised his friends to see the same boy who couldn't care less about what he wore at Hogwarts, walk to the finest tailors and leave with sets of dress robes. He'd enjoyed himself though.

"Here we go again," thought Harry apprehensively. His sense of dressing and style might have changed but despite popular opinion indicating otherwise, he still detested the social gatherings and balls he had little choice but to attend. As Head Auror, there were certain responsibilities there was no turning his back upon. Still, the rigid uprightness of the pureblood families made him feel curiously insignificant and quite irritable.

Tonight, he had no choice. He was surprised it had taken Cyrus Greengrass this long to reach out to him after he had saved the business tycoon's daughter. His instincts, however, told him there was more at stake here. A simple 'thank you' could have been made in public and in person. This display of gratitude did not necessarily call for a dinner invitation or the involvement of Narcissa Malfoy. Greengrass had ensured Harry would have no choice but to show up.

Well, two could play at this game. His research into the Greengrass family had not been without reward. He composed himself before giving himself a final look over and reached for the doorknob when –

A ball of light sped in through the french window. The white orb hung in the air for a moment before taking on the shape of a pointy-eared Lynx.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was an unshakeable man. Nothing seemed to break through the composure of the Minister of Magic. Hence, Harry was surprised to hear the weak and more importantly, the urgent tone of his old friend's voice.

"Harry, hurry. Your godson needs you."

He was gone before the patronus could fade.

Fiendfyre.

There was no doubt about it, the stench of the dark curse was unmistakable. He was in a nightmare. Or revisiting one. Surely he'd been here before. The scene was unnervingly familiar to a by-gone era. His head swam as memories flashed before his eyes.

Hagrid's wounded form. Hedwig falling through the night sky. The Diadem whispering to him in the Room of Requirement.

The old Order of the Phoenix safe house was ablaze. The yells of Aurors and hitwizards cut through the crackling of the flames. People were running but Harry walked forward slowly, in a trance. His magic reached out desperately and he sensed the boy's presence.

Teddy Lupin was safe.

He reached the edge of the burning house where a small crowd had gathered. Harry numbly registered a young boy crashing into him, his small hands digging painfully into his stomach as his little head buried itself into him.

He didn't hear the wizards call out his name. He didn't feel his arm wrap around the boy. As the crowd parted and Harry Potter gazed at the corpse, he didn't feel anything at all.

Andromeda Tonks was beautiful in death. Her stormy grey eyes were wide open and unblinking. The resemblance to her dead sister was striking. The curly dark hair covered her face but he did not need a further inspection to tell that her throat had been slit.

As the blood roared in his ears, he felt another crack in his chest. He'd felt it before. He'd hoped with all his might that he'd never feel it again. Finally acknowledging the ghostly gleam around the house, Harry forced his eyes to the night sky.

The serpent and the skull. The Dark Mark.

He knelt down beside the distraught child and pulled him closer, as he closed his eyes and let the smiling face of Andromeda Tonks fill his mind, watching him proudly as he carried baby Teddy on his shoulders.

"Expecto Patronum."

It was only a whisper but the Stag burst forth from his wand before galloping into the sky, shining brighter than any star could. It charged headfirst into the Dark Mark, which dissolved slowly until it was nothing more than a poisonous green wisp in the wind.

"Happy Anniversary, Harry," he ground out before reaching out and pulling the eyelids down over Andromeda's glassy eyes.

--T R R--

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