Author's notes

A Post-Hogwarts story, though not a sequel to anything I've written before (but you can pretend).  Harry is an Auror.  Predictable?  Unfortunately yes, because Harry feels trapped in his life by his fame, estranged from everyone except Ron.  To add to his troubles, what seemed like a straightforward case of homicide points to something far more sinister.  Angst galore, and H/Hr by the end.

I own none of the characters or places that appear in my story, and I make no money off of this.  In fact, I'm probably losing money since I'm writing this while at work.

I hope you enjoy.

1. A Troubling Night

The gentle pop of apparition disturbed the silence of the small, one-bedroom flat.  Harry Potter appeared in the kitchen, letting out a great sigh of relief to finally be home.  It was late, well past midnight on a Friday night, or was that Saturday morning?  Either way, it was too late to care.  Harry reached down and opened the cabinet door by the stove and rooted around until he found an unopened bottle of firewhiskey.  After a day like today, it was exactly what the Healer ordered.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, Harry plodded over to the living room, removing his robes as he walked.  He gave them a quick sniff, his nose wrinkled in disgust - he would have thought by now that he would be used to the smell of death.  Harry shrugged as he tossed the robes on the floor.  He supposed that, in some ways, it was a good thing that the stench of death still bothered him; it meant that some part of him was still human.  Harry stopped at the window, overlooking a busy London street.  Even at this late (or early?) hour, Muggle London was in full swing, the sounds of traffic reaching up to his ears.  Harry sighed, fighting down the twinge of jealously – all those people without a clue, living simple, happy lives.  He turned away from the window and settled himself into his favorite reclining armchair, a luxury, an indulgence that was his only gift to himself.  Propping his feet up, Harry settled himself for a few hours of infomercials before sleep.

Harry has had many bad days in his life, and more than a lifetime of bad days before reaching the age eighteen.  But then, back at good old Hogwarts, Harry had to suffer most of those days in quiet agony.  Nowadays, Harry could curl up with his best friend, one that wouldn't speak hollow words of sympathy, one that wouldn't leave him someday.  Harry smiled fondly at his faithful companion, removed his cap and took a long pull of firewhiskey, straight from the bottle.  Harry wasn't, by any means, an alcoholic.  It was just that some days, days like today, required a sip or two.  Harry sat quietly, illuminated only by the glare from the television as he watched an overly enthusiastic woman describe the benefits of a salad spinner that came with a free (free!) knife that makes vegetables into pretty shapes, but only if Harry were to call in the next fifteen minutes.

Harry shifted slightly in his comfy chair, dropping the remote to reach his left hip.  Ah, no wonder it hurt; he had been sitting on his Auror mobile.  He unclipped it from his belt and dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a clatter.  Harry worked at the Ministry as an Auror, entering the training program after graduation.  As if there was really any choice, Harry thought wryly – it seemed he was only good for two things: either Auror or professional Quidditch, and the latter choice was violently taken away from him.  After seven years, Harry had a storied career thus far, not counting his defeat of Voldemort which was before he became an Auror, that included the arrest of group of Dark wizards (holdovers from Voldemort's glory days), the break-up of a ring of counterfeiters, and the successful resolution of a couple of kidnappings here and there (which meant returning the victims alive). Harry was a detective at age 24, and he really had no desire for anything more – well, maybe Lieutenant, but probably not.  He felt his talents, mostly thanks to old Tommy Riddle, were best suited for a hands-on role, and a job in management did not appeal to him.  Harry took another pull at the bottle as he thought over the events of the day.

*********************************

The day had begun quietly at the ministry, but it seemed as if fate were simply waiting for Harry to relax before plunging him, yet again, into a world of evil.  Right before the shift change, right before Harry would be free, it happened.

"Alright, listen up troops!  A call just came in, who's up on the wheel?" Captain Perry yelled out.

Robert Toms, Harry's partner for the past three years, nudged him with his elbow.  "That'd be us, Cap'n," he called out.  Harry looked up from the article he was reading about the latest news on MSARS – the magical version of the respiratory disease known to Muggles as Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome.  Damn that wheel, the impartial assigner of cases.  The wheel was exactly that, a wheel with every detective's name on it.  The names at the top of the wheel got the incoming case, and then the wheel would rotate to the next pair of detectives.  Harry had suspicions, though, that the wheel tended to save the worst of the lot for him.

"Ah great," Perry said dryly.  "Potter and Toms, the wonder duo.  Well, you've got your hands full with this one.  Triple homicide.  Get going."

Harry sighed as he got to his feet.  It had been such a nice day, and Harry had been looking forward to a good night's sleep.  Even discounting the investigation time, a triple-homicide meant paperwork.  A lot of paperwork.

"C'mon Potter, get the lead out," Robert said.  Robert Toms was a cantankerous veteran Auror of some twenty years.  A detective like Harry, Robert disdained a "desk" job and fought every attempt at promotion.  He was grumpy, sarcastic, and bitter – they got along fabulously.  The two partners climbed into their Auror car and went off.  By the time they arrived at the crime scene, the Muggles were already there in full force.  Harry and Robert traded looks – dealing with Muggles could be irritating.

"Hello Detectives," a congenial voice greeted them.

"Tompkins," Harry said.  "Isn't it a little too late to be so chipper?"

"Ah, there's never a bad time to be cheery, Detective."

"You'll learn, soon enough kid," Robert said in his usual manner.  Harry and Tompkins traded amused looks.  Officer Tompkins had been an Auror for thirteen years, hardly a kid.  His zone of responsibility covered London.  Like Muggle police, Aurors were divided into regions.  Detectives like Harry covered all of Great Britain; while patrolmen like Officer Tompkins were divided based on geography since they were the first line of peace-keeping and needed an intimate knowledge of their area.  Given the much smaller population of wizards, the regions were much larger than their Muggle equivalents: Scotland and Ireland were divided into two regions each, and England into four, with London a region in its own, given the high number of magicals living there. 

"Alright, so what do we have?" Harry asked as he pulled out his wand.

"Triple homicide: Mr. and Mrs. Campbell and their young daughter.  Looks like the perpetrator was a Muggle."

"Muggle?" Robert said.  "Well, that makes our job easier." 

Harry said nothing, inwardly sighing at the thought of a dead child.  Instead, he just grunted.  "Imagery been through?"

"Left about ten minutes ago."

"They're always fast.  Did the clean-up crew arrive yet?"

Tompkins nodded.  "A few minutes before you did.  Already casted their spells and just waiting for your word to finish up."  Harry nodded.  The "clean-up crew," as they were so affectionately known, were called in cases involving wizards and Muggles.  In a case like this, they would perform charms and spells designed to keep the Muggles from suspecting that the victims were magical, and after Harry and Robert performed their investigation, they would remove all evidence of magic.

"How about forensics?" Roberts asked.

"Er, well…" Tompkins looked uncomfortable.

"Well what?  Are they here or not?"

"They heard it was probably done by a Muggle, so they didn't show."

"Damn it!" Harry cried, tightening his grip on his wand.  "Lazy sons….they just don't want to be out on a Friday night."

"Probably true," Robert said.  "Let's see if it was a Muggle; if so, no harm no foul."

"But still…" Harry fumed.  Robert just smiled and guided the younger wizard into the home.  Tompkins stayed outside, keeping order as a few curious witches and wizards started to come by, attracted by the activity.

It was always hard working alongside Muggle police at a crime scene.  The clean-up crew had already cast the masking spells, saving Harry and Robert time.  But even though they would not be noticeable to the Muggles, they still had to be careful to stay out of the way while at the same time conducting their own investigation.  Harry had to admit that the Muggles knew how to preserve a crime scene.

"Over here," he heard Robert say.  Harry walked over to where the bodies lay, being photographed by a Muggle policeman.  "Gunshots, Harry.  Looks like a robbery gone wrong.  Very wrong," Robert said quietly.

Harry nodded.  Wizards don't use guns, so it most likely was a Muggle who did this.  That meant that they could turn the case over to the Muggle Crimes (MC) division, who would monitor and provide magical help, if needed, to solve this case: MC did not like it when a crime against a wizard went unsolved.  "Well, let's finish this up.  If we hurry, I can still catch the second half of the big game."

"Second half?  Don't tell me you're talking about that Muggle sport again!"

Harry chuckled.  "Football is a great sport, Robert.  You need to expand your mind."

"But…but…the ball doesn't even move by itself!" Robert said disdainfully.

"You purebloods are so sheltered," Harry said teasingly.  Harry's preoccupation with Muggle sports was a constant source of amusement for Robert.  But for Harry, it was more than that - watching Quidditch was just too painful; it reminded him of what he lost.  "C'mon, let's finish up and hand this thing off."  Robert nodded and they set off separately.

Harry looked around carefully, searching for any signs of magical involvement and, at the same time, seeing if he could tell whether anything magical was missing.  Although it would be up to MC to retrieve any stolen magical objects, the Aurors at the scene always tried to help out.  But everything seemed as it should, and Harry forced himself back to the bodies.  He examined the father and the mother – both dead of a single gunshot.  He next turned towards the young daughter; he always hated whenever children were involved.  A little too young to be of Hogwarts age, this little one probably wasn't even magical yet.  Harry sighed.  As Harry had no family of his own, seeing a family destroyed like this always hit a little closer to home, like the desecration of paradise Harry could never have.  Harry noticed that the little girl died slightly differently from her parents.  There were two gunshot wounds, and there was something else.  Harry cast a forensics spell.

"Roberts!  Over here!" 

Roberts ambled over.  "What is it?"

"Look at this," Harry said, pointing at the little girl.

Robert took a moment to examine the girl.  "Okay, so what am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Do you…feel it?  Feel the magic?"

Robert closed his eyes and concentrated.  "Sorry, nothing."

Harry scowled.  "I feel magic here."

"Well, sure Harry.  I mean, this is a wizarding family-"

"No, I mean I feel magic in this kid; she's covered in magic like her parents."

Robert took another look.  "Well, she is a bit young to be covered in magic.  She couldn't have done it herself, unless her parents did something…"

"And look at this," Harry said, pointing a beam of light from his wand onto one of the gunshot wounds.  "This one here was a sloppy shot, not like the other one or the ones that killed her parents.  And I used the one of the forensics spells.  This wound bled less then the other one.  Now, since the other wound would have killed her instantly, I think this one was given after she died.  As if to cover up something, like a spell bruise."

Roberts knelt down by the young girl's body and cast his own spell.  "I'll admit that the magic bit is a bit fishy Harry, but a cover-up is a big leap from the meager evidence we have here."

Harry nodded.  "I know, but I think it at least warrants waking up those lazy bastards in forensics and getting them down here."

"Alright Potter, but you wake them up."

*********************************

Harry remembered with a slight sense of satisfaction the disgruntled face of the forensics officer when the arrived.  If Harry had to have his night ruined, it only seemed fair that someone else should suffer as well.  Harry and Robert were able to finish the paperwork rather quickly, since they had to leave many of the boxes and blanks unfilled until forensics completed their work.  Harry took another pull at the bottle of firewhiskey, letting the fierce liquid numb his senses, even if only for a night.  At times like this, when faced with a particularly bad case, usually involving children, Harry fell into a fit of self-pity.  Harry looked around his small flat, looking rather desolate and lonely at the moment.  Harry took a sip as he pondered the series of events that led him to this point, and, once again, as always, came to the conclusion that it was inevitable he would end up like this - alone.   While Harry wasn't afraid of turning into a Robert one day, bitter and sarcastic (heck, Harry was already these things), Robert had the benefit of a family to go home to, a wife to snuggle with and kids to yell at.  Harry saw none of these things in his future.  He switched off the television as he staggered to his feet, wondering how the bottle had emptied so quickly.