Title: Father's Day
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be a billionaire and I wouldn't be taking out loans to pay for everyday expenses. Oh, and I wouldn't be struggling through college. So, the gist of it is that I'm poor, I have no money, and if you try to sue me, you'll get the lint out of my pockets and that's about it. So I wouldn't bother.
Author's Notes: This chapter would have been out sooner. Yes, sooner. Except for my vacuum cleaner ate my USB key, which holds all of my stories. So 100 bucks later, and after hours of searching through various forums to get copies of my works (most of which carry none of the original formatting) I finally get to start AGAIN on this chapter. Suffice to say, this will probably not be a long chapter, as I'm in a terrible mood because of my dwindling summer savings account. That and this chapter was already going to be shorter. To compensate, there will not be any cliffhangers at the end of it. I must be going soft. Oh, and my best estimate is that there are three chapters remaining after this one, maybe four, but I doubt it. I probably will not do an epilogue for this one. It won't need it. One more thing - for those of you who were looking for a bit more … substance on the H/Hr moments, keep in mind that I will stick to the rating on this story. I'm not moving it up. If any deleted scenes are posted (and probably there will be) and you are familiar with my other works, then you will know how to find it.
Chapter 10: Change of Pace
"Look, Warrick. These are the subpoenas for the bank records that you told me to bring in today. They've been signed by all of the members of the court, the Minister of Magic, the Head of the Goblin Liason office, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and three of the seventeen presidents of various branches of Gringotts. It has been submitted in triplicate, on ministry standard paper bearing black ink and measuring precisely 1 foot long and eight inches across, bearing a watermarked seal that verifies its authenticity. It is 3:47 … no … 3:48 p.m., which is still two minutes within the five minute window during which you accept such requests. Now, are you going to give me the bank records or am I going to have to get the Ministry more involved in this?"
Harry curled the edge of his fingertips along the fine grains of the wooden countertop, his emerald eyes flashing as he stared at the goblin behind the desk. It was his sixth such visit to Gringotts, and this time, Harry had taken all precautions to ensure they could not deny his request. Not that the goblins would listen, anyways - and Gringotts goblins were notoriously stingy when it came to releasing records that might infringe upon a client's privacy. That was one of the reasons so many Dark Wizards used this bank to keep their gold.
The goblin, a short, stocky little creature who only came up to Harry's kneecaps when standing, reached across the countertop and examined the parchment with a single, thick-lensed spectacle. Harry tapped his foot impatiently, trying to suppress the urge to whip out his wand and hex the stubborn Goblin into the next century. Goblins were protected by their own brand of magic, and Harry had no doubt that if he lifted as much as a finger to his wand, he'd find himself locked in one of the dark vaults for the remainder of his life. So instead he gave forced a grin to his face, watching as Warrick dwindled the last of the minutes available for his visit away.
"Sorry, it's four o'clock. You'll have to come back tomorrow," Warrick said, and Harry felt a surge of anger flood his body. Squinting his eyes, he rested both of his palms on the countertop and leaned over, staring at the beady-eyed creature.
"No, I will not come back tomorrow," Harry replied testily. "I am not leaving this building - I'm not even leaving this line until I have what I came here for."
Warrick regarded Harry with an unyielding glare, and he began to raise his left arm as if to summon one of the security trolls. Before he could complete the motion, Harry had reached into his pocket and tossed a small sack of twenty galleons onto the countertop.
Goblins were notoriously greedy. And when Warrick saw the sack, his hand slowly lowered, and after peeking inside at its contents, he asked Harry to wait and jumped off his stool.
It would be nice if the Ministry would actually reimburse me for these expenses, Harry grumbled inwardly. Trying to recover the money he'd paid out in bribes to the goblins alone would probably bankrupt the ministry, not to mention land him in Azkaban for the next fifty years.
Warrick crawled back onto the stool, sliding a piece of parchment over to Harry. "Your deposit slip, sir."
Harry quickly pocketed the papers, inclining his head slightly towards the goblin and muttering a quick "thanks" as he made his way out of the bank. As soon as he exited the door, he muttered a long stream of curses that he was sure would have made his mother roll over in her grave. Drawing the cloak over his shoulders (as it was February and still very cold), Harry made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron, stamping the snow off his feet and giving a hurried nod to Tom the bartender before slipping into a secluded corner booth to begin his work.
Nearly three weeks had passed since Kingsley had asked Harry to return to the ranks of the Aurors. He had yet to make the transition; primarily due to the fact that McGonagall asked him to stay until she could find a replacement but partially due to the fact he wanted to patch things up with Hermione and Artie before he left. So far, Artie had been tight-lipped about the matter, and Harry had backed off to see if Artie's mind might change over time. But Hermione - he'd tried talking to her several times over the past few weeks, but she had refused to discuss the matter further. Instead, she'd changed the password protecting her quarters and purposely walked between her classes with at least two other professors to avoid being caught alone with Harry.
The raven-haired wizard sighed, settling back in his chair and staring numbly at the table.
"Tough day?" Tom asked as he slid a sandwich and bowl of chicken soup in front of Harry. Harry shook his head lightly and forced a smile towards the innkeeper.
"Thanks Tom," Harry said, and Tom gave him a slight nod and shuffled back to finish his work behind the counter. Harry stared at the soup and sandwich, knowing he didn't feel very hungry but aware that he should at least have one decent meal a day. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bank records, setting them on a table and then pulling out a crinkly piece of parchment from the back pocket of his trousers. Scribbled across the face of the parchment was the code Hermione had worked so long to decipher, and slowly Harry placed the two documents side by side.
His eyes scrolled across the first line of the code. 34501123000. Then he looked back at the bank records, finding the line for vault 345. Sure enough, there was a deposit made on that day for 3000 Galleons. A match - the code worked.
Harry had long suspected that the code he'd received from Kingsley contained information to the source of the Deatheaters funding - he'd come across such codes before. This parchment only solidified the link in his mind. Unfortunately, what Harry lacked was the source behind the secret transfers, something he knew he wouldn't get from the paperwork. The goblins had cooperated, but only to a minimal extent.
Gritting his teeth, Harry curled his right hand into a fist, stifling the urge to slam his hand on the table and spill his chicken soup. Every time he made progress, it seemed as if he took three gigantic steps back.
Calm down, Harry, he told himself. Think through this rationally. He gave a small snort. Rational was not something he'd been over the past few weeks. His concentration had flagged, sleep was harder to come by, and Harry found himself snappish in his classes.
In truth, the separation from Hermione and Artie had been harder than he thought. Harry loved being an Auror, but lately he'd been having increasingly niggling doubts that maybe it wasn't worth it. He sighed, closing the pieces of parchment and sliding them into his pockets. The indecision had been driving him insane.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry glanced over his right shoulder, shock flooding his body as he saw Amelia's father striding towards his table, a smile on his features. Bartholomew Chambers extended a hand and Harry shook it. The older man settled into the booth across from Harry.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter. Are you still at Hogwarts?" the man's grey eyes flashed as he spoke. Harry gave a slight nod.
"I am, but I had ministry business today, I'm afraid. I came as soon as classes are over."
"Ministry business?" Bartholomew said, rubbing his chin. "Interesting. Yes, I believe Amelia mentioned that you would be returning to the ranks of the Aurors soon. She was quite disappointed, but I tried to explain that bachelors have a hard time letting go of the freedom that comes from having no accountability."
Was that an insult? Harry thought, keeping the smile on his face, though it was forced. He nodded slightly to the older man. "What brings you to Diagon Alley at this time of day?" he asked, hoping to change the subject to something other than his imminent departure from Hogwarts.
"Company business I'm afraid," Bartholomew said, fishing around in his pocket and handing Harry a business card. Harry's eyes flashed as he skimmed it over.
Bartholomew Chambers
Vice President for Finance, Malfoy Industries.
"Malfoy?" Harry muttered under his breath.
Bartholomew smiled. "Draco Malfoy is my boss. Started there as an accountant when I was fresh out of Hogwarts - twenty years ago, I believe."
Harry nodded numbly. Malfoy Industries was one of the largest companies in the wizarding world, responsible for supplying the vast majority of shops across Europe and upper Africa. Malfoy was still a very respected name in the wizard world, despite what was seen as Lucius' untimely death in the battle with Voldemort's Deatheaters.
"I'm afraid I've overstayed my visit though. Time is money, as they say," Bartholomew canted his head towards Harry and slid out of the booth. Harry gave him a weak nod as the older man turned to leave.
"Oh, one more thing, Mr. Potter," Bartholomew said as he straightened the folds of his cloak. Harry glanced at the older man curiously.
"Sometimes those things which are most important in life are the things we let slip through our fingers," Bartholomew said, tapping the side of his head with his finger as he made his way out the door.
Slip through my fingers…
Harry leaned back against the back of the booth, closing his eyes as he pondered the older wizard's last words.
* * *
"No Harry, I don't keep track of all my husband's employees," Ginny chided as she leafed through the pages of a Quidditch magazine. She and Harry were in her office, with Ginny behind the desk. Harry had come to her promptly after leaving Diagon Alley, primarily because his mind was swimming with more questions than answers.
"This isn't about that Deatheater thing again," Ginny asked, her blue eyes flashing with icy warmth, "is it?"
Harry shook his head quickly. In truth, Deatheaters had been the farthest thing from his mind. "I thought most Slytherins couldn't stand Gryffindors. How did Amelia's father get employed by Draco?"
Ginny shrugged. "I'm not 100 percent sure, but I don't think Amelia's father was a Gryffindor. I think he was a Slytherin." At Harry's ever-widening gaze, Ginny added quickly, "I heard some Slytherin students teasing her about it the other day."
"But I thought … that's not possible," Harry stuttered, his mind swimming. "Is it?"
"Rare, yes, probably," Ginny admitted, her red-gold hair glinting in the candlelight. "But not unheard of. I think Amelia's mother was a Ravenclaw."
"Then why isn't she in Ravenclaw or Slytherin? Why Gryffindor?"
"I'm not 100 percent sure," Ginny said quietly, setting down the magazine and looking at Harry quietly. "The Sorting Hat is the one who makes those decisions. Maybe it saw some traces of Gryffindor bravery lying inside of her."
"But wouldn't," Harry frowned, pausing for a moment. "I mean, don't parents shape the child's character?"
Ginny pursed her lips. "Yes, and no, Harry. A person's peers have a great deal to do with how they turn out too. You didn't learn your hatred of Draco from the Dursleys, Harry. You learned it from Ron, and it was reinforced by my wonderful father," Ginny said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.
Harry wanted to protest - wanted to open his mouth and say that his hatred of Draco was due to the fact that the Slytherin was one of the smarmiest gits ever to walk the face of the earth - but at the last moment he caught himself, remembering that he was speaking to Mrs. Ginny Malfoy. The word rolled over and over in his mind, conjuring up a sour taste in his mouth.
He was about to ask Ginny once again how she'd been conned into marrying the Slytherin, but before he could voice his question, Ginny cut him off.
"What's this really about, Harry?"
Harry frowned, settling back into his chair and toeing the floor with the tip of his shoe. "Being a father is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be."
"Is that why you're running away?" Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I am not running away!" Harry protested, though deep in his heart he questioned whether that last statement was true. "This was my job, Ginny. The only career that I was really suited for."
"You know that's not true, Harry," Ginny said, a hint of derision in her voice. "You taught a bunch of your classmates during your fifth year and you did a good job of it." She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing as she leveled her scrutinizing gaze on Harry. "You're scared that Artie and Hermione are going to get hurt. You made a lot of enemies when you were an Auror, no doubt. You're scared of putting them in danger. That's why you're running away."
"Will you stop saying that? I'm not running …"
Ginny held up a hand. "Harry, shut up and listen to me. Do you love Hermione?"
What kind of stupid question was that, Harry asked himself as he gave Ginny a slight nod. "Of course I do."
"Do you love Artie?"
"Yes."
"Do you not think that part of your mind, your subconscious, registers that and automatically conjures up images of your parents and Sirius and Ron?"
"Why would it?" Harry asked curtly, his eyes narrowing.
"Because you still haven't forgiven yourself for their deaths," Ginny said quietly. "You still blame yourself for putting them in harm's way."
"That's stupid," Harry said angrily.
"Is it?"
Harry frowned, falling silent as his emerald gaze drifted over the floor. Did he hold himself responsible for the deaths of his parents? No, that was stupid. Voldemort was responsible for that. But Harry was the one who had been born to defeat Voldemort. The Dark Lord knew that - he knew about the prophecy. If I hadn't been born, Harry thought, my parents would still be alive.
If I had practiced harder on my occlumency, Sirius would still be alive.
If I'd been here instead of away, I could have saved Ron.
If only…
"Harry?"
The former Auror lifted his head, his throat feeling parched as he gazed into the concerned blue gaze of his friend. Ginny gave Harry a weak smile.
"It's not your fault, Harry," she whispered quietly. Harry bit his bottom lip, trying to stave off the angry tears that threatened to erupt, and gave a slight nod. Ginny nodded weakly, stretching her hand across the desk and resting it on Harry's own.
"The password to her room is 'Christmas Day'," Ginny said quietly. "I'm not sure why she changed it, but I didn't bother to ask the significance of that."
"I …" Harry stuttered, his gaze drifting to the floor. "I've got to talk to Kingsley."
Ginny nodded. "You might just be able to reach him if you hurry."
Harry clenched his teeth and gave Ginny a resolute nod as he strode out of the office.
* * *
The nervous butterflies in Harry's stomach only seemed to multiply as he made his way up the steps to Kingsley's office. His throat felt like the Sahara as he knocked on the thick oak door to the office.
"Come in," Kingsley's muffled voice sounded busy.
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and opened the door to the office. Like always, Kingsley was behind mounds of papers, a few quills tucked behind his hears and his wand in his mouth as he scanned over reports.
"Harry!" Kingsley said excitedly, his eyes lighting up. "Come, have a seat!" he said, beckoning to a chair laden with stacks of paper. As if responding to the sound of Kingsley's voice, the papers promptly lifted and floated to the ground beside it. Harry gave a weak smile and sat in the chair. Guilt gnawed at his insides as he caught sight of Kingsley's excited look.
"Did you get everything straightened out with McGonagall?" the older wizard asked hurriedly. Harry felt the lump in his throat swell.
"Sort of," Harry admitted. It wasn't a complete lie. He had gone to talk to McGonagall before he'd come here. Kingsley never went home before 8 o'clock.
"Great, it's going to be good to have you back," Kingsley said quickly. "You wouldn't believe the mess we have brewing in London…"
"I'm not coming back," Harry whispered quietly.
"…dark artifacts popping up in some muggle houses and … what?" Kingsley's voice trailed off as his mind finally registered Harry's words. "What did you say?"
"I came here to submit my resignation," Harry repeated softly.
"Your … re… You can't do that!" Kingsley exclaimed. "I need you here!"
"And I'm also needed elsewhere," Harry said, a bit louder this time as confidence bolstered his voice. "I have people who need me here - not in Africa or Asia, but here."
"But … you're an Auror," Kingsley said loudly, anger tinged in his voice.
"No," Harry whispered softly, reaching into the folds of his robe and pulling out his Ministry badge. He remembered the feeling of pride that had flooded his body when he first received the badge at the end of his training. It seemed like so many years ago.
Slowly, with great care, Harry set the badge down on the desk in front of his supervisor. The older wizard stared at it, disbelief etched across his features as if he expected to wake up from a bad dream.
"I was an Auror," Harry whispered quietly, swallowing the moisture that seemed to threaten to overflow his eyes. "Now I'm just Harry Potter."
Before Kingsley could utter another word, Harry left.
* * *
It was nine o'clock when the door finally opened to his office. Immediately Harry's head jerked up, relief flooding his features as the red-headed boy stepped into his office.
Artie regarded Harry with a silent stare, maintaining the silence he'd started when Harry had first mentioned his desire to return to the ministry. Harry motioned to the chair across from his desk. Ron's son took it reluctantly and leveled his gaze on Harry's desk.
Sighing deeply, Harry stepped out from behind his desk and pulled up a chair next to Artie. Leaning forward on his forearms, he silently regarded the boy for a few moments before he began to speak.
"How is school going?" Harry asked diplomatically, trying to think of a way to break the ice.
Artie merely shrugged.
"You're doing well in my class you know. You almost have the highest grade in the class."
Another shrug.
Harry sighed, leaning back. The young boy was not going to make this easy for him. "Artie, I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."
Slowly the younger wizard's eyes swung from the desk over to Harry, his blue eyes meeting Harry's green ones.
Artie gave a slight nod, as if to ask Harry to continue. Harry sighed inwardly, and nodded.
"I didn't stop to think that maybe I wasn't supposed to be going back to the Ministry," Harry said cautiously, weighing each word with great deliberation. "I've had some time to think about that now, and I think that my place is here." Artie's blue eyes widened.
"You're staying here?" he whispered quietly. At Harry's nod, a bright smile erupted across Artie's face.
"I'm here, for good, Artie," Harry said with a smile. Artie's face was positively beaming. "But there is something else I wanted to talk to you about."
Artie's smile immediately faded. "What?" he asked curiously.
"Hermione."
Artie's glum expression immediately returned.
"I know you're upset because I've been spending so much time with her," Harry said.
"No, it's not that," Artie mumbled in a voice so low Harry had to strain to hear. Surprise flooded Harry's features.
"Then what is it?" he asked the younger boy. Artie shrugged, kicking his feet against the ground. He seemed reluctant to open up, so Harry leaned forward on his knees and nodded towards the boy.
Artie's face reddened as his gaze trailed to the ground. "It's just … you forget about me."
Harry felt his heart sink a bit. It was true; he'd missed a few appointments with Artie. His mind racing, the former Auror settled back in his chair.
"What if …" Harry let his voice trail off. At Artie's curious expression, he continued, "What if I were to set some time aside every week that we could spend some time together, no interruptions?"
Harry was quite positive that if Ginny or Hermione had heard him, they'd be beaming. Artie's mouth contorted into a frown.
"Every week?"
A twinge of embarrassment flooded his features. Artie was soon going to be a teenage boy. Pretty soon he'd be too embarrassed to have Harry around. There was still so much he was going to have to get used to with being a surrogate father.
"Or every other week. I'll leave that up to you," Harry said diplomatically.
Artie gave Harry a broad grin. "That sounds good." Harry smiled.
"Now that we've got that settled, there's one more thing I want to talk to you about," Harry said. Artie gave Harry a curious stare as he leaned in to hear of Harry's conspiracy.
* * *
The nervous jitters were back in full swing as Harry made his way down the hallway. The fingers from his right hand jumbled in his pocket with the gift he'd purchased on his way back to Hogwarts. He came to a halt outside the statue of Godric Gryffindor.
"Christmas Day," he said quickly. The statue arched an eyebrow.
"Is it really? I thought Christmas was a few months ago," the statue replied, but it opened nonetheless. Harry made a quick mental note to thank Ginny for being so sneaky as he made his way down the hallway towards Hermione's room.
Harry paused outside the door, resting his head against the thick wood as he tried to listen to what was going on inside her bedroom. The room was altogether silent, save for an occasional shuffle of papers every fifteen seconds. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to gather the vaunted Gryffindor courage he was supposed to possess. Then he knocked quietly on the door.
"Come in."
His breath caught in his throat as he opened the door to his room, his gaze falling on the shorter brown-haired woman sitting at her desk. Hermione's hair had been pulled loosely back into a ponytail and she was sporting a white nightgown that would have dropped Harry to his knees had he been paying closer attention.
"What do you need Ginny?" Hermione asked without looking around.
Harry opened his mouth, trying to find the appropriate words but his voice seemed to fail him. After a few seconds of silence Hermione glanced over her shoulder, her chocolate gaze going wide as she realized that it was not Ginny, but Harry who stood in the doorway to her bedroom.
"Harry," Hermione hissed, a blush creeping across her features as she snatched her bathrobe from the back of her chair and hurriedly put it on. Harry wasn't quite sure why she did that - it wasn't like he hadn't seen her in less before, but at that moment it seemed like such a small concern.
"What are you doing he…" she began to speak.
There was a much more serious matter at hand. Harry had almost allowed himself to forget how inviting Hermione's lips appeared, and now that he was there, the allure was proving too great as he crossed the distance between them in a few short strides and placed his mouth over hers before she could utter a protest.
He felt Hermione stiffen momentarily as she registered the kiss, but after a moment he felt her relax as her arms slipped around him. Her lips parted beneath his and Harry felt a surge of elation as she reciprocated the tender advance. A few minutes later Harry pulled back, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against hers.
Hermione's eyes were bright with unshed tears as her brown-eyed gaze met Harry's. The normally collected witch seemed too flustered to speak for a moment. Harry felt his breath quicken as he fought the urge to kiss away each one of those salty tears.
"I…" Hermione began to speak.
"I…" Harry said at the same time. Immediately the two laughed uncomfortably. Hermione bit her bottom lip and slowly gave Harry a nod, indicating that she'd allow him to go first.
"I came here to apologize," Harry whispered quietly. A lone tear slid down the corner of Hermione's left cheek.
"I shouldn't have asked you to give up your career," Hermione whispered quietly. "I just couldn't stand the thought of you being away for so long..." Harry shook his head furiously, bringing up his forefinger to her lips to silence her.
"Hermione, I'm not going back," Harry whispered quietly, tears stinging his eyes as he made the announcement. Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to pull away to speak, but Harry shook his head.
"I should have quit a long time ago, but I didn't," Harry said quietly. "I'm needed here, not just by you, but Artie needs me too. So does Ginny and the rest of our friends. I didn't think about that before I accepted Kingsley's offer."
Hermione's left hand covered her mouth as she stifled a sob. Harry brushed his lips across her forehead again, reveling in the sweet scent of her hair before he drew back, resting his forehead against hers once more.
"Hermione, I love you," Harry whispered, a feeling of desperation flooding his body. How could he have considered leaving Hogwarts when all he ever wanted was standing there in front of him?
"I love you, Harry," Hermione whispered, her arms slipping around Harry's neck as she pressed her lips against his own. After a moment she drew back and whispered. "I tried to forget about you, but I couldn't. I couldn't before and I can't now."
"I almost lost you once before," Harry whispered quietly, meeting Hermione's gaze with an intensity he hadn't felt for a long time. "And I refuse to lose you again," he whispered, his hand fumbling in his pocket as he withdrew the small box and held it up in front of Hermione.
The younger witch's eyes widened and her left hand clasped over her mouth as Harry clumsily fumbled to open the box, taking at least five tries before he could get it open. A lump rose in his throat as he showed Hermione the ring. Little rainbows danced in every direction as the light flickered across the solitary diamond. Hermione's gaze immediately shot to Harry's.
"Hermione," Harry whispered quietly. "Will you marry me?"
Hermione stared back at the ring, her eyes wide. A wave of nervousness passed through Harry's body, but he forced himself to keep her gaze as he waited for her to speak.
What if she says no? Harry felt his throat dry at the prospect. He had been operating under the assumption that Hermione would want this type of commitment - some proof that Harry wasn't going to take off and leave the first second a new Dark Lord rose to power. Was it possible that he was wrong? What if she wasn't ready for that type of commitment?
Fighting the heat that seemed to rise to his face, Harry opened his mouth and blathered on uselessly. "I mean, I know it's sudden, but we've known each other for so long and we wouldn't have to quit teaching at Hogwarts. I mean we could both teach here and you could even stay here if you wanted and I realize that I didn't even know if you wanted kids and I have Artie but he's really a good kid and I know he's almost a teenager but I …"
Hermione pressed a finger across Harry's lips.
"Shut up, Harry," she whispered, a smile crossing her features. Harry fell silent, his eyes meeting hers. His heart gave a slight flutter as she reached towards the box, taking out the ring and slipping it on her hand.
"Of course I'll marry you," she whispered, bringing her lips back to Harry's own, silencing Harry's own inner doubts as the last of his coherent thoughts slipped out of his mind.