A Place of Contemplation
by Jardyn39
Summary
Harry has been away from the magical world for a while, having lost his ability to perform magic when he defeated Voldemort. Summoned back, he can hardly believe the changes that have happened. The new Dark Lord's influence has spread quickly and this time the Order isn't there to help. Still, perhaps all Harry really needed to get his strength back was one of Mrs Weasley's breakfasts.
Introduction
This story is set a few months after Harry graduated at Hogwarts. He has distanced himself from the magical world and his friends.
Chapter 1: Bus to Nowhere
Harry Potter quietly pulled the panelled timber door to his second floor London bedsit towards him. As usual, the hinges creaked slightly. He checked he had his keys once more before finally closing the door.
Glancing into the dark room, Harry was reminded what a miserable place he was living in. The moth eaten and worn carpets nicely matched the peeling paint and mouldy woodchip lining paper.
He quietly closed the door which was slightly warped. This generally required it to be slammed shut in order for the latch to catch, but as it was still very early in the morning, Harry tried pulling the door closed using the loose handle. He was sure one of these days the handle would come off, sending him flying across the hall.
This morning, however, the door clicked shut.
He pushed the door to make sure it actually was locked and then crept down the stairs.
As he passed the closed entrance door to the front ground floor flat, Harry was reminded that he might just as well leave his door wide open. Harry's landlady, Mrs Broom, an elderly widow had keys to all the rooms in the large house and regularly let herself in to poke around her tenant's possessions.
Her door, though, was resplendent with several shiny locks.
Harry pulled the large timber panelled entrance door open and made his way outside down the short flight of steps.
He glanced back at the door. It was his single favourite feature of the entire house and the only thing that looked like it wasn't about to crumble with decay. Harry was sure the door frame was holding up the entire front elevation.
Harry pretended to ignore the familiar twitch of the curtains as he set off down the road.
*
Harry approached the black iron railings of the park. As it was still early, the gates were chained shut, so he would walk around the outside path. It only took a few minutes more but Harry liked to see and smell the green grass as he passed.
He generally walked through the park on his way back home in the evenings, but it wasn't the same as the beginning of the day somehow.
Harry chided himself again.
How could he think of that place as home?
Still, he reminded himself, it was cheap and matched his mood lately.
As Harry walked, his thoughts returned, as they always did during quieter moments, to Hermione. He wondered what she was doing at that exact moment.
Harry walked up and joined the end of the queue at the bus stop. Most of the people in front of him were now familiar, but he had never spoken to any of them.
He had learned quite quickly about the unspoken rules for commuters travelling on London's public transport. People never looked each other in the eye and never, ever, spoke. Occasionally, Harry observed, seasoned commuters would exchange a small nod in acknowledgement of each other. Such displays were clearly reserved, however, and Harry wondered how many decades we would be commuting before receiving his first nod.
There were exceptions, of course. Some people obviously felt the need to talk.
One regular lady talked incessantly to her large handbag, but Harry thought it was more common to see people talking to their pets.
Harry shuddered remembering the last one. He had no idea what species the dog was as he had never before seen one in that condition. It looked like its owner had covered the tiny dog in petroleum jelly. She certainly wasn't keen on handling the dog and had insisted upon making the poor thing sit on the seat that just had to be Harry's.
Harry wasn't sure what it was about him that attracted the more eccentric travellers to him. He was sure that every drunk, lunatic or unwashed strange staring person made a bee line straight for him.
He did his best to ignore the strange staring person that had just joined the end of the queue and apparently had to stand rather too close to Harry than he was entirely comfortable with.
The traffic lights changed at the road junction and a red bus came around the corner.
This, Harry knew, would be immediately followed by two more. As it was very early in the morning, relatively few people travelled at this time and it was generally possible to get a seat in the first bus and the two empty buses would race to reach the bus depot first, usually without carrying a single passenger.
There was a strange logic at work here that Harry still hadn't fathomed. He knew that in only a few minutes the number of passengers wanting to catch a bus would increase dramatically. Naturally, there would be fewer buses running at that time.
As the bus approached, everyone in the queue shuffled forward.
Harry shuffled along with them, feeling the strange staring person at his back.
He had now learned to widen his elbows at this stage. Old women with heavy bags tended to push past in an attempt to jump the queue at this moment.
Just as Harry recalled how quickly he had lost the need to be polite and allow others on first, he had a vague thought.
As he shuffled forward, he was sure he was supposed to remember something. He reached into his jacket pocket for his bus pass and grasped a note.
Then he remembered.
His pass expired on Friday. He needed to buy another to travel, at a fare he could afford, anyway.
Shoulders sagging, he extricated himself from the queue and walked into the newsagent, hoping he had enough cash on him. He had wasted all this time, and now he would have to travel on a later bus. He knew it would be packed and he wouldn't get a seat either.
As he entered the shop, his single comforting thought was that he wouldn't be travelling with the strange staring person this morning.
A few minutes later, he exited with his new bus pass.
As predicted the queue now stretched right down the street and there were no buses in sight.
Walking to the end of the queue, Harry realised it would be one of those days. The strange staring person had waited for him.
*
Harry couldn't get on the first two buses that came along, but he did catch the third. Few people bothered with this particular bus, since it only went about halfway before turning around.
Not even the strange staring person wanted to get on.
Harry thought it was worth the risk. Moving in the right direction was at least something, even if he would have to contend with even longer queues at the turn around.
Just occasionally, though, Harry had been lucky with this bus. Sometimes the Inspector would change the journey and send the bus on the full route. When it did this the driver would invariably go right past the throngs fighting to board the other buses.
It was incredibly satisfying to sail past, looking down on those poor souls.
The bus pulled up at the turn around point, a particularly wide part of the road. Harry readied himself to jump off and find himself another bus. He would have a choice of route numbers from here, although the buses would all be packed with frustrated commuters by now.
Harry looked down from the upper deck of the Routemaster. There was an Inspector. Would he be lucky today?
The bus sped off again, taking a tight right and heading up the steep incline approaching the railway bridge.
There was a collective groan from the passengers as the bus turned into the depot.
From experience, Harry knew not to get up until the bus had actually stopped. You could just about hang on normally, but the drivers liked to drive through the depot at a frightening speed and threw the vehicles into tight turns.
Harry had read somewhere that these buses had to pass a tilt test, but he was sure these drivers' ambition was to overturn one in a spectacular stunt.
To Harry's and most of his fellow traveller's surprise, however, the bus didn't stop. After a brief but interesting tour of the garage, they were on their way again.
The Inspector had obviously extended the route.
Harry smiled to himself.
Perhaps the day would be better, after all.
*
Harry closed his eyes, listening to the droning bus engine. He was so tired. He had hardly slept at all.
Saturday night's sleep had been disturbed by the revelry maintained by his fellow tenants. They were mostly students who, Harry assumed, slept during daylight hours and partied all night.
Harry didn't begrudge their fun, but it did get a little wearing at times. He kept reminding himself that many of them were actually older than he was.
Last night he had had the dream again.
Harry immediately opened his eyes, always very uncomfortable when he remembered that dream.
He only had two dreams these days that he remembered in the morning, anyway. His nightmares about Voldemort had continued, even after his demise. Somehow, though, the other dream was worse for Harry.
*
Harry jumped off the bus and hurried himself the few yards to the office entrance, a dirty white building with an imposing black door.
As he entered, Harry looked for the milk bottles. There weren't any. That meant that either someone else was in already or the local tramps had taken them again.
Harry used his key to get into the inner glazed door and stroked his fingers down over the bank of electric light switches. The fluorescent tubes flickered into life after a weekend of inactivity.
"Morning, Harry. Good weekend?"
"Morning," replied Harry, smiling at the middle aged man carrying two heavy looking briefcases and walking towards him. Mr Brooke was the owner of the firm and came in from the rear entrance where the staff car park was located.
"Fine thanks. You?," Harry said, following him up the stairs where their offices were located.
"Good thanks. Er, no milk again?"
"'Fraid not, no."
"I'll get you to run down to the corner shop in a moment, in that case. I can't start the day without a cup of tea."
Harry smiled, wondering why they didn't just give up and always get the milk from the cornershop.
"Molly sends you her love," said Brooke, pushing the fire door open and propping it open so it didn't slam back in Harry's face.
"Mrs Weasley?"
"Yes, she came over on Sunday. Molly was terribly disappointed you didn't turn up again. I'm sure she thinks I don't invite you over."
Brooke disappeared into his office, leaving Harry standing in the lobby.
Harry always felt particularly awkward when Brooke mentioned Mrs Weasley, especially as it was she that had persuaded her cousin to give him a job in the first place.
He walked into the kitchen area and filled the kettle before checking the fridge for milk. There was half a carton left. He sniffed the open top cautiously before pouring it down the sink.
As he was about to bin the carton, Harry realised the only writing he could read on the packaging was the word, "Milk," on the front. Every other word was written in an unfamiliar language. This didn't bother him too much apart from the tiny asterisk next to the, "Milk," title. He wondered qualification you needed to make to this particular product. It had been the subject of several speculations from his colleagues, each suggesting a different animal whose milk they might be sampling.
Brooke reappeared and pushed some coins into his hands.
"I'll be back in a minute," said Harry, pocketing the change.
*
Harry spent the morning quietly continuing through the ledgers. He was the most junior member of the practice, so he got the most menial tasks. These were generally things that were so mind numbingly boring that no one else could face them.
Harry didn't mind though, particularly as the office was quiet today.
He shared the back office with three more senior workpeople. One was an Associate Partner and the other two were a few years off full qualification.
It was relatively unusual for them to work outside the office, but sometimes large clients insisted and Harry was sure they enjoyed getting out of the office as well sometimes.
He had never been invited to join them, but he was mildly curious to see how other companies worked.
"Good grief, Harry, you're not actually working?"
Harry looked up to see a smiling Brooke looking over his shoulder.
"When I was a junior and the office was empty, I can assure you I didn't do a stroke of work!"
Harry laughed as Brooke placed a message on his Associate's desk.
"Mind you are at least an hour late back from lunch," he warned before leaving. "I'll be watching the clock!"
Harry chucked quietly as the door closed slowly after Brooke. He rather liked Brooke, not least because he had manfully fended off Molly Weasley's considerable attempts to locate where Harry was living these days.
*
Harry was just entering the building after taking his lunch in the park when Brooke hurried down the steps.
"I'm going to be late again!" he said as he approached. Brooke had a habit of never quite leaving enough time for travelling to his next appointment. There was always a phone call to delay him.
Harry smiled and stepped aside for him.
Brooke had almost disappeared when he stopped and shouted up, "Harry?"
"Yes?" he answered, peering over the balustrade.
"Come on, it's time you got out of here. I want a word with you anyway."
Harry was a little stunned for a moment before hurrying down the stairs to catch up with Brooke. He could not recall when any of the others had been invited out by Brooke to see a client, including the Associates.
Brooke was at his car before Harry caught up with him.
The Associates' cars were all almost new and top of their range. Brooke's car, however, was rather old but positively oozed quality. The central locking unlocked almost noiselessly and Harry eased himself into the comfortable leather and polished walnut interior.
"Now, today, Harry, I just want you to observe and listen. Also try to take extensive notes. You'll see why later when you try to recall what was discussed," began Brooke as they made their way through the traffic.
"Don't be tempted to join in the discussion and never ask a question unless you know the answer. That is important.
"In addition you should never, under any circumstances, offer an opinion. Even if you were to be right, you are unqualified. It is often very tempting for clients to push for an answer or reassurance they want to hear rather than face up to the reality of their situation. It is usually easier to pressure someone inexperienced to get that reassurance. Remember you are representing the practice and we could get sued for anything you say that is out of turn."
Harry gulped, half wishing he had stayed behind.
"This particular client, whom we are visiting this afternoon, is new to us. I'm not entirely sure about them yet, and they appear to be in some difficulties. As you know I tend to concentrate on tax matters these days, which is why I'm dealing with them."
"Um," asked Harry hesitantly. "Why did you want me to come along?" He hoped his question didn't sound too rude.
"Two reasons. First of all, I want you to know there is more to this profession than those interminable figures you've been working on. I appreciate from your perspective it may not seem like it."
Harry smiled and grabbed the door handle as Brooke swerved to narrowly avoid a cyclist.
"Molly reminded me yesterday, rather forcefully actually, that it is about time you considered your future career. I'd like you to consider studying for some qualifications. The problem at the moment is that you are of limited use to us until you begin to know more. A lot comes from experience, but an awful lot these days comes from studying."
Harry nodded, remembering the technical discussions he'd listened to in the office. He also knew it took years to become fully qualified, and many people didn't make it.
"To be honest," continued Brooke, "I'm not sure we can offer you the career you may feel you deserve. Don't get me wrong," he added, making another swerve, "I want you to decide what's best for you. Many young people take a while to settle on what they want to do in the long term."
They turned off down a side road and almost immediately turned again into a small car park.
"Now, Harry, as I said, I want you to observe. Try to take in what I don't. We'll compare notes after, but it isn't just about figures and contracts. Look at the people we meet and ask yourself what they aren't telling us."
They locked the car and Harry carried Brooke's two pilot cases into the reception. Almost immediately, they were shown into one of the adjacent meeting rooms.
*
Brooke waited until they were back at the car before speaking.
"Well done," he said quietly with a small smile. "I can't tell you how pleased I was not to be embarrassed by someone accompanying me. Last time Jenny complained about the bruising I caused from kicking Peter's shins under the table."
Jenny's husband, Peter, was one of the newer Associate Partners.
Harry smiled as he waited for the passenger door to unlock. He threw his new notepad and jacket onto the back seat before getting inside.
As they set off, Brooke asked casually, "So what did you make of that?"
Harry considered before answering.
"Well, to be honest, your discussions about the import and export regulations went over my head. I did pick up that they may be in trouble, though."
"Indeed. Tax avoidance is fine and entirely legal. Tax evasion isn't. I'm still not sure whether they really were ignorant of the regulations or not."
"The elder one certainly knew they were breaking the law," said Harry without thinking. "The other one, who kept talking all the time, just trusted the other one."
Brooke slowed the car to a halt, earning them an angry beep from the black taxi cab behind them.
Brooke turned to Harry and asked seriously, "How did you know?"
"I just know," said Harry, who suddenly realised his assumption that Brooke knew pretty much everything about him, was wrong.
Harry decided Brooke deserved his trust.
He turned to see Brooke studying him closely.
"I assumed Mrs Weasley told you about me," he began.
Brooke swore under his breath and said, "You're a wizard." It wasn't a question.
Harry nodded.
Brooke paused a moment before coming to his senses and, after checking his mirrors, set off again.
"Molly didn't tell me anything. She said you had some things you needed to work through and could I just give you something to do while you got yourself back on track. I didn't think you were any different from all the other juniors we'd taken on."
"So you know about wizards?"
"Oh, yes! I used to love being invited over to Molly's parents home during the holidays. Amazing atmosphere. They used to stay with us as well sometimes. I'm sure they found us just as strange! We were aware that not all wizarding families had the same views, but with them the magic came second to a loving home."
Harry smiled, remembering how kind and welcoming the Weasleys had been to him in better times.
"I am a qualified wizard, in that I graduated a few months ago. The thing is, something happened to me at the end of my last year."
"What happened?"
"I don't like to talk about it, but the result was I lost my ability to perform magic. To all intents and purposes, I'm a squib now."
"A squib?"
"A squib is a derogatory term used for someone from a wizarding family who can't perform magic themselves."
"I see. Harry, I want you to promise me never to refer to yourself by that term again."
"Er, sure," replied Harry, somewhat taken aback by the seriousness of Brooke's tone.
"Anyway, back to our friends back there. What else did you notice?"
"Well, when I went to the loo I walked out into their production area. They have storage in there too. I can't see how they could ever maintain the kinds of volume their figures claimed."
"Anything else?"
"There were rather a lot of security cameras around."
"Yes, but they were installed by the previous leaseholder. We still handle their accounts. This new firm has only moved in for a few weeks."
"Oh."
"The production and packing area is on the small side, but these days it makes sense to save money on storage by having suppliers deliver only when necessary to maintain production. In any case, what they are doing isn't that labour intensive and the batches go out to the wholesalers very regularly. They also use a bonded warehouse closer to the port they usually export from."
"Oh, I didn't realise."
"But you were quite right about the two we met today."
Harry turned to see a smile on Brooke's face as they sped along in the lightening evening traffic.
"I'm sorry Harry, but we're going to be late back to the office. I can drop you off it will make your journey easier?"
"Um, no thanks. It's easier to catch the bus from my usual stop."
"Okay. So how did you know? Something about his handshake?"
Harry laughed and said, "No. Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes, but only tell me what you're comfortable with."
Harry took a deep breath and said, "When I was at school, I had some problems with someone who could read my feelings and thoughts. I found I could do the same to him, but I had no real control over what I saw or when.
"In an attempt to prevent this happening, I was taught Occlumency. It's a technique that is supposed to help someone blocking another's attempts to read their mind.
"I eventually got quite good at Occlumency, but it is a skill that is very close to Legilimency, and I found after a while that I could read other peoples' feelings. I can tell when someone is lying."
"So you can do some magic?"
"No, this is just something I have retained for some reason. The strange thing is, it doesn't work on some people at all. I also mix up the emotions some people are feeling."
"That's a shame."
"You're telling me," muttered Harry, looking out of the window and thinking once again how different his life might be if he could read people better.
As they entered the car park back at the office, it was gone seven o'clock and the other cars had all gone.
"Here, Harry," said Brooke handing him a small wad of bank notes. "This is an advance on your wages. Before you come in tomorrow, get yourself a suit. Nothing too flashy, just be smart and presentable and be in by eleven. We have a VIP coming, so don't be any later."
"Okay, thanks," said Harry, pocketing the money.
"So, is the reason that you are living in that dump like a hermit just because you can't perform magic?"
"No, not entirely," Harry admitted. He wasn't about to elaborate.
He bid Brooke goodnight and walked out of the car park entrance, heading for his bus stop on the other side of the junction.