Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Harry Potter's Day Off

Author: Arachne

Minerva McGonagall looked up from the pile of Transfiguration essays she had been attempting to grade. It was an exercise in futility--she had been reading and rereading Malcolm Baddock's introductory paragraph about how to turn a Moke into a bar of soap for the past 20 minutes. Snape's words had etched themselves in her head with indelible ink since their encounter earlier that morning. Frowning, she put down her quill. Surely Harry Potter--Head Boy, darling of the Gryffindor Quidditch team since his first year and her favourite student to boot--surely he couldn't be capable of the degree of truancy Snape had accused him of?

Still, Severus had seemed so firm in his convictions, so absolutely positive Potter was playing them all for fools. She sighed. Poppy certainly had her hands full with the dragon pox outbreak, so who knew how often she would have the opportunity to tend to her quarantined charge? Perhaps it would be wise to look in on the dear boy--just to see how he was faring, of course, and if there was anything he might need. But if she was completely honest with herself, Professor McGonagall knew the real reason for the visit was the opportunity to set Severus straight, once and for all. Good then, she smiled thinly to herself. It was settled.

A short while later, the deputy headmistress found herself on Hagrid's front porch. Her hand was halfway to the massive brass doorknocker when she reconsidered, not really wanting to wake Harry up. Instead, she knocked softly on the wooden door, then, after getting no response tried again a little more firmly. When still no reply came from within the hut, Professor McGonagall bit her bottom lip in worry. What if something had happened? What if the poor boy was lying unconscious, or was too ravaged and weakened from fever to answer? Hesitantly, she took out her wand, not wanting to invade his privacy, but at the same time, fearful for his well-being. Maternal instincts overrode all other feelings (including, she shamefully admitted, the tiniest of niggling suspicions that perhaps Severus could possibly be correct in his assumptions), and she quickly uttered "Alohomora."

Hagrid's giant oak door swung open on silent hinges before her. The darkened room was still and silent, save for the sound of deep snoring coming from the bedroom and the occasional whimper from Fang's basket. The waves of relief that hit Professor McGonagall were almost tangible, though they didn't quite drown out the guilt she felt for having doubted Harry in the first place. Tiptoeing towards the bedroom and through the door, which had been left open ajar, she watched the silhouette of the sleeping form with moist eyes.

"Bless him," she murmured affectionately, then retreated back to the front door and closed it gently behind her. Her hand hadn't yet left the knob when she heard Severus Snape's oily voice: "Seven times!"

Cursing him for planting a seed of doubt in her mind, Professor McGonagall hesitated a few moments then turned the knob again, almost afraid of what she might find. But there he was, still nestled under the patchwork quilt in Hagrid's bed, still sound asleep. Why, if it weren't for the snoring, she would have thought he was under a Bewitched Sleep spell, he was so still and unmoving.

Not wanting to disturb him any further, the Deputy Headmistress smiled maternally and gently closed the front door behind her a second time. Feeling acute pangs of guilt for even marginally doubting Harry's innocence, she cast several extra wards over the door so he could continue to sleep in uninterrupted peace. She would just pop by the Hospital Wing on her way back to let Madam Pomfrey know, and to see if she had come any closer to finding out what the matter was, if she had even found time to do so amid the dragon pox outbreak. Grimly, Minerva McGonagall also thought she would have more than a few choice words for Severus Snape the next time she saw him, too.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had gone straight to Diagon Alley from the car park, and paid an immediate visit to Gringotts, where Harry paid a quick visit to Vault 687 to finance their day of adventure. If the Gringotts goblins realised young Mr Potter and his friends were playing truant, they said nothing of it. Discretion was a pre-requisite in their vocation, and Mr Potter one of their wealthiest clients.

Ron and Hermione waited for Harry in the main chamber, where dozens of very formal-looking goblins counted and weighed coins in a most serious manner. Ron tried to reconcile the rigid, business-like surroundings with his long-haired, earring-clad brother Bill and his aristocratic and glamourous fiancée, Fleur. He said as much to Hermione, who smiled at the idea of tall, laid-back Bill Weasley and delicate Fleur Delacour working amongst the diminutive, stiffly ceremonial goblins.

They were still chuckling when Harry rejoined them, escorted by Griphook, the same goblin who had taken Harry and Hagrid to his vault for the very first time, all those years ago.

"What are you two laughing at, then?" Harry asked with a smile.

"Nothing really," Hermione replied. "Just trying to picture Fleur and Bill in the middle of all ... this." She gestured around the chamber with a hand.

"That's right, I'd forgotten," Harry said, turning to Griphook. "My friend Ron here, his brother works for Gringotts. Bill Weasley. He used to be a curse-breaker in Egypt, but he transferred back here a couple of years ago."

Griphook nodded sagely and gave Ron a little bow. Ron's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he managed a weak smile and nodded back.

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. "I don't suppose you could do us a favour?" he asked Griphook. "Seeing as Ron's brother is a colleague of yours?"

"Harry ..." Ron began warningly, but Hermione silenced him by placing her hand on his arm.

The little goblin peered at Harry expectantly. "Yes?"

"I don't suppose you'd let us up to the Observation Platform, would you?" he asked politely. "It's just that Bill's always going on about how the view from the Observation Platform in the Trading Tower is the best in all of London, and, well, we'd love to see it."

Griphook blinked and considered Harry very thoughtfully, then walked away to confer with two other goblins.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked the minute he was out of earshot. "Bill's never said any such--"

"All right, so it wasn't Bill," Harry admitted. "It was Malfoy. I overheard him talking to Pansy a couple of months ago about how his father had once arranged for him to have a private tour of Gringotts. Apparently old Lucius fancies Malfoy has a future as a wizarding stockbroker--"

"--If he's not too busy studying to become a Death Eater first," Hermione interjected with disgust.

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed. "But even Death Eaters have day jobs. Anyway, Malfoy was going on and on about how you could see all of London from the Observation Platform at Gringotts, and I thought seeing as we're here, we should take the opportunity to see it for ourselves."

Just then, Griphook rejoined them. Wearing a wintry smile, he nodded and gestured towards a wrought-iron and stone staircase against the far wall of the chamber.

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned. "Thanks ever so much!"

With Harry leading, the three of them made their way to the staircase and began the steep climb to the very top of the Trading Tower. Several minutes later, the staircase opened out on to the WISE (Wizarding International Stock Exchange) Trading Chamber, where hundreds of goblins were buzzing around in a state of organised chaos. Wizarding currencies and shares of companies from around the world--including Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes--were being bought and sold with the flick of a wand, and an enormous blackboard that took up one entire wall kept erasing itself and rewriting prices, shares and costs over and over.

The trio stood agape for a moment, taking in all the hustle and bustle. At the far end of the chamber was an annex with a gilded sign over the arch which served as its entranceway that read Observation Platform. Harry nudged Ron and Hermione then strode purposefully towards the smaller room, cutting straight through the jostling masses of goblins on the trading chamber floor as if he had every right to be there. Ron gave Hermione a dubious look, but she merely shrugged and set off after Harry.

Inside the annex, Harry stopped to read an informational plaque on the wall about the Observation Platform. Another winding staircase led the three friends up to a spacious chamber with floor-to-ceiling glass walls on all sides. London--both magical, and beyond it, Muggle--stretched out as far as the eye could see in every directions.

Harry marvelled at the spectacular view. For once in his life, Malfoy was right. The cityscape which surrounded them was truly magnificent. The horizon was dotted with numerous Muggle and wizarding landmarks--everything from Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament to the domed roof of the Museum of Magic and a massive statue of Elfrida Clagg, Chieftainess of the Wizard's Council during the fourteenth century.

"Hey, Harry ... do you reckon the car's okay?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Sure," Harry replied smoothly. "This is the tallest tower in the British wizarding world," he informed Ron and Hermione.

"Harry, my stomach's a bit dodgy," Ron muttered. "Can we leave soon?"

A brass foot rail ran around the circumference of the chamber. "Here--climb up on this," Harry suggested, offering a hand to Hermione. "Come on, Ron."

Ron reluctantly stepped up onto the foot rail. "Right, now lean forward against the glass like this," he instructed, tilting forward and placing his forehead on the glass. His arms remained by his side and his feet balanced on the foot rail.

"Oh!" Hermione followed suit, squealing in delight.

Harry grinned. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

"I think I see my dad," Ron muttered softly to himself.

"Diagon Alley looks so peaceful from up here," Hermione murmured.

"Anything is peaceful from 1,234 feet," Harry noted.

"He's down there somewhere," Ron sighed, his voice full of weary anxiety. He stepped down from the footrest and slumped against the wall, his lanky body slowly sliding down to the floor, legs stretched out before him.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a knowing look and followed suit. Hermione sat in front of Harry and curled her legs up under her, settling back comfortably against his chest. All three soon became lost in their own thoughts, watching silently as witches and wizards flitted about like Lacewing flies on the streets of magical London below.

Propped up against the massive glass window for all the world to see, Ron felt naked and exposed, and wondered if his father could see him from his office window at the Ministry of Magic. He doubted it, but he found himself wishing he had Harry's Invisibility Cloak handy, all the same. Absently, he began to twirl Malfoy's wand to and fro in random configurations. Every so often, silver or green sparks would shoot out, or it would emit a small noise reminiscent of an Augrey's cry, and Ron would smile in satisfaction, knowing each outburst would mean more trouble for Malfoy from the Ministry.

Hermione, meanwhile, was busy appraising the numerous historical landmarks and places of interest with a scholar's keen eye, making a mental list for future sightseeing excursions and further study.

As for Harry, he took in the vast, sprawling city before him and felt both freedom and dread. One day--on the rare occasions he allowed himself to think that far in the future--he wanted to believe there would be a place out there just for him. Somewhere free of the Dursleys and his painful childhood, even free from the bittersweet memories of Hogwarts, that he could truly call his own. His home. Though Harry had never really given much thought to what it would look like, or where it would be, or whom he would share it with, because deep in his heart he knew it would probably never exist. It somehow hurt less to miss it as an abstract concept rather than a place he had breathed life into in his mind. Yet if he really dared to let himself dream, tucked away in the secret corners of his soul he his knew his home would be a cosy, comfortable, Burrow-like place, filled to the rafters with children and warmth and happiness and laughter and love, and all the other things that seemed to come so easily to everyone else.

Then reality set in, and a dull ache stabbed at his heart as he realised yet again that none of those things could ever be his when Voldemort was still alive and lurking in the shadows. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever end--they had battled so many times, and every time Voldemort had come back even more resilient; in fact, he seemed to be almost invincible. Harry knew their next duel would be their last, and the prophecy Dumbledore had told him about in fifth year would finally be fulfilled--he would either kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. Although, they were both such extraordinarily powerful wizards, it was also quite possible neither would survive. His heart felt heavy as he remembered once again that his odds of survival were a bleak one-in-three. A home and family of his own had never seemed more remote.

A flash of anger instantly surged up and washed over Harry just then, like a wave crashing against a shore. He had already been cheated out of his family once; he would be damned if he let history repeat itself. Perhaps the real way to defeat Voldemort was to go ahead and seize his future in spite of him. To lay claim to the things he desperately wanted, the things he knew he deserved. To show the Dark Lord that he was resilient and invincible, too.

Harry absently wound one of Hermione's unruly curls around his finger.

"D'you reckon we should get married?"

Hermione broke out of her excursion-planning reverie and turned to face him, her eyes wide and unblinking. "Sorry?"

"Married," he repeated softly. "D'you reckon we should get ... married."

"Ma-married?" she stammered, her eyes and mouth forming perfect little circles of shock. She felt more than a little awkward discussing the matter in front of Ron. He was her other best friend and she loved him dearly, so she had chosen to be wilfully oblivious of the obvious but completely unrequited crush he had developed on her over the past few years. "Er ... sure ... one day ..."

Flushing with embarrassment, Hermione looked down at the floor. Though she had often dreamt she and Harry would have a long, happy life together, it was quite another thing to express this hope out loud. That made it more real somehow, and knowing what the future most probably held, Hermione, like Harry, wouldn't allow herself to get caught up in heartbreaking impossibilities.

His voice was soft but firm, and almost hopeful. "Today?"

Hermione began to laugh nervously, but stopped when she realised Harry hadn't joined her. His piercing green eyes were fixed on hers, and at that moment, he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

"I'm serious."

"Harry!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Are you mad? We can't get married today!"

He shrugged impassively. "Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?" Hermione spluttered. "Honestly!"

"Besides being a bit youngish, having no place to live and you feeling a little bit awkward about being the only seventh-year with a husband, give me one good reason why not?" he replied, breaking into a grin.

"Well, apart from that," Ron piped up, pointing Malfoy's wand at Harry's unkempt locks, "and that,"--the wand now swung over to Hermione's ever-bushy tresses--"and the fact that your sprogs would have hair so bloody disastrous, no amount of Sleekeazy's could con--"

"Hey!" Hermione interjected indignantly.

"--trol it," Ron continued, unfazed by the interruption, "I'll give you two good reasons why not: your mother and your father. They got married and then, they died."

The full weight of his words, and all the history and prophecy associated with them, sank in the silence that followed. Hermione glared at Ron darkly for his usual lack of tact, but it was Harry who eventually replied.

"So?"

"So ... you're their son, Harry." He spoke softly and sadly, without any trace of jealousy or malice. "It isn't over yet, mate."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a forlorn look as the mournful cry of an Augrey sprang forth from Malfoy's wand.