A/N Please read the full disclosures in Chapter One.
A Ticket to the Boneyard
I should have known, Harry Potter thought, that it was not going to be my day.
In fact, it could not be called anyone's day.
Harry was certain he had locked the back door using the colloportus charm; there should have been no way that anyone got through it. That left only one way out, the front door, and he had entered through the front by himself.
It was true, undoubtedly, that he was too early. He had forgotten to set his watch back on returning from France yesterday, and so he thought he was running 30 minutes late, instead of in fact being 30 minutes too early. Owing to that, his colleagues had not gotten themselves into position, and so when he went in the front, they were not there to cover anyone who was running out.
The Auror squad had expected to raid this shop to find out who was selling phellus venom, a Class-A non-tradable substance, used by some delinquent wizards as a cheap high. Fred and George Weasley had heard rumors through a supplier it might be coming from Brighton, and so here they all were. But when he informed the 10 occupants of the Cauldron and Crusher that this was an Auror's raid, they laughed, and let him look through the entire premises - meaning he saw, at that point, he had arrived too early, and the deal hadn't yet gone down. However, just before leaving, he spotted two of the shop keepers about to hex him. Harry ducked most of the hexes before immobilizing the few remaining staff, before he got hit with a nasty jinx in the back from one of the customers. Everyone else had fled out the front - unhindered - as the spells started flying, and rushed to a waiting lorry.
However, one customer somehow made it through the back door - which Harry swore he had locked tighter than Umbridge's … well, look, tightly, okay?
Seeing a group of villains dash into a waiting van, Harry shot a series of fireballs at it while it was driving off madly. His shot put out its rear tire, and caused it to crash, which had the added advantage of stunning most of the passengers (all of whom lived through their injuries) and getting quite a nice load of phellus to drop out the back, producing the evidence they needed.
Unfortunately, one of the fireballs missed the van entirely, and struck the gas main to the set of flats next the road.
The resulting fireball singed off Harry's eyebrows and caused enough property damage to require Harry and his colleagues - who had by now arrived and were trying to figure out just how Harry had managed this - to need to spend almost four hours obliviating the memory of the muggles, none of whom were injured, but all of whom suddenly recalled that the van had struck the gas main when the driver negligently crashed into the wall.
"Must'a bloody been a drunk," said one to the reporters from ITV who happened to show up and film the conflagration.
All of which had led Harry - after a good hour in the Auror's trauma center, hidden in a secret recess of the Ministry of Magic - to his current meeting with his boss, Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Auror Division.
"How in the name of Merlin did you defeat Tom Riddle, Harry? A first-year trainee would have better success than you in most of your cases," Shacklebolt fumed.
Harry blushed and looked down, in part because he felt that Shacklebolt had a point. Some of the routine of being an Auror was vital, and Harry wasn't that great at it. I wonder if I should have listened more closely to Hermione all those years in Hogwarts, he thought glumly.
"You listening to me, Potter?" Shacklebolt growled.
"Sir. Yes, Sir," Harry said, staring straight at his feet.
"Sit down, Potter," Shacklebolt said, sliding open his desk drawer. He took out a bottle of firewhiskey that was about half full, and splashed out two generous measures and curtly pushed one at Harry. Harry drank down a small sip. Kingsley drank down a large one.
"What the hell are we going to do with you, Potter? You're the greatest spellcaster I've known since Dumbledore. I mean, you can do things with a wand, that damn it, you aren't supposed to be able to do. But when it comes to being an Auror …
"Harry, being an Auror is sort of like a combination of being a police officer, a soldier, a spy, and a politician. You have to be able to see some balance. You can't just go blasting in, and you also have to follow the rules."
"I understand, sir." Harry said.
"No, Harry you really don't. Not that I think that's a bad thing, mind. But you need to learn, all over again," Shacklebolt said.
"You're not going to make me run through the training program again, are you sir?" Harry shuddered.
"No," Shacklebolt said. "I think that our training program is too inadequate for someone such as you. So I'm going to send you on secondment to someone who I think can train you. You'll leave in three days, and spend no less than three months working as a watchman in the city I'm sending you."
Shacklebolt reached back into the recesses of his desk and picked out a giant sealed manila folder, which he tossed to Harry. "You'll find a portkey inside - shaped like a pen - and a full dossier of information, along with a personal letter than you will need to take to your temporary commanding officer. Under no circumstances are you to reveal where you are from to anyone, although the commander has been briefed on you. Understood?"
Harry knew that tone very well, and got to his feet. He drained the glass of firewhisky and picked up the dossier. "Understood, sir."
"Dismissed, Potter."
Harry walked out of the office, and back to his own office in the Ministry of Magic. He closed the roll-top on his desk, picked up a small package on his chair, and walked to the Ministry Lobby. He placed his day tag in the familiar slot.
"Night, there, Mr. Potter," called Edgid Froom, the night guard.
"Night," said Harry, wearily, and went to the apparition point to apparate back to his flat.
He arrived in his front hallway and set things down on the table. Hermione Granger walked in from the sitting room and eyed him carefully. "Tough day, love?" she asked, walking in and planting a kiss on his cheek.
"You have no idea," Harry said, embracing her.
"Well, give me one, then," Hermione said.
"I have to leave in three days to do a 90-day secondment outside of London," Harry said.
"What?" Hermoine said, feeling as if she had just received a blow. "Where?"
"Generally we say, `who, when and why,' after that," Harry said, dejected but still trying for humor. He tore open the envelope, and found a sealed letter with the Ministry of Magic stamp.
Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch
Pseudopolis Yard
Brass Bridge Lane
Central, Ankh-Morpork, DW
"Ankh-Morpork, wherever that is," Harry said.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Hermione said.
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