One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. To walk into the cold embrace of death, slowly, one step at a time, the sliver of moonlight which managed to penetrate the thick dark canopy of leaves overhead the only guide.
There was no one. No comforting whisper in the dark that it would not hurt, that it would be peaceful and quick, that there was any glory or pride in what he was about to do.
He wanted to turn back but his feet would not obey. He did not want to stare into those red eyes and feel the pain of death, or worse, what if death was prolonged until the point that he begged…?
His heart pounded in his ears, pleading with him not to do this… his breathing was deep, slow, making the most of the oxygen around before he would have to give it up forever…
And she seemed to stand before him her eyes blazing, hair fiery, lips pulled into a silent laugh. But she was not there and she could not give him the comfort he so desperately craved and needed, and it was in terrible green light that her face was illuminated and then faded-
He awoke, panting, drenched in a cold sweat, pale faced and fearful. Someone was cradling his head and making hushing, soothing noises, and he thought vaguely that it was like the sea. He caught a brief scent of wildflowers, and he calmed. Her warm hands were proof to him that the nightmare was nought but a nightmare, a fiction born of fears and twisted memories. His eyelids fluttered and closed once again and when morning came, he would not remember waking up at all.
She carried on rocking him slightly and thought bitterly how child-like and vulnerable her husband could be at night. It was not right that a man by who by all counts was strong could be so fragile and scared night after night, years after emotional trauma.
She placed a soft kiss on the top of his head, and pushed herself down the bed so that her face was level with his. She reached out her hand and touched his exposed neck. His pulse. A constant, soothing reminder that he was still here, and not some figment of her imagination.
Uneasily, she sank into a reluctant slumber.
***
“Sleeping on the job, Potter?”
Harry jerked awake, nearly falling off his chair as he swivelled around ready to apologise to whoever was barking at him. Only to see a broadly grinning Ron, eyes glinting with mischief. Harry glared at him and laid his head back on the desk with a groan.
“Leave me alone, I was up half the night,” he yawned.
“Do I want to know why you were up half the night?” asked Ron, amused. Harry made a strange half-yawn half-phrase sound, and Ron raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”
“I said, apparently I had another one of my night terrors last night. I don’t remember it, but Ginny says I woke up every twenty minutes. She’s shattered too.”
His grin faded, Ron sat in a nearby, scruffy chair and looked at his brother-in-law with concern. “I thought they were meant to be getting better? Is that potion not working anymore?”
Harry grunted and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe it was a one off.”
“Hmm… well, maybe you’d better owl Healer Sims about it later.”
“Yeah, maybe…” mumbled Harry, sleepily. “But it’s not as bad as it used to be… I used to have ‘em every night, remember?”
“Yes, well… think about it. Anyway, I just came to say that the Minister wants to see you at three… but I can tell him you’re busy if you’re not up to it…”
“No, it’s all right, I’ll yawn my way through it,” Harry replied, pulling, with great effort, his head off the desk. “What does he want, anyway?”
“Sorry, mate, no idea. Let me think… Hmm… Wouldn’t have anything to do with your growing pile of overdue paperwork, would it?” he asked lightly, clearly enjoying himself. “See you later,” he said before Harry could respond.
A knot of nerves was now tying itself around Harry’s gut. Feeling slightly queasy, he looked at the wall of his cubicle, where various pictures of Death Eaters snarled down at him, and hastily scribbled notes were pinned, occasionally into a Death Eater’s head.
Antonin Dolohov gazed sourly down at him, and Harry was hit with a sudden memory: Remus, screaming, writhing on the ground , Tonks, pleading, begging…
Harry shuddered, and had to fight the strong desire to burn Dolohov’s photograph. He sighed, pushing his desires to the back of his mind, and left his cubicle. He walked to the other side of the office (why did his cubicle have to be so far to the right?) and wearily stuck a garish bright blue pin in Rio de Janeiro. Another reported sighting of Bellatrix Lestrange, which he ought to have tacked up earlier, but had fallen asleep before doing so. Though it was probably a waste of time, in his opinion. Abroad sightings had to be filed before they were checked out, and that could take anything up to two weeks, which usually meant that the culprit was long gone.
He shuffled back to his cubicle and slumped down in the swivel chair, leaning his head back lazily, willing his eyes not to close. He could not remember ever being this bored. For once, there was nothing to worry about and, though Harry would never admit it, he couldn’t help but miss the war, just slightly. At least he had felt that he was doing something worthwhile then, even if he would have liked to be a little less in the centre of it all. But lately the remaining Death Eaters had been quiet, and following a rather large illegal Dragon eggs raid, there was nothing but paperwork to do, which meant that Harry had been bound to his two metre square cubicle for the past ten days, and looked likely to be stuck there for several more.
His gaze wandered over to a photograph of his family, which sat proudly framed on his cluttered desk. He grinned lazily, and marvelled at how he could still feel deliriously happy about them even after all these years. His redheaded wife sat on a lush green lawn, trying to contain two wriggling and giggling children in her arms. The twins. Lily and James. A baby sat on the grass in front of them, every now and then turning around to give them a watery grin. Sirius.
Of course, the photograph was several years old now, and his children had grown, but this photograph was his favourite. He watched James sneakily raise a hand behind his sister’s dark head, and put up two bunny fingers. Ginny pushed it firmly back down.
Harry laughed lightly, and swivelled his chair around again, staring at the ceiling. He supposed he should get on with his paperwork. With a groan and a yawn, he pulled himself up, and reached for his quill.
The next two hours went by agonizingly slowly, and Harry swore that he had seen his clock hand move forward one minute, and then back another two. However, three PM eventually rolled around, and it was with half relief, half foreboding that he closed his paperwork folder, and made his way to the lift.
“Afternoon, Jackie,” he said cheerfully as he entered. The little blonde witch smiled at him, a cardboard box in her arms. “What’s in the box?”
“Hey, Harry,” she greeted back as whatever was in the box gurgled. “Baby Kappa. Some idiot was selling it in Diagon Alley as a pet.”
The lift gave a ping as it arrived on Harry’s floor. With a good-bye wave to Jackie, he left and headed towards the Minister’s office.
He was not overly concerned. Although Amanda Rider had come back shaking when she had been called up for overdue paperwork, Harry had a good relationship with the Minister, although he supposed that was due to the fact that the public was constantly behind Harry. It seemed that the old arguments between Harry and Scrimgeour had been quietly forgotten.
Nevertheless, as he walked up to the Minister’s door he nervously tried to flatten his hair, and hoped that he didn’t look too tired. He knocked on the door.
“Enter,” growled a voice through the door. Harry entered the office, and walked over to the desk, suddenly aware that his hands were in his pockets. He took them out and immediately had no idea what to do with them.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry was distinctly aware of the portraits of all the old Ministers whispering and muttering at his presence.
“Ah, Potter. Please, sit down.” The Minister gestured to a much newer and better looking chair than the one in Harry’s office, and Harry sat. The Minister leaned back and surveyed Harry over steepled fingers. “Tell me, how is work?”
“Erm… Good, sir.”
“I have heard reports that you are becoming rather frustrated in the office.”
“Oh… Only lately, sir… Since the dragon egg raid.”
Scrimgeour nodded, and the room lapsed into a sticky silence once again. “I have a job for you, Potter. It is a little different than your normal duties, but it will get you out of the office and give an excellent comfort to the general public.”
“What sort of job, sir?” asked Harry, feeling uneasy.
“A guard job.”
“Guard?” Harry felt rather taken aback and vaguely insulted. After all the good work he’d done over the years, the Minister wanted him to be a guard?
The Minister nodded, stood, and began to pace around the desk. Harry thought distinctly of a vulture circling a dying animal.
“As you know, the new term at Hogwarts will start in less than a week. Your eldest two are starting this year, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. They’re looking forward to it.”
“Good to hear. Now… You know of course that the remaining and aptly named ‘wannabe’ Death Eaters have been unusually quiet these past few weeks.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, suddenly wondering whether the Minister was saying that his twin children were not safe.
“Well… Headmistress McGonagall has been sent various threats recently by these Death Eaters. They are threatening to attack the school unless those in Azkaban are set free.”
“What does Hogwarts have to do with Azkaban, sir?” asked Harry slowly, processing the facts he had just been told.
“That’s the thing. They are threatening to attack the school and kill the students who have connections to the Order of the Phoenix.”
Harry stood sharply. “My children will not be attending this year.”
Scrimgeour raised a hand. “I understand your concern. However, by pulling your children out of school, it will only tell the Death Eaters that their threats are working. What we plan to do, is put you there.”
There was a long pause. “You want me to go to Hogwarts?”
“You, and three other Aurors, more specifically, Aurors that have children in the school. We feel that if the guards there have more of a concern about the safety of the school, they will do a better job.”
It was logical, Harry thought, though he thought it was rather crude and just a little cruel to play on Aurors emotions like that. “Who are the other Aurors, sir?”
“We are picking one for each house. You for Gryffindor, obviously, Mrs Lupin for Hufflepuff, Mr Shackelbolt for Ravenclaw, and unfortunately we could not get an ex-Slytherin to guard, so we have Mrs Angelina Weasley for Slytherin. We decided that putting the guards with their old houses will give the students more comfort and a role model.”
Harry was not sure he wanted to be a role model, but according to the press he was one anyway. He was unsure of what to do. On the one hand, it would be very easy just to pull his students out of school. On the other hand, he knew his children would not take it well when he told them that they could not go to Hogwarts, and if he was there to look after them…
“So, what’s it to be?” asked the Minister. “Will you take the job?”
The Third War - Rewritten by dumbledorefluertwins
Chapter Notes: All right, I'll explain a few things here. I have put some DH spoilers in this fic, but not others. I have mixed things around a bit. Here are the things you need to know:
Harry's children are called Lily, James and Sirius. Lily and James are twins.
Scimgeour is not dead, and is still the Minister.
The whole Harry walking to his death thing still happened.
Remus and Tonks are still alive, although Dolohov tortured them both.
Chapter Endnotes: If you're confused about anything in this chapter, please see the chapter notes. This fic is for a challenge, where I have to rewrite a story that I wrote a while ago. If you *really* want to read the original, feel free. It may show you how I've improved, and it may also scar you for life with the sheer poor quality of it.
:)
~Evie