Cut From the Sky

Chapter 10: Confundus

Mid-morning on the 73nd of November 2nd, Harry understood with a heretofore unavailable clarity that he truly did need to leave the Ministry. He came to that realisation after falling back into his hotel bed, muddy rain sticking to every inch of his skin and turning his fluffy white comforter swiftly damp. 09:27, the red flashing digits on his rectangular alarm clock informed him. 09.27, he was already exhausted, and all he'd done was cause damage.

A wizard with a wispy thin ponytail had sat promptly down after being hit by Harry's Confundus, right into a runnel of rain gushing by a pavement and it had taken Harry forever to make the man tell him where he lived and let him accompany him into the dry safety of his hallway, in a wholly different part of town. Before that, a young witch had backed away from him for the fourth time, his Confundus muddling her face with dread and confusion, and Harry hadn't followed her as she backed off into the rain.

Harry should have given the mission a pass. Surely, passing on a mission must be something he was entitled to do. He hadn't ever tried. If Mysteries needed the mission done, anyone else could do it.

Harry didn't want to perform a mission that relied on Confundus. He wanted even less to perform a mission that helped the Ministry uphold the wards between the magical and the non-magical world. He had long since understood that he didn't have it in him to adequately fight for political change, and while he found that fact disappointing and a tad embarrassing, he'd made his peace with it. His current mission, however, felt unquestionably political. If only he had all the facts, maybe he'd stand a chance to untangle his task, to question where he stood. As it was, he had only the bare minimum of information. Just enough to turn himself into a pawn, in the dark and out of control, yet again.

None of his missions had ever made him feel quite this rotten – except perhaps they had. For all he knew he'd questioned them all, had decided to leave Mysteries time and again, and hadn't been allowed to remember. Sure, he'd returned from months spent doing Merlin knew what feeling chaotic and vaguely dissatisfied, but he'd never remembered thinking he needed to quit. Maybe, back when Robards and Kingsley had set up his interview with Philomena, Harry should have simply declined. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the foggiest idea how else to fill his time. How else to make himself useful.

Ron loved his work as an Auror. He'd stumbled just a little when Harry had left, but had quickly regained his footing. Ron landed himself in Mungo's as much as any Auror and then some, and yet his smiles remained bright and easy, his confidence and pride radiating off of him.

Hermione loved studying, speaking at seminars, at functions. She travelled for weeks and would miss Angelina fiercely. She'd spend long nights at the office, followed by more long nights, followed by weekends at work and sometimes she was too tired to come to the pub. But her eyes lit up whenever anyone asked her the right questions about her work as the junior head of the Muggle Liaison office. Harry had seen her celebrate. He'd seen her making a difference. And while he wasn't certain if her achievements were worth all her sacrifices, Hermione, at least, seemed sure of it.

Then there was a golden-haired witch in a soft pink coat and a matching beret, smiling to herself as she went to work at her Ministry job in the pouring rain. There was Emerence, making intricate miniatures of foreign living rooms, welcoming strangers, telling them about history and sharing her tools and her knowledge. There was Malfoy, excelling at charms and creating a beautiful space and a whole new life for himself, and really, Harry needed to leave the Ministry. There would be something else for him to do. There had to be.

His resolve to leave had his chest feel slightly lighter, his skin slightly less chilled. Picking up his wand where it was nestled near his thigh on the comforter, Harry cast a warming charm over himself and thought Malfoy's magic, lush and golden, embracing his very core with warm, tingling light. Soon, Harry hoped, he too might find something he excelled at, something that didn't cause any harm. Something that made him feel light and at ease. Perhaps even proud.