a grave for flowers | drarry

chapter 2

chapter 2

"Rhonda Fladbury resigned from her Auror post yesterday," Gawain Robards informed Harry, looking over a floating piece of parchment. "We originally gave her maternity leave, but she expressed that she doesn't want to work for the Ministry anymore."

Harry nodded, not really listening to the Head of the Auror Office. He fiddled with a quill, plucking the feathers off it absentmindedly.

"I know you have other Auror obligations," Robards said, not sounding very sorry, "But I've cleared your schedule up a bit to take her place. I have the job description here somewhere—"

Harry looked up, his attention now undivided. Nobody ever asked Harry to take other Auror responsibilities. He tracked down the Death Eaters and brought them in, and he was good at it, too. His fighting skills were far too in-demand for him to be called into another job.

"Wasn't Rhonda a behind-the-desk Auror?" Harry asked, confused. "I don't remember seeing her in any of our raids."

"She was," Robards said. "Sort of. She dealt with Death Eaters, carrying out their punishments, that sort of thing."

Harry frowned. "Sounds tame. Why do I have to do that?"

Robards sighed. "Shacklebolt ordered me to... well, essentially cut you some slack. Said you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Harry tightened his fists. "I can handle myself fine, thank you," he said defensively. "You can tell Shacklebolt to stuff himself."

"Watch yourself, Potter. In case you forgot, I can't tell the Minister of Magic to go stuff himself," Robards snapped. "And if you haven't noticed, I'm not very happy with his decision either. But his decision is final, so you'd best study up before tomorrow." He shoved a scroll of parchment into Harry's face.

"Tomorrow?" Harry said in disbelief. "I thought we had a—"

"Not anymore, you don't. Weasley will take over."

Harry glared at Robards, who didn't look up from the stacks of documents on his desk. Their dislike for each other was mutual, and they both knew it. "Alright," Harry said through a clenched jaw.

"Have fun babysitting Draco Malfoy," Robards muttered.

Harry wondered if his ears were working correctly. "Excuse me?"

"Out," Robards said, and Harry could argue no longer.

Harry collapsed in an armchair at Grimmauld Place later that day, still rubbing his arm that had been cut open from a stray curse. It was healed by one of the other Aurors, but the ghost of pain that still danced under his skin was hard to forget.

In the light of the dying hearth, Harry finally un-scrolled the parchment Robards had given him. Robards must have been mistaken. Didn't he know Harry and Malfoy had practically been archenemies in school?

Archenemy. How childish, thinking back now. Had Harry really considered Draco Malfoy to be his archenemy? Had he really granted Malfoy the title of "nemesis" at the age of eleven? There were so many bigger, more important things that could fall under that name. Like Hunger, or Fear, or Voldemort.

Death, Harry did not consider to be his enemy. He had embraced it, after all, walked into the Forbidden Forest hand-in-hand with what Voldemort considered to be his only fear... and Dumbledore had greeted him, and told him that... what had he said?

It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.

Harry could certainly vouch for that. The future that lay ahead of him was uncertain and blind, and at times Harry remembered how warm and quiet Death had been. Somewhere in the deepest parts of his heart, he yearned to be so at peace again.