After graduating from Hogwarts, the once-famous Savior, Harry Potter's life can truly be described as smooth sailing.
Away from his original family, his days have entered a steady path. Not only did he find a like-minded girlfriend, but he also successfully got a secure job, followed by climbing from rookie to the position of a team captain in a task force under the Auror Command Center in just three years.
This rate of promotion is definitely considered meteoric among his peers, the kind of achievement that could have a small segment dedicated to inspirational interviews in the Prophet Daily.
Harry could have been quite pleased with himself—except, whenever he thought of his old friend, now the head of the Law Enforcement Department in the Ministry who was even a strong contender for the next Minister, that small sense of achievement in him deflated like the cheapest bubblegum at Honeydukes, bursting at the slightest touch.
Yes, Hermione Granger is the one who truly exemplified what connections, or perhaps it should be called the "terrifying combination of strength and opportunity," really mean.
As for his current direct superior, Harry has always held her in high regard (in all seriousness).
She is practically a superwoman.
After all, who else can in just three short years since graduation, rise like a rocket from a Muggle-born witch with no background to a position of real power at the Wizengamot, speaking convincingly and giving the old pure-blood councillors a headache?
Of course, this might also have something to do with the "super enforcer" she has backing her up.
"What are you thinking about? Your soul seems to have drifted away."
A voice filled with amusement brought Harry back from his random thoughts.
In the warm living room, Harry was standing in front of the coat rack, inserting the holly wand securely into a special belt side clip, then picked up that deep navy blue Auror cloak with dark silver edges. The cloak's fabric was specially treated to somewhat deflect not too intense spells, and the lining had a constant warming and waterproof charm.
Just as he tossed the cloak over his shoulder, without having time to fasten the buckle, a familiar pair of hands reached from behind, deftly pinching the slightly crooked collar, smoothing it out, and gently patting the non-existent dust on his shoulder, with delicate and tender movements.
Thus, Harry obediently stood straight, allowing those hands to arrange his garments.
Ginny Weasley—now Ginny Potter, although she insisted on using "Ginny Weasley" in the professional Quidditch league—circled around to face him, her face bright with a smile, her red-brown long hair flickering like flames under the warm indoor light.
Then, she took two steps back, folded her arms, and her gaze swept up and down Harry twice.
"Hmm, looks somewhat presentable."
The girl said in a deliberately critical tone, "The façade of the Auror Office, our little Captain Potter—so what time are you planning to come home tonight?" Ginny feigned annoyance, scrunching her nose, but the smile in her eyes betrayed her.
Harry rubbed his nose, chuckling somewhat helplessly, "Don't worry, I'll clock out on time."
Ginny stepped forward again, reaching up to press down on those two tufts of black hair that would never behave, "I know, work is important." Her voice softened, "It's just... I thought at least on Christmas Eve, you'd take a break. Can the Ministry of Magic really not cope without Harry Potter on Christmas Eve?"
Harry clasped her hand, feeling the familiar calluses from long hours holding a broomstick on her fingertips, "We've talked about this, Ginny." His voice was gentle yet firm, "It's during times like this that we can't let our guard down, remember Easter a few years ago..."
He didn't continue, but both understood what he meant.
Though the third goblin rebellion was quickly quelled, its radical remnants, the unrest from magical creatures, and various instabilities that sprouted in the gaps of society kept the seemingly calm waters of the British magical realm pulsing with undercurrents.
"... I know."
Ginny sighed, no longer insisting, just lightly hugging him, "Just be safe. I'll ask Mum to keep your dinner—just head to The Burrow after work."
"Mission accomplished."
Harry lowered his head to kiss her forehead, picked up the gloves placed to the side, "Pass my regards to Ron... oh, right, he's on duty with me tonight." Harry remembered, his partner, and Ginny's brother, also had no rest tonight.
Speaking as he walked into the fireplace, the green flames roared to life, swallowing his figure.
...
Ministry of Magic, Level 2, Auror Office.
The air here always mixed with the scent of parchment, old leather, invigorating potions mingled with caffeine; compared to other polished departments, this place was evidently more down-to-earth. The notice board was plastered with reminders and wanted posters, several unopened boxes of magical monitoring equipment piled in the corner, and the air hummed with the occasional ringing from communicators.
"Oh, Harry, I thought my sister would have you tied to a broomstick..."
Harry had just stepped into the area when a familiar voice rang out.
Ron Weasley lifted his head from behind a desk piled with documents. He, too, wore an Auror uniform, his bright red hair unmistakably striking under the fluorescent lights. A few years in the Auror career had worn off much of his school-time rashness, broadening his shoulders, adding some weathered marks to his face, though the spark in those blue eyes remained unchanged.