Chapter Text
Paws of Fury
By Veritas03
He never thought he’d see the day. To say that Harry was cool under pressure was - okay, could there be a bigger understatement? ‘Oh, pardon me while I let this crazy snake-faced bugger kill me. Not to worry. Back in a tick to kick his arse.’ Yeah, Harry could handle pressure.
It wasn’t a question of him losing control of his magic. He’d not made the crystal or crockery quake in years. No, this had to do with emotional control. Ron shuddered at the thought. He could admit that he loved Harry like a brother. Beyond that, did blokes really need to think, talk, or worry about one another’s emotions? Ron thought not. Problem was, it was becoming rather unavoidable.
Harry was a top-notch Auror. No big surprise there. At twenty-five, he was the youngest member of the department to be put in charge of his own squad. No question that Harry had earned the position. He was a natural leader. Few were more well-respected. That’s what made the scenario playing out at the moment all the more difficult to comprehend.
An explosion at the far end of Diagon Alley had left in its wake a scene of chaos and confusion. Three squads of Aurors had been dispatched there to investigate the situation, control and disperse the crowds, and assist the emergency teams from St. Mungo’s with the wounded.
Harry’s squad, including Ron and six others, was in charge of facilitating the treatment and transfer of the casualties. While the number of wounded had been considerable, no one had been dead at the scene. Although some of the injuries were serious, most of those already Portkeyed to the hospital were expected to survive. It had been considered fortunate that the explosion had occurred near the entrance to Knockturn Alley where pedestrian traffic was not generally heavy.
MAC - Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - had determined that the blast originated in a shop that had been boarded up for over a year. Evidence indicated that crates of volatile potions ingredients had been stored there. Another Auror squad was already working with MAC to ascertain if the explosion was accidental or the result of foul play. Most were in agreement that the damage from the explosion could have been much worse. The very heavy rain that had been falling for the last several days helped to keep the resulting fires from growing and spreading throughout the shopping district.
The situation now was much less chaotic, the efficiency of the Aurors fully evident. However, nothing on this scale had ever happened in this commercial center of wizarding London, even at the height of the war. Fear was palpable in the air, and adrenaline was still running high. Only a few months ago, Harry would have been a strong presence, inspiring confidence and courage. Where, Ron wondered, had that man gone?
Though Harry moved with purpose about the scene, his frantic energy seemed to engender anxiety in both his fellow Aurors and the civilians still remaining there. Some might have assumed that the famous Auror was shouting to be heard over the crowd, his brusque manner the result of a sense of urgency. But Ron recognized the signs of escalating anger, signaling that Harry was winding up to explode.
This had been happening with increasing frequency. Harry, usually fairly poised and self-possessed, was now quick to anger that, more often than not, morphed into full-blown rage. Ron, bracing himself to face Harry’s wrath for interfering, moved to intervene before things could escalate. As Harry began to lay into a couple of unfortunate mediwizards from St. Mungo’s, Ron watched an old woman reach up from the stretcher she had been placed upon to clutch at Harry’s arm. In the frantic activity that continued in the disaster area, Ron thought that few probably noticed Harry’s sudden silence.
***=^;^=***
“Watch out! You’re supposed to be here to help people, not injure them further! Idiots!” Harry was nearly screaming. The two mediwizards, both obviously a bit rattled at being censured by Harry Potter, moved quickly to help the old woman.
Suddenly a bony hand clutched Harry’s arm, and time seemed to stop. His gaze shot to the old woman, but he couldn’t see her clearly. Despite the commotion around them, he found himself able to hear only the raspy words that the old woman’s voice weaved about him.
“Bellow, bluster…your rage is insignificant. No more than the mewing of a kitten. Do not be afraid. He will save you. Calm you. Love you. Now, be silent awhile.” The skeletal hand dropped away, and the witch lay back against the stretcher and closed her eyes.
Slowly, sound and motion returned - or Harry’s awareness of them. The orderlies seemed to spring suddenly into action, although Harry wasn’t sure they had been idle during the old woman’s chiding. They quickly had her secured and were off to St. Mungo’s.
Ron was now at his side, concern evident on his face. “Harry?”
Harry swallowed hard, his throat feeling raw from all the yelling he’d done today. And he was suddenly drained - as if standing there, now motionless, had taken all of his energy. Somehow he managed to lift his arm toward Ron. Fortunately, his friend reached out the rest of the way to catch him before he fell, unconscious, to the ground.
***=^;^=***
“Look at it this way, mate. At least you didn’t have to stay in the hospital.”
“That’s because I didn’t need to stay in the hospital, and I don’t need to take a few days off.” Harry was insistent, despite the fact that he still felt a bit weak and disoriented. The Healers had checked him over and found nothing physically or magically wrong with him. Still, the Head Auror made him take a mandatory sick leave of three days. Harry suspected that this episode had given the department head an excuse to address Harry’s increasingly out of character behavior. Evidently, there had been some complaints…
“Harry, everyone needs time off. You never take any.” Hermione gathered her cloak, and Ron held it for her as she put it on. Turning back to Harry, she said, “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with us? The twins are always happy to see Uncle Harry.”
Ron was obviously about to second the offer, but Harry silenced him with a shake of his head. Much as he hated living at Grimmauld Place, he was reluctant to accept the invitation that Ron and Hermione periodically extended to stay over with them for a day or two. He feared that the more time he spent away from Grimmauld Place, the harder it would be to return there. He felt he owed it to Sirius to cherish what the man had left to him. However, cherishing Grimmauld Place had turned out to be a damn near impossible feat - one more thing that seemed to weigh Harry down. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll get some things done around here.”
Hermione’s expression clearly implied that, since he’d done very little to the old house since moving in after the war - even less after he’d sent Kreacher to live at Hogwarts full-time - she doubted he’d spend his few days off attempting anything in the order of home repair. However, she simply said, “Well, don’t do anything too strenuous. You should do something fun. Shame the weather’s been so dreadful lately. Maybe the rain will stop long enough for you to get out and enjoy some fresh air.”
“Maybe,” Harry said, but decided he couldn’t care less about doing anything. He waved a final good-bye to them as they left through the Floo. Looking around the drawing room, he felt the loneliness settle upon him. He really hated it here. And hated his job. His life. Oh, right. He’d have to have one first to hate it. “Fuck!” he shouted at the empty room, disgusted with the self-pity he couldn’t seem to stem. That outburst expended the last of his energy. Feeling hopelessly pathetic, Harry dropped into an exhausted slumber.
***=^;^=***
He’d woken that morning from a dream of Sirius. It had seemed to be more of a memory, really, of their last visit here before Sirius had been killed. They’d been standing in front of the Black family tapestry. He’d been telling Sirius of his fears of turning into Voldemort and how he felt so angry all the time. This time, instead of offering words of comfort, Sirius had shrugged and said, “So feel something else.” Oh, yeah. That was helpful.
Robards had suggested that Harry come in a little later on the morning of his return. Ease back into his routine - that was how Robards had put it. The normally bustling Ministry was almost deserted, devoid of the usual hordes of visitors. It seemed as if no one wanted to brave the storm if they didn’t have to be there. Harry supposed it was a good thing since it allowed him to have the lift to himself - a rare occurrence. As Harry rode the lift down to level two, he began to feel trapped and agitated. He knew this wasn’t right. He knew that, despite the Healers’ assertions that he was fine, something was causing him to feel angry, lonely, distressed. The need to shout or strike out at something seemed to surge through him.
And then, with an innocent ‘ding,’ the door to the lift slid open and - with a kind of dark glee - Harry decided that Christmas had come early. Draco Malfoy stood, lost in his examination of some bureaucratic paperwork, waiting to enter the lift. Harry didn’t move despite the fact that he had reached his floor. Perhaps the fight he had been looking for had just come to him.
Draco stepped into the lift and pushed the button for level three before looking over to see the other occupant of the small compartment. The door slid closed as he realized that Harry Potter, rather than getting off at the floor for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, still stood in the lift, stabbing him with a glare. This might have intimidated someone who didn’t know the Auror as well as Draco felt he knew Potter. Or someone who hadn’t hosted the Dark Lord of Terror and Insanity in his home.
“Missed your floor, didn’t you, Potter?” Draco’s tone was not unfriendly. The two of them were no longer the adversaries they’d been in school. The war, the struggle to defeat Voldemort, had put their childish rivalry into perspective. Draco had heard rumor of Potter’s apparent anger issues of late - and his recent collapse. He didn’t know why the Auror was currently glaring at him so avidly. But if living under the same roof as Death Eaters with twitchy wand hands and He-Who-Must-Hex-Indiscriminately had taught him anything, it was to avoid exposing himself to confrontation.
“What are you up to, Malfoy?” Harry’s tone was undeniably accusatory.
Draco’s brow furrowed momentarily. Surely Potter realized he was on his way down to his office on the third level. The Obliviators worked with the Aurors frequently, and Draco had been at the Ministry for over three years now. Just as he was about to answer, the bell chimed to indicate that they’d reached level three. Before the door could open, Potter slammed his hand against the button that would keep it closed. Draco felt slightly annoyed. He didn’t know what Potter’s current issues were, but he’d done nothing to warrant such rude behavior.
“I’m just going to my office, Potter,” Draco said simply.
Harry was immediately angered at Malfoy’s composure. Surely he should be offended that Harry was questioning him with obvious suspicion as he might have done back at school? He’d have to try harder.
“Your office.” Harry’s tone was snide, and he thought he saw a twitch along Malfoy’s jaw. “How you ever came to work at the Ministry I’ll - oh, right. The Malfoy money hard at work.”
“Enough of this, Potter. I have work-”
“Oh, yes – your work!” Harry’s voice was rising in pitch and volume now. “Obliviating! Probably could have bought yourself any job at the Ministry, and you chose to be an Obliviator. Why, that’s almost like having free rein to mess with the minds of Muggles. Perfect for someone who used to be a D-”
“DON’T SAY IT!” Draco finally lost his cool and wasn’t certain how he managed to keep from drawing his wand.
“Or what??” Harry shouted back. “What will you do? Hit me? Come on then! Hex me? DO IT! YOU -”
Mid-shout, a quick flash of light engulfed Potter’s body. Draco caught Potter’s look of surprise as he began to go fuzzy - or… furry? And then Potter was gone. The chime sounded as the door began to open now that Potter’s hand was no longer on the button to hold it closed.
“Meow?”
If Draco had been thinking clearly at the moment, he might have wondered what the assembled group waiting to board the lift imagined when the door finally opened. There he stood staring down in disbelief at a tiny black kitten. Said kitten was turning about in frantic circles making an unbelievably annoying racket.
The wizards and witches hesitated only a silent moment before moving all at once to board the lift. Some muttered complaints about the hold up, but most just watched with amusement while the kitten proceeded to climb up the soon to be ruined robes of the impeccably-dressed Draco Malfoy.