HA 4a: Chief Auror

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 4: Marred Dream - Chief Auror

The Chief Auror had just reached the Atrium when the media pounced. The reporters and photographers rushed forward as the tall, dark man they had been pursuing without success for three months walked into the open space. Cameras flashed and Quick-Quote quills began to sweep their elegant ways across parchment, as voices questioned and attempted to draw out the short, curt responses given.

Harry Potter sighed in irritation. Over the years, he had become remarkably adept at avoiding the media. Immediately after Voldemort’s defeat, he had been bombarded with demands for interviews and press reporters, to the extent that it had threatened his new job as an Auror - catching Death Eaters on the run was made exceedingly difficult when the flashes of photography gave away your position. He remembered Ron being pleased with the attention given to all the Second War veterans - but he’d detested it. He still did: he hated being asked meaningless questions about things which the people asking couldn’t possibly understand. He hated having his life condensed into a newspaper article, with all the pain of the Second War reduced to mere statistics. Even Ron had eventually understood his relentless withdrawal from the public eye.

He remembered turning down the endless interview requests and party invitations. How on earth could he have borne going to a party where all conversation consisted of: “Harry Potter! What was it like, fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Such bravery! Yet I suppose you were motivated by the losses you’d suffered - your parents - and your godfather, was it? How did you feel when..?” He especially hated the questions about his emotions. “How did you feel when you found out that there was a prophecy about it all? How did you feel when witnessing the death of Albus Dumbledore? How did you feel when you lost your godfather? How did you feel during the final battle?” How had he felt? How did they think he’d felt? But the papers didn’t want that. They wanted him to say that he’d felt upset but determined, sad but confident - they wanted him to spout emotional drivel as though it wasn’t real at all, so that their readers could squirm with pleasant horror. Rita Skeeter had taught him a powerful lesson.

Eventually, due to his constant refusals and curt replies, the media had lost interest. The world had moved on - in some ways. Children still pointed at him in the street - but the name ’Harry Potter’ was no longer plastered over the newspapers and his eyes no longer stared from every page. It had been a welcome relief. However, the last three months, he had taken extra care to avoid the outside world as much as possible. Once that Daily Prophet reporter had found out that he’d been on paternity leave, he’d expected everything to erupt into excitement again - and now, here he was, proven right.

“Mr Harry Potter, sir - can you confirm rumours that your wife recently had a child-?”

“-Is the baby a boy or a girl-?”

“-What do you say to the allegation that the child isn‘t yours-?”

“-Have you avoided revealing the truth to allow your child a normal life-?”

“-How do you think your fame will affect them-?”

“-What do you want for the latest addition to your family-?”

Everywhere he looked, he could see wide smiles, revealing pristine white teeth. Quick-Quotes quills were busy describing his clothes, his hair, his expression…

“Yes,” he said sharply. “Boy. Absolutely ridiculous. Indeed. Probably badly. A good life. Thank you, no comment.”

“Have you named your son?” demanded one last reporter as he waded through them, making an exit.

“Brian Sirius Potter,” he said brusquely, and left the Atrium.

As he returned home, he thought of the baby to have caused such a fuss. As soon as he did, his thoughts sharpened in worry. His son was three months old now, and they’d taken him to the Healers no less than five times. The last time they’d gone, the Healer had dared to tentatively voice the possibility that Brian was a bit brain-damaged. They obviously couldn’t think of another way to explain the silence of the child.

Brian had never cried. Never, not in all the nights which should rightfully have been sleepless. Apart from that one disturbing episode in the hospital, he hadn’t even whimpered. For a baby who, as the Healers had assured Harry multiple times, possessed a set of very healthy lungs, this was undoubtedly abnormal.

Brian’s silence was not the only thing that troubled Harry. There was something else different about his son - but he couldn’t put his finger on it; it was so subtle as to be unnoticeable to any outsider. There was just something in the way Brian’s eyes followed his father around the room, and how he would lie still when having his nappy changed, as if he understood what was happening.

Harry gave himself a shake. Of course Brian couldn’t understand - he was far too young. He was probably just imagining problems in some sort of paternal paranoia. Yes, that was it.