Friday, July 4th, 2014. 2:45 PM.

  (MINISTRY LOCATION REDACTED - M.O.M. File)

  Whitehall, London, UK

  Harry strode into the Auror’s bullpen area, giving the status board a quick once-over. No notices flashing red, and even better, none actually screaming for attention. There were a few edging up into orange, but he could come back to check those after he settled in.

  As Harry reached Ewan Ward’s desk, the lanky, saturnine-appearing Auror looked up and smiled. “Kids again?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Harry, glumly.

  Ewan gave a little laugh. “Better you than me.”

  “What?” asked Harry. “Aren’t you mentoring anyone this year?”

  “Gods forbid.” Ewan shuddered a little. “Learned THAT lesson. Never again.”

  It was Harry’s turn to grin. “Not to change the subject, but is there anything interesting on? I wrapped up the Hogsmeade stalker case yesterday, and Kingsley didn’t have anything to suggest before I had to leave this morning.”

  “Interesting? Not really.” Ewan shuffled through a short stack of papers on his desk. One of them tried to fold itself into an airplane and escape, but Ewan’s hand came down on it with a bang. “Hold on, just hold on. I’ll get to you in a minute.” He grimaced at Harry. “Flipping travel reimbursement forms. They’ve got no patience down in Accounting.”

  He scanned the pages. “Well, nothing definite. Some strange goings-on, hither and yon. A number of odd sightings in odder places, trespassers, spirits and the like, but no clues when the junior officers show up. No idea if they’re even related. Oh, hey. Here’s an old home week item you might want to check out, personal acquaintance and all that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your old pal Viktor Krum. Someone has the wind up about a 38-year old Seeker coming out of retirement. Series of increasingly unhinged death threats.” He handed a folder to Harry. “Don’t see the point myself. S’not like the Bulgarians are in with a chance, anyway. More power to him, I say.”

  Harry leafed through the meager contents of the folder. At first glance, he tended to agree with the older Auror.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Yeah,” he said. “A big-name Qidditch player getting death threats in a World Cup year. Doesn’t really stand out, what with all the team managers threatening each other daily. Gwenog Jones alone...”

  “I thought the ICWQC did a ban on trash talk, pointed pretty straight at her?”

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “Have you met Gwenog? Ginny was on the Harpies with her, and has some stories that would curl your hair. And, apparently, age has not mellowed her. Also, never mention her age.”

  He closed the folder and put it under his arm. “Yeah, I’ll take a look. Talk to Ginny, at least. She’s really plugged into the World Cup community. Let me have the ‘weird sightings’ file as well. I don’t think either one will pan out, but it would be good to clear out some of the small cases, in case something big rolls up.”

  Ewan nodded. “There’s certainly an massive overload of small stuff. Every little bit helps.”

  Harry headed over to his own desk, to make some notes and pull up some references. He worked steadily at that until he was satisfied that he at least knew what questions to ask.

  Checking his watch, he was surprised to realize it was getting on to dinner time. He wondered for a moment why this surprised him. Then he realized it was because, for the first time in weeks, he had been able to work, uninterrupted, for almost six hours.

  Well, he thought, Either something is going right, or something is going very, very wrong.

  “Might as well push our luck,” he muttered, and sent a paper airplane memo to the Post Room, requesting one of the dedicated M.O.M. Owls report to him. While he was waiting, he scribbled a quick note.

  Quick drink, quick talk at the Cauldron before dinner? Nothing seems to be actively burning near the Place, at any rate.

  Love, Harry

  The owl swooped silently into the bullpen, landing squarely on the Perch, Standard, M.O.M. Issue, One Each, that every desk was fitted with. Like all M.O.M. Owls, this was a stolid, stern-faced specimen, who seemed somehow disinclined to put up with any silly buggers.

  “Short trip,” Harry said, holding the folded note up to the owl’s beak instead of tying it to his leg. “Ginevra Potter, Senior Qidditch Correspondent, Daily Prophet Sports Department.”

  The owl gave him the slight tilt of the head and lifted beak that was the owl equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

  “No, it’s really official business. Well, mostly official business. I mean, official business will be discussed at some point... Oh, just go!”

  The delivery owl gave a very human shrug, then took off.

  Harry called across the bullpen, “Ewan, do these owls ever remind you of Minerva McGonagall?”

  “All the witching time,” came the reply.

  The owl was back in minutes, with Ginny’s reply on the back of his note.

  Oh, Sweet Circe, yes. See you in a few.

  Love, G.

  Harry grinned, the uncomplicated smile of a man with a beautiful wife whom he adored. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and got out several of the high-end Owl Nuts he kept on hand.

  “Good service,” he said, holding them out on his open palm.

  The owl, exuding dignity, took them as his due, one in his beak, and the rest grasped in the claws of one of his feet. His feathers fluffed a little in pleasure at the taste of the treat in his mouth, and he gave Harry a quizzical look.

  “100% Pure Murtlap, tentacles, entrails, and all. The lady you just visited got them from an American Qidditch connection.”

  The owl did a graceful spread-wing curtsey, still standing on one leg, and left, with Harry feeling a little more respected.

  Is it weird to want owls to like me?