FicWad

The night was gloomy, the silver sickle of the moon hanging above him in the blackened vault of the sky. The cold night air ate at the remains of his reserves as he walked from the ward boundaries to the front door of the newly refurbished Potter Manor.

Tapping his wand against the door knob, the locks clicked opened as the next set of security points recognized his magical signature. As quietly as he could, Harry entered the gloomy interior, his footfalls quieted by the thick rug. Off to his left was the spacious living room, capable of holding his growing family and that of his adopted family. The short hallway on his right led to the open dining room with the kitchen underneath, similar to Hogwarts. Up ahead, the main hallway led to the grand staircase that wound up through the four floors, the ball room, and the large library that Hermione practically salivated over in the back of the manor. He locked the door, treading softly upstairs with no wand lit, his body remembering where everything was.

Opening the door, he could see his wife of five years lying on the bed, covers kicked to the edge, her swollen belly cast in the soft light of the waning moon, a hand lying protectively over his unborn son. Lying on the side table on his side was a set of night clothes, no doubt laid out by Ginny before she had gone to bed. Harry flicked his wand, lifting the clothes and headed to the master bathroom.

Because of respective late nights, there were times where they would both arrive late into the night, usually when the other would be asleep. So the bathroom had its own set of charms including Silencing charms to let the other sleep on and get as much sleep as possible.

Unbuckling his Auror belt, he let it fall onto the white marble floor, shrugging off his scarlet Auror robes and black shirt. He sat on the toilet, untying the laces of his combat boots.

Trying hard not to see the blood that covered his hands and clothes.

Removing his boots and black tactical pants, he stepped turned on the shower, setting it to the hottest temperature he could withstand. Harry Banished the clothes to his personal hamper in the garage before ducking under the hot spray. The water turned a blackish red as it swirled down the drain, the dirt and the blood sluicing off his body.

As he washed himself, he studied his body, cataloging the scars and remnants of his past wounds; the oval-shaped scar over the center of his collarbone, just right of where his heart was. The two small pricks on his right forearm where Nagini’s fangs had sunk into his flesh when he had visited Bathilda Bagshot during his run when he was seventeen, the wrinkled skin on the back of his calf where the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement had scraped him with an small assortment of smaller, less pronounced burn areas where the treasure in the Lestrange vault had come into contact with him.

The water was dripping off his bangs, following the curve of his skull, running over his temples, down his cheeks, falling from his chin as he stood under the spray, palms on the marble wall before him.

Ginny didn’t know that truth as to why he joined the Auror department after having been in so many battles as a child.

He snorted, the water running over his nose spraying out as the air rushed out. He took a deep breath, raising the temperature up a notch. Steam was pouring from the floor, rising up around him, his skin beginning to burn slightly as hotter water poured over him.

Many believed it was because he was doing it to protect the future of the Wizarding world so his children wouldn’t grow up in a world where people looked over their shoulder wondering if they were the next one to die. Others believed it was because of his morality code, his honor that kept him fighting for the weak and defenseless. A few believed he did it so everyone would believe in the Ministry and Kingsley Shacklebolt more, especially after the Daily Prophet broke the news of the corruption Voldemort had seeded during the one year after the silent fall of the Ministry. And yet others believed it was because he was the Chosen One, a boy- no a man- to watch over their world like a guardian.

How little did they know . . .

Or rather, how idealistic they were to believe such thoughts.

Of course, he told them what they wanted to hear, what he desperately wanted to believe, that he was doing this so his children could have the childhood he never had. He told them he wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He made the promise publicly of preventing another Dark Lord from rising. Acting like an image for the Ministry was one he hated, either way.

Sure, what he said had a bit of truth behind them. He did feel all of those things. Of course, he wanted him family to be finally free from the shadows of Voldemort, Dumbledore, and the stupid prophecy. He didn’t want his children to know how it felt to lose someone close to you, to have their lives cut cruelly short when they should have died of natural causes or even accidents that no one could have predicted.

At night, however, the truth was harder to deny . . .

Even more so during the heat of battle.

Harry knew the truth. He knew why he joined the Auror department, knew why he endured the thirty-six weeks of pure hell as instructors tried their damndest to break him. Why he was enduring the probation of an Auror for a year.

In battle, the adrenaline rush was so intoxicating, the high pumping with every beat of his mortal heart. His senses would sharpen, every smell strengthened, his vision honed to a point never before seen, hearing so sensitive, he could hear every little beat of all the combatants as all of them danced with Death. His skin would tingle in the static of the air as dozens of spells flew overhead, some flying just above his skin. Sweat, blood, it all called to the beast within his chest.

He had heard some instructors wonder at how he moved during the mock battles, how his movements were unnaturally graceful, precise, calculating; a true predator. To them, it seemed he was personally dancing with death, toeing the very edge of the line that could end his life.

Maybe he was.

He knew the costs, having seen them so many times; Remus, Fred, Snape, Colin, Moody, Dumbledore, Sirius, his parents, all dead. Lavender, Bill, George, all of them horribly scarred from the physical wounds; all of them carrying the deep gaping wounds of the soul that would never fully heal.

Yet, he yearned for the thrill of the hunt, the feeling of power as he searched for the next Death Eater sighted. Yearning for them to stand their ground and fight back, like an animal who knew their time on Earth was at a close. It was amusing to see a human brought down to such a primal level as they searched for ways to escape as they fought with another to survive another second, another day.

He shut off the shower, reaching for the towel on the bar. Black, how appropriate. Harry thought. He would have to be wearing the formal Auror robes for Savage’s funeral. He toweled himself off, changing quickly into his pajamas. He padded into the master bedroom, thankful that Ginny hadn’t woken up yet. The clock by his side read 1:24 am. Four hours since Savage had died.

Turning the covers back, he slid in, keeping distance between him and Ginny. He rolled on to his side.

It took a long time for Morpheus to claim him.
________________________________________

The beast in him could smell the blood and fear of his prey as he hunted him through the dark halls of the mansion. His eyes spotted out the tracks left by the two Death Eaters as they fled down the stairs after striking his partner down.

He came out on the stairwell, the Death Eaters stomping down the flights. Grinning like a madman, he jumped over and fell down. As the ground rushed up to meet him, he cast a Arresto Momentum on him, slowing him enough to land without breaking a bone on the ground floor. He rolled to the side as a barrage of Killing Curses came raining down on him. He whipped out his wand, blowing apart the flight of stairs connecting the third and fourth floors.

“You can’t run from me.” The beast roared, sensing the fear growing, tasting sweet on his tongue. The stairs creaked as the Death Eaters ran up. Harry flew from his cover, flying up the steps, his eyes catching the shadowed movement of his prey. Just as he came out on the third landing, a bright red spell came flying at him, forcing him to duck. The heavy oak paneling behind him exploded outward, showering him with slivers and pieces of broken wood. A few pricks of pain had him grinning wildly.

His prey was fighting back.

The adrenaline started pumping through his body, his nostrils flared as he took in the ozone left behind. Time was slowing down as he spun around, releasing a string of Blasting Curses, Gouging Spells, and Exploding Hexes. The hallway before him exploding in a spectacular fireball, the first Death Eater screaming as he disappeared into the flames of the Blasting Curses. Harry erected a shield, standing right there in the middle of the landing, eyes narrowed for any sign. The smoke billowed toward him, Harry Vanishing it away with a flick of his wand.

The hallway was deserted except for the heavily injured Death Eater on the floor, his face covered in blood. The other was missing.

Harry Summoned the other’s wand, stuffing it into a secure pocket in his Auror robes. Stepping over the unconscious Death Eater, he saw the man was still alive, his breathing ragged. His wand pointed straight at the man’s heart, the dark words dancing right on his tongue.

Two words and the man would cease to exist.

His holly wand dug into the man’s chest, feeling it cave just a bit, a sign the man’s chest was broken.

“You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it – righteous anger won’t hurt me for long – I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson –”

His wand raised a little, his mouth forming the words when he heard a board squeak ahead of him. Incarcerous! The magical ropes flew out of his wand and tightened around the man, binding his arms and legs shut.

He stepped over the body, eyes flicking to the floor. The tracks of the other were clearly shown in the one inch thick dust. He followed them like a bloodhound after a hare. Another board creaked. Coming to an intersection, he looked to the floor and went right, toward the end of the mansion. The windows here were boarded shut, the magical signatures preventing the Death Eater from removing them. Obviously he was scared to not use a Blasting Curse.

Just the way he wanted.

Around him, the hallway darkened even further.

He had just past a door when the one in front of him exploded outward. Harry moved to the side. Right in front of him was the last Death Eater, his wand poised for a fight. He launched himself at the other, spells arcing at his opponent without remorse, without mercy as Savage’s death demanded it. Cut after gash appeared on the man’s skin, blood seeping out, dripping to the floor.

And the sight of it excited Harry even further.

He pushed the Death Eater into the room with sheer power. With a final wave, his Hurtling Hex caught Jugson and slammed him into the wall, his wand clattering to the floor. Harry moved, his fist delivering a blow to the man’s jaw. A nasty crack sounded, the man howling in pain, dropping to the floor.

Power rushed through his body, exhilaration of having Savage’s killer at his feet curling in his stomach. With a swift move, he sent a kick into Jugson’s face, breaking his nose. More blood gushed out.

Harry reached down and grabbed Jugson by the hair, dragging him back onto his knees.

“You killed him, you bloody fucking bastard. You left his sons without a father.” With a huge heave, Harry slammed Jugson’s face into the wall. He did it a second time, hearing the man crying out under his hand.

The exhilaration was uncurling in his gut, rising in him like Voldemort’s snake did so many years ago that one night. The room around them was dark, movement sounding in the shadows, heavy thumping, dragging.

“You won’t have to wait for long, Jugson.” Harry’s voice was dark, sinister.

Jugson’s eyes widened, the pupils diluting in pure fear. “Please, don’t kill me. I beg of you, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you want.”

“It’s too late. You won’t be able to bring him back.” Harry raised his wand once more. He could feel his lips curling into a cruel smile. “It’s far too late.”

“Please, my Lord, I beg of you!” Jugson cried out, throwing himself at Harry’s feet.

“Avada Kedavra!” The green light shot out, its light angling away from harry until it slammed into Jugson’s face straight on. A final sigh escaped the body as it slumped to the floor, dead.

Around him, he could hear the crackling laugh of the Dark Lord.

“Welcome, Harry, to the Darkness.” The voice hissed in his ear. He looked down at his hands. Instead of his own, he saw the slim, white fingers. He turned to the cracked mirror and saw a horrifying image in the dusty surface.

His skin was deadly white, the veins showing like black lines underneath. His eyes were a jet black, his sclera a bright red. His hair was lank. Out from his dead scar, black blood was seeping, running down his nose, the rivulets dripping off the tip and his chin.

“You need to really want to cause pain.” The darkness was swirling around him, Jugson’s body consumed by the shrieking winds. He could feel it pulling at him, trying to get to the beast inside. To enjoy it. He threw back his head and welcomed the growing darkness into his body.

As the darkness flooded into him, he could feel power like had never know filling him up, making him laugh . . .

And scream as it tore his soul apart.
________________________________________

Gasping, Harry shot up in bed, trembling slightly, the covers twisting around him.

Instead of the dark room where he had caught Jugson around him, he saw the familiar presence of his bedroom. The two dressers side by side, the huge closet, the large painting of the Dark Lord Morgoth and the Elf Fingolfin caught in an eternal battle between Dark and Light.

He slumped back against the pillow, his hand going to his head to rake through his hair. Sighing silently he turned over to Ginny who had moved, facing away from him. Outside, the darkness of the night was slowly giving way to the graying dawn. He raised his head a bit, his eyes taking in every detail. Her chest was rising and falling gently with every breath she took, her hand still on her swell protectively.

Alive.

Feeling his need rising, he reached out, his hand going to her waist. Scooting forward he bent down to lightly kiss the warm, soft skin on her shoulder. She was alive. Ginny shifted, moaning as her legs opened a bit. He pressed against her, his hardening member slipping between her cheeks.

Under his tongue, he could feel the pulse of her heart steadily pumping, pushing her blood through the living veins. The warmth of her skin contrasted deeply with the sharp coldness of Savage’s body.

His pajamas were Banished, Harry not caring as he reveled in the living skin under his hands. He slid his hand over Ginny’s body, bringing her closer against him. She hummed in her throat, rocking gently against Harry’s hardness.

“Are you awake, Ginny?” Harry asked, murmuring against her shoulder, desperately needing the contact with his wife.

In answer, Ginny turned around, wrapping herself around Harry, her chocolate eyes dark. “Do you want more proof?” She asked seductively, undulating in his arms.

“Maybe.” Harry nuzzled Ginny’s throat, nipping at her pulse point. The dark thoughts swimming in the back of his mind began to sink, pushed down by the new sensations rolling through him.

“Oh, that feels so good.” Ginny moaned, throwing her head back to give Harry better access to her throat and moving her leg higher on Harry’s waist. With a push of his leg, Harry rolled her onto her back, instinctively holding himself up as not to bear down on their child. Her breasts were full and firm, the nipples hard. Bending down, he took one into his mouth, suckling on it. She arched under him, her small hands twisting into his hair. “Oh, Merlin, that’s incredible.” He moved to the other, his hand going down to her center, rolling her nub between his long fingers.

Letting her go, Harry looked up at her, taking in the sight of Ginny writhing under him. “Show me, Ginny, let me see.” Her moans increased a notch as his hand went deeper, prepping her for him. He would have to be careful not to harm her or the baby. He drew his hand back, opening her legs wider as he settled in the cradle of her thighs. Her hands fell from his head to the bed, clutching the bed sheets in a hard grip.

“I need you, Harry, so much.” Ginny whispered, panting as Harry pushed her legs up, mindful of the bulge. As he slid in, she groaned, throwing her head back. Stilling, Harry let Ginny accommodate him, letting his hands roam over her body. If he moved right then, Ginny would be sore later on and he didn’t want to hurt her. Ginny’s hand went to the back of his neck, drawing him down for a brief but deep kiss. As he withdrew back, she nipped him hard on the point between his neck and shoulder. “Make love with me, Harry.” She rolled her hips against him, signaling she was ready.

He started moving, thrusting lightly into the tight, warm channel surrounding him. Bending down, he bit down on the soft curve of Ginny’s throat, branding her as his. Her nails bit into his skin as they raked down his broad back, leave red lines that would not probably fade by tomorrow.

Together, they rocked in the ancient rhythm, trails of warm burning in the wake of their lips. A light sheen formed on their bodies as they slid against each other, giving the kisses on their skin a slightly salty taste. Harsh grunts sounded in Ginny’s ears as he withdrew and drove in faster, drawing her breath from her body. The bed creaked under them, knocking a beat against the wall but Harry didn’t care.

The wave crested in Ginny, molten lava setting her nerves on fire, a scream slipping from her throat. Her walls clenched around Harry, milking him of his redundant seed as he came with a harsh shout. He slumped on his trembling arms, careful of not falling on her. The stillness of the night snuck down on them, broken as they tried to draw breath in their starving lungs.

Kissing her pulse point one last time, Harry pulled out as softly, falling next to her. Ginny immediately followed, keeping him in her embrace. Ginny caressed Harry’s face as their heart rates slowed down, their bodies cooling.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Harry opened his eyes that he didn’t know he had closed. “What do you mean?”

Her head tilted back, her gaze knowing. “You lost someone today and you’re wondering about things.”

Lifting himself up on his forearm, he looked down at her. “How did you know that? I didn’t even tell you.” He demanded, feeling suddenly more naked than ever before.

Ginny reached, ignoring his reflexive flinch. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, refusing to look away. “What happened? I can listen if you want me to, Harry.”

Harry looked down at his wife, playing with a strand of her hair, thinking if he should or refuse and ignore what had happened earlier in the day. Should he tell her about what had almost happened, that he had been about to give in to his desires when the Aurors had arrived? Would she judge him for being weak? She would find out sooner or later. The bruise he had given Jugson after subduing him would be a sure of him losing control. He knew he would be reprimanded for that. Ron had arrived with Proudfoot and had seen him standing over the blubbing Death Eater.

Closing his eyes in defeat, Harry spoke. “Oscar Savage was killed tonight.” Opening his eyes, Harry continued, gazing unseeingly into the clear window, seeing the moon riding the growing bank of clouds in the grey light. He told her of how they had received a report that there was a suspected homeless wizard hiding out in an old mansion that had belonged to a pureblood wizard who had died last year and how he and Savage had been sent him out to flush the wizard out of the house. “We didn’t have a chance to call for back up as they immediately engaged us and didn’t give us a chance to call for back up. Didn’t matter anyway as Rawles had cast an Anti-Apparition ward, which caught us by surprise as no other Death Eater had ever done that before. We were fighting, trying to herd them into a corner but they were better duelers than the other Death Eaters we had herded before. He got caught by Jugson’s Bombarde right in the chest before I could do anything. Savage died right in my arms within seconds, right after telling me to tell his family that he loved them and that he was sorry.” The light streaming in from outside shimmered as something flew past their window.

“After he drew his last breath, I hid his body under a Notice Me Charm then went after them, not caring one bit that I was covered in his blood. I had hit them with Anti-Apparition Jinxes earlier during the battle, knowing that time was against me if I wanted to bring them in, especially if they were the ones in control of the wards.” His hold on Ginny instinctively tightened, a haunting expression creeping over his face. “I hunted them like animals, Gin. I could smell their fear, their desperation to get away from me at all costs. They were so desperate to get away and,” Harry swallowed. “I loved it, loved how they feared me. When I finally got them cornered, they were actually trembling from pure fear Ginny. I was mad. My stunners actually exploded when it missed them and hit into a wall.” He looked down at her, his eyes wide with shock at his own actions.

“The slivers of wood bleed them a bit. Even from across the room, I could taste the metallic blood on my tongue and it excited me, made me want more. I wanted them to bleed, wanted them to suffer. When I had them at my feet, I could feel it right there, the words sitting on my tongue, waiting for me to say it. The only thing that stopped me was when Ron and Proudfoot came charging in. We bound them up after stunning them. They don’t know, Ginny, they don’t know how close I came. The only time I ever felt like that even remotely was when Amycus Carrow was about to curse McGonagall right before the Second Battle.” He whispered, head bowed.

A finger slipped under his chin and lifted his shadowed eyes to hers. “The moment you should start fearing for your soul, Harry, is when you no longer feel any remorse for the dark deeds you have to do to protect us. And seeing you like this now tells me you have a soul, one that deeply regrets what he has done. That’s what makes you different from the Death Eaters and Voldemort. They no longer had their souls, not one bit were they remorseful for the lives they had taken and irrevocably changed. Remember when Voldemort tried to possess you after Sirius died?” Harry nodded just enough for Ginny to feel it.

“The reason why he couldn’t possess you was just because of your ability to love, Harry. It was because of your ability to feel remorse. Voldemort had never ever felt remorse and coupled with the love and grief you were feeling forced him out. When it came down to it, he couldn’t even feel remorse to save his life at the end of the Second Battle. Tell me, what would you have done if you had cast the Cruciatus Curse on them? What would you have done?”

“I would have told Robards and have resigned.” Harry swallowed. “And if they would have arrested me, I would have gone with them.”

“See? How many would have tried to lie their way out it? How many would have tried to justify their own action and place the blame on others? You are not evil, Harry, you are not like Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers, Crouch, or the others. You fought against that urge for as long as you could.”

“But what happens when I can’t? Everyone has a breaking point, Gin, even me. What happens when I finally give in?”

Ginny looked at him seriously. “Then we will have to deal with the repercussions and fight to stay together. But I believe in you, Harry.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do. Why? Because of what you are fighting for.”

“What am I fighting for, Gin? Voldemort’s gone.”

“Give me your hand, Harry.” Confused at the shift in topic, Harry silently complied, feeling as Ginny took it and gently laid it on the side of her bulging stomach. The seconds ticked by. He was about to open his mouth and ask what she was doing when he felt it: a sudden jab under his hand, Ginny wincing in reflexive.

“Gin?” He croaked out, staring at where he felt a second jab.

“That’s our son, Harry. He’s kicking hard now.” Ginny murmured, watching as Harry’s head bowed, her husband beginning to cry silently. “He’s been kicking since we finished. I guess he’s mad that we woke him up from his sleep.”

“I know you’ve always doubted yourself because of what happened to you when you were younger and because of Voldemort’s whispers during your fifth year but you proved them wrong. How many times could you have become Voldemort when you were younger? You could have turned your back on everyone and followed those urges but you never did. You only used the Light spells you used and only used the Unforgivables when you had no other choice. Even when you tried to use them, you were using righteous anger, something the Unforgivables can’t really work on.” She tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear, staring at the bowed head of the man she loved so much. Using her thumbs, she wiped away the tracks of his tears “You are a person who fights for what is right but willing to do what is necessary to protect those you love. And to do so wounds you so deeply. Just because you want to use the Cruciatus curse or the Imperio doesn’t make you a bad or evil person; it makes you human.”

“You became an Auror, Harry, to protect what you loved dearly and to give our future children a better future. He’s now here, growing.” The baby gave another kick. “Here’s your proof, the reason why you did all this.”

“It’s hard, Gin, it’s so hard.”

“You knew that when you joined the Aurors, Harry. Being an Auror was never easy and never will be. You just have to realize that no matter how dark it gets, I’m here as well as our family. You don’t have to talk but don’t push us away either. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be there just you were for me.” Ginny kissed his head, wrapping her arms around him. “The anger you felt wasn’t dark, Harry. It was righteous. You were angered by the fact that two sons lost their father, a wife her husband, comrades their friend. I’m sure everyone in the Auror department is feeling what you are feeling; that Jugson should be killed for killing their friend. At least, now, he won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

Harry tightened his arms, burying his face into her neck. Her words were helping the burdens on his shoulders, making them lighter. “I remember Moody and Remus saying that once an Auror gets accustomed to using the Unforgivables, they begin to lose their morality. They keep relying on it more and more until the Department has no choice but to throw them into Azkaban.”

“How many times have you used the Unforgivables?”

“Quite a few times, Gin, you know that.”

“When was the last time?”

“Since Auror training.”

“See? You used the Unforgivables last during Auror training because you were expected to use them to complete the courses. I bet the last time you used it on anyone outside of the training was on Amycus Carrow. That’s six years you’ve gone without using an Unforgivable to bring someone in. Now, when you’ve lost a comrade to another Death Eater, you had the urge to use it but you didn’t. Does that sound like someone whose losing control of themselves, Harry?”

He opened his mouth to say yes but Ginny’s stare told him to think about it.

He did go six years without using an Unforgivable. But what about the feelings he felt when he was caught in the heat of battle, when the blood began to pound in his ears? He couldn’t deny that. He felt like a predator, a hunter about to kill his prey. “I’m adrenaline junkie, Gin. I like hunting them down. I like how it feels when I’m fighting against an opponent.” Harry blurted out.

“An adrenaline junkie? Where did you get that idea?”

“I feel it in me, during each of the fights. I love the thrill of the hunt.” He saw realization spread over her face as she put two and two together.

She sighed. “Harry, it’s natural for you to feel that way. I believe Hermione called it a ‘fight or flight’ response, where your body goes into survival mode. Your senses are sharpened, blood is pumped from your around your stomach to your muscles, your pupils dilute. You’re fighting for your life in those battles and if it brings you home, I’m glad.” She shook her head. “And that thing about being a junkie, that’s not true. The only things that can remotely satisfy that need you think you have would be your job which is slow most of the time and the Quidditch we play. Other than, everything else in your life is dreadfully boring. As for the so called thrill of the hunt, I don’t think that’s what you feel, Harry. I think it’s a satisfaction of putting another criminal behind the bars.”

“The reason why you’re suddenly questioning yourself now is because of that stupid article a week ago.” Ginny mused. “After Robards announced you were to replace him as Head Auror once he retired. It didn’t help when the Daily Prophet also printed that article calling you the Death Dancer after a reporter saw you dueling that other Death Eater two weeks ago. That picture didn’t help either.”

Harry knew what she was talking about almost immediately.

The Daily Prophet had printed quite a few articles about him when Robards had announced he was retiring in a few weeks to be with his ailing wife and that he would have Harry who was the Deputy Head to replace him as Head of the Auror Department. Immediately, new rumors that he was the next Dumbledore began floating around. His status as a legend exponentially grew as he would be the youngest Head Auror ever.

Then the newspaper had printed an article about a duel he participated a week prior, with a shot of a grinning Harry on the front page, the title “The Death Dancer” running across the top of the page in black. In the shot, he was moving gracefully between the spells, casting his own.

The article following had been anything but glowing.

“It hit you a little deeper than the other articles.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry closed his eyes. “Yeah, it did.”

“They do have a point, Harry. Aurors do dance the line unlike the rest of us. We’re not in constant danger of death, of being alive one second and dead the next. But that rest of the article was pure rubbish. Why do you think the reporter was sacked afterward?”

“Because they didn’t want someone smearing the name of their hero?”

“No, because they already did that once in your fifth year and looked who proved them wrong. They didn’t trust you then and they lost a year of preparations against Voldemort. You shouldn’t doubt yourself like this, Harry. They don’t know what it’s like being in the heat of battle, when everything is just pure chaos and death. Only a soldier can understand war in its true ugly glory, and be the one who yearns for true peace.”

At that moment, the room was bathed in golden rays as the sun broke over the horizon on the east, the dark banks of cloud turning pink and purple in the morning light.

Peace.

Harry kissed her, his hand going to his unborn son one more time, feeling him move under his touch.

Tangible proof of he had joined the Auror forces.

His son kicked, announcing his displeasure of being awakened.

Breaking from Ginny, he looked down at the stretched skin, seeing the beginnings of the silver marks.

Maybe it was time to believe in himself once more.
________________________________________
Spyridon: This idea popped up when I saw the documentary "The Good Soldier" by Lexy Lovell and Michael Uys. Makes one think about what soldiers have to go through as they constantly put their lives on the lines. The painting in Harry's bedroom is by John Howe and is the cover for J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lays of Beleriand" showing the battle between Sauron's predecessor, the Dark Lord Morgoth and the Elf Fingolfin. As for the nightmare Harry had, well, it's a nightmare, not a flashback so some things in it are not what really happened. Though some are. This takes place where Ginny is pregnant with James Sirius Potter and about a year before Harry becomes Head Auror. Also, the story shows about the newspapers' affect on soldiers fighting in a war.