Monday

When he wakes up a little later than he should on Monday morning, he feels lonely. He always feels lonely when he wakes up, but this morning he's also freezing cold. As he fiddles with the knob on the heater, he swears loudly over Muggle contraptions, and how Muggles are too stupid to be allowed really. Then he realises what he's saying, and immediately shuts up. Maybe a hot shower will help him get warm.

His lovely Muggle neighbours have left enough hot water for him to get warm, and to give him just enough time to cover his hair and body in a rich foam. They have also left enough cold water for him to get chilled to the bone again when he rinses the foam out. Then there is more swearing about idiotic Muggles, and he catches himself, stops and scowls while he gets dressed, thinking that maybe a hot cup of coffee will finally get him warm.

He has forgotten to pick up milk and has to drink his coffee black. He abhors black coffee, but today it just can't be helped. This particular mishap he can't even blame the Muggles for. Sighing, he walks down the stairs and out into the pouring rain, where he remembers that he left his umbrella in the office when he left Friday evening. He's soaked through before he even reaches the bus stop.

Harry doesn't like Mondays.

* * * * *

At the office he pours himself a second cup of coffee, discovers that there is no milk there either, and swears imaginatively enough to make the girl in the reception turn a deep shade of scarlet. One of the other Aurors who pass, stops to point her wand at his coffee and mutter a few words, whereupon Harry's coffee turns into a frothing latte with cinnamon sprinkled on top of it. Harry just gapes, and his colleague asks him how he can call himself a wizard. Really now, he's still dripping wet, and why did he take the bus on such a rainy day, when he could have apparated? She waves her wand again and Harry is suddenly warm and dry, and he shuffles his feet awkwardly as the receptionist giggles at him, before he heads for his office.

Harry hates Mondays.

On his desk is a stack of parchment – summaries and reports of the events of the weekend. He sighs deeply as he picks up the stack and begins to leaf through them. For the millionth time he wonders what in Merlin's name possessed him to pursue a career that mainly consists of rounding up stray Death Eaters, who still think of world domination and Muggle genocide. And having to read long, tedious reports of every other Auror doing the same thing. Then, suddenly, when he comes to one of the last rolls of parchment, his jaw drops and he stares blankly at it.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, his latte has turned cold and he's still staring at the parchment in front of him. When the receptionist gingerly opens the door and gives a nervous cough he only mutters non-committally and doesn't even look up. She tells him that she's really sorry to bother him, but there is someone to see him, and she's really, really sorry, but he won't be pleased, and oh it's that horrible Skeeter woman again, and...

Harry lifts his head and gives her a brilliant smile. He assures her it's okay, and he will go speak to Ms. Skeeter immediately. Then he'll take the rest of the day off, he says. After all, and he absently waves his hand at the window spattered with heavy rain, why waste such a lovely Monday in the office? His smile is broad enough to reach from ear to ear, and his eyes have a strange glint, which scares the receptionist slightly. Almost as if he was... happy? But she shakes her head as Harry passes her, and thinks that she must have been mistaken. A less than miserable Harry is just unheard of. She looks at him almost bouncing down the corridor, and can't help being curious.

On top of Harry's desk is the parchment he was looking at when she came in, and she can't resist glancing at it. It doesn't help. It still doesn't make any sense at all to her, but then again, Harry rarely does.

	Basingstoke, November 3
	Subject:	Marilla Flint
	Offence:	Death Eater (confirmed)
	Proc.:	Apprehended from hereby confirmed DE lair at 13, Marigold St. (see separate report on Basingstoke DE activities during the war).
	Comments:	Also retrieved unconscious body of Draco Malfoy (cfr. Missing Persons files no. 102) from Marigold St. basement. St Mungo's optimistic re. recovery, probably within a week.
		Note: Should be able to give statement on further suspected DE:s in the area. Pls notify Aurors upon recovery.