Nied is Not Enough

Chapter One

A slight fog parted under every step of tall black boots and curled behind his silent motion. He made his way past a low-glowing hotel sign, stepping over a few drunks here and there, eyeing them suspiciously through ink-dark glasses. The few drunks conscious enough to notice him straightened their backs immediately, placed their hands in their laps and made no motion until he passed.

Although no one in Muggle London had any idea who this man was, his presence demanded respect. His tall, lean frame was never without a calf-length leather jacket which fit closely his arms, shoulders, torso and waist. It waved behind him, or rather floated as some would say, never making a sound. Well fitting black pants surrounded obviously strong thighs and calves which moved fluidly. The only thing ever out of place was his tousled black hair.

He swept over a pile of garbage and turned up a small, un-noticeable staircase. Barely moving his lips, he whispered a number. The dark walls on either side of him began shifting, bulging outward, spreading wide the staircase in front of him. He quietly kept climbing as the walls widened in front of him and shrank to normal as he passed. The darker the hallway, the lighter his glasses became until they were completely clear. After thirty steps, the walls stopped moving and a hardly perceptible door appeared in front of him. He waved his left hand over the knob and the door opened. He took a deep breath, stepped over the threshold. "Home," he whispered.

His fairly large flat glowed from the fire already roaring in the fireplace. Soft orange light barely touched the corners but lit warmly the center of the room. He methodically unbuttoned his coat, glancing around at his belongings as he did. Bookshelves with ratty old books lined the left hand wall. A small desk sat in the corner to his right. Two large wing-back chairs angled toward each other in front of the fireplace. A skull sat in the middle of the mantle flanked on both sides by beautifully ornate sconces. Jacket unbuttoned, he let it slide from his arms and tossed it carelessly on to the back of one of the chairs. A cup of Earl Gray steamed on the table between the two chairs. He sat, stared into the flames and gathered the cup between his rough palms.

"Dobby sees Harry Potter has found his way home safely again?" a small voice squeaked. In an instant, the tea was suspended in mid-air and the man was on his feet and was pointing his wand directly between the huge and frightened eyes of a house elf.

"Dobby! I thought I asked you to not sneak up on me like that!" he said with a sigh of relief.

"Dobby is sorry sir. Dobby always forgets things like that. Will Harry Potter please stop pointing his wand at Dobby's head please?" He squeaked again. His too-large ears trembled.

With that, Harry let his wand arm drop to his side and a slightly noticeable tension dropped as well. He turned and flung himself back into the chair, carefully placed his hands around the suspended cup of tea and began to sip. "Ah, Dobby. To be back home again."

The small creature wearing a small polyester suit jacket and mismatched socks walked around in front of Harry. "Dobby is always glad to see Harry Potter home. Did Harry Potter bring his trunk with him, or did he forget it again?"

"Yes Dobby, I brought it with me. It's in the inside pocket of my jacket, if you don't mind. The left inside pocket. On the top. No, the other left, Dobby," Harry said blandly. "You'll find my broom in the right side. Oh, there is a little something for you that I brought back from Boston." The house elf's eyes widened again, this time in pure pleasure. "You'll have to find out where your surprise is on your own. I'm going to take a shower."

Harry stood, stretched his lean arms and walked into the hallway on his left. Turning the corner, he grinned to himself as Dobby rummaged through the pockets of his coat. "Be careful, Dobby," he hollered over his shoulder. "You need to use the enlarging spell for the trunk and broom. The other things are just shoved in pockets." And he continued down the hall.

After a long and very hot shower, Harry emerged into the living room where he found Dobby surrounded by oversized furniture, a jacket large enough for an elephant and large dark red spherical objects. Dobby's head was enveloped by a huge red baseball cap and he sat with one of the red spheres between his short legs. He kept knocking on its outer shell, snapping his fingers and trying his best to figure the thing out.

"Dobby! What in the world did you do here?" Harry asked with a slight bit of amusement in his voice.

"Dobby is sorry sir. Dobby found his surprise and thought that Harry Potter had put a shrinking spell on them as well. Dobby thought they were magic eggs. Dobby might have gotten carried away with the enlarging spell." He quickly glanced around at the huge chairs, giant leather coat and dropped his head. The hat was so big it shielded his body from Harry's view.

With his fingers pressed up against his lips to keep from snickering, Harry walked over to the mess of giant things and muttered the shrinking spell. With that, everything assumed its normal size. "These aren't magic eggs, Dobby, they're Boston Baked Beans. It's a kind of Muggle candy they have over in the U.S. Look, Dobby, it's a peanut covered in candy."

Dobby's face, as red as the now-fitting cap he was wearing, looked up toward Harry who was crunching away at a handful of beans. "Dobby loves candy, sir. Thank you Harry Potter. And thank you for the cap. I'll add it to my collection." He carefully stood up, grabbed hold of Harry's trunk and broom and dragged them off towards the kitchen. Harry smiled after his little friend, remembering how much he missed London and his home.

A basket of mail sat at the side of his chair. He thoughtlessly thumbed through it, tossing some pieces into the fire without reading them. Mrs. Weasley had sent fifteen or twenty notes telling Harry how proud she was of him, telling him about all the mischief Fred and George were up to, how Percy was holding up at St. Mungo's, Ginny and Colin were expecting their fourth, probably another girl, Ron was doing well with the Cannons and she hoped Harry had made it to at least one of the matches in the past few months, since he was in America after all, and that was where the last semi-final games were before the World Cup, and on and on.

Harry "humphed" to himself as he remembered the last time he saw Ron. It must have been three or four years ago. Yes, after a match the Cannons played in Australia. Harry had been there searching for someone or another, caught him, sent him back to Azkaban and took the afternoon off to watch his old best friend play Quidditch. Harry had perfected the art of concealment by that time and was a skilled Metamorphmagus. Before heading to the stands, he changed into standard robes and made himself fairly unremarkable. Not a soul knew who he was and he cheered for the full fourteen hours of the game (or until his voice was barely audible, whichever came first).

The Cannons had won, Ron played marvelously. He waited by the Changing rooms for Ron after the game, but found out quickly that the entire team had Apparated to a Muggle hotel in Sydney. Harry followed suit and found himself knocking on several doors before he found Ron.

Knock, knock, knock. The door opened quietly and a freckled face peered around it. "Can I help you?" Ron said a bit confused.

"Yes, are you Ron Weasley? Keeper for the Chudley Cannons?" Harry asked, knowing he was totally unrecognizable.

"Um, yeah," said Ron with his eyebrows knit together.

"Well sir, I was just wondering if I could speak with you for a moment." Ron's eyebrow raised in confusion. "You see, oh, let me introduce myself. I'm Harry, Harry Potter," and with that, he took his regular form.

Ron flung the door open, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, almost crushing Harry. "What are you doing here Harry? I thought you never traveled looking like yourself these days? Where have you been? Mum has been writing forever and she never hears anything but short little 'I'm well's' and I'm safe's."

A muffled sound came from Ron's shoulder where Harry was still pressed into it. "Wllfirall, lemmego." Ron eased his grip and Harry let go, took a few steps back and smiled. "I'm really well, Ron. Been all over the world catching the bad guys, you know," he made the motion like he was boxing. They stood, looking at each other for a moment.

"You look different, Ron. I mean you look good. Where's the hair?" Harry felt the urge to raise his hands and rub his old best friends shaved head, but pointed at his own instead. "I like the goatee, too. It suits you. Makes you look mean while you are keeping the rings on the field."

"Yeah," Ron grinned rubbing his own head, "Makes me more aerodynamic or something. Why don't you come in?"

Harry stepped further into the room. Ron closed the door and walked past Harry. Harry noted how much bigger Ron had gotten. His shoulders were quite broad, arms covered in muscle. His legs as well. "I'm gonna throw on some clothes. I usually don't entertain in my boxers," Ron sheepishly said as he made his way to the other side of the bed and rummaged around his trunk. "Why don't you have a seat?"

They decided to forego the victory celebration and just hang out in Ron's room. They ordered room service and spent the night just talking over old times, laughing and sometimes being more serious. Harry explained to Ron that he couldn't really say what he did most of the time. "I'm under cover a lot and I can't tell you, or I'd have to kill you," he said with a creepy grin as he took another sip of butterbeer. Ron chuckled. Harry spoke again after finishing off his fourth "God, I haven't had butterbeer since our seventh year. Did you bring all of this with you?" He looked around at the five or six full cases up against the wall.

"Yeah," Ron said. "We always bring plenty of butterbeer, you know just in case we lose and don't want to go out. We thought we might not win this one, so we brought extra." Ron, getting used to the well-paid life of a sports star, had little problem spending exorbitant amounts of money on butterbeer. And clothing. And, well, everything.

After finishing one case each, remembering all their old times at Hogwarts, and finishing off a couple of pizzas, the two young men just kind of sat and stared at each other. Not much in common these days. Harry found out Ron had a girlfriend back in England, didn't keep in touch with Hermione after their nasty breakup and, well, the rest of his time was devoted to Quidditch. Harry couldn't divulge too much information about his life. He didn't have anyone special. Never did. Didn't have time for it. His job was much too dangerous, anyway. He did keep up with the Quidditch world and told Ron how proud he was of his friend. They promised each other to try to keep in touch and Harry left. He walked in downtown Sydney, kicking himself for not keeping up with his old friends.

The stack of mail Harry was holding slid off his lap and skidded across the flagstone floor in his flat. He must have drifted off thinking about Ron. He slowly got off the chair, knelt down and began cleaning up his mess. He stacked the letters in his left hand and picked them up with his right. The last letter he found had no return address on it. The front simply said, "Mr Harry Potter, Auror, Unspeakable Address, London." The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, very swirly, he noted. As he turned the envelope over, he knew immediately where the letter had come from. A dark red seal covered the point on the envelope impressed with the Hogwarts seal. Harry sat back against the base of his chair and set the other letters on the floor.

"Dobby, what day did this letter from Hogwarts arrive?" he asked as he began to break the seal.

"Dobby thinks, sir, that it came on a Thursday or maybe a Friday," the little voice squeaked from the kitchen.

"No, Dobby, how long ago?" he asked, slightly frustrated. "I remember asking you to please forward any mail to me that may be important. Hedwig always knows where to find me."

Dobby's fingers curled around the kitchen doorframe and his bulging eyes followed suit. "Dobby must have missed that one sir. Not thinking it was important. It came about two months ago. Yes, Dobby remembers because this great big owl came down the fireplace and landed on Harry Potter's favorite chair and made a mess on the floor and Dobby had to clean the flagstone for hours after it left."

Harry continued opening the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Once again, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has become available. Professor Lupin, after teaching here for the past twelve years, has decided to move on. It would be most delightful if you would take up this position and become a member of our staff here at Hogwarts. Please send notice of your intentions by Monday, July 13^th.

We look forward to hearing from you and seeing you in the near future.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts

p.s.

I hope you are well, Mr. Potter. We think of you often and hope you are safe. We would love to have you back, Harry. M.M.

"Great," Harry said aloud. "I have just about, oh, four days to decide whether or not I want to go. This is just bloody brilliant." Harry slouched a bit and kicked his feet out in front of him.

"What is wrong with Harry Potter?" Dobby asked shyly.

"What is wrong with Harry Potter, Dobby, is that Hogwarts wants me to come and teach there. I have four days to send them my answer and I don't really know whether or not I want to go. I mean, Gods, Dobby, I haven't' even been back there for thirteen years. Not since..." he made a gesture towards the mantle of the fireplace, "... the war."

The skull on Harry's mantle was that of Lord Voldemort. Harry realized it was a bit maniacal, and slightly (or more so) obsessive, but with Voldemort's skull in his possession, Harry knew the Dark Lord was never coming back.

"How am I supposed to mull this over when I only have a few days?" he whined at the fireplace. He stared at the orange flames for a few moments and stood up. "I'm going to bed Dobby. Please don't wake me up in the morning. I need the rest." With that, Harry turned down the hall and made his way to his room, leaving Dobby to clean up the rest of the mail.

Harry stood in front of his bathroom mirror, hands on either side of the sink. He stared at himself for a moment then brushed aside his hair making a lightening bolt scar on his forehead more visible. He hadn't really looked at this scar for years. Too many memories, both good and bad, were associated with it. He looked more closely at his face. "When did I start looking so old?" he thought. His jaw was more angled than it used to be. Deep lines cut into his cheeks and the circles under his eyes made him look tired; not even his brilliant green eyes showed a bit of liveliness. Lines had formed between his eyebrows from his years of seriousness. Short stubble covered his chin and jaw line, giving the impression of a much older than thirty-one year old man. He took off the t-shirt he was wearing and looked at his chest and arms. A thick, four inch scar rounded his left shoulder. On his otherwise smooth chest, a series of small puckered scars started below his left nipple and made their way up towards the scar on his shoulder. He traced them with his finger. He had been hit with a skin boiling curse eight years ago while trying to bring in the last of the Death Eaters. He remembered how his robes had melted away in those spots, his skin being eaten away underneath. He cringed at the memory, closed his eyes and splashed some water on his tired face. He ran his wet hands through his hair, flipped off the light and went to his bedroom.

Dobby made sure Harry's flat was always warm and inviting, a steady reminder of normalcy in Harry's otherwise hectic life. He spent very little time in his flat, always being sent here or there for months at a time. It felt nice to slip under his heavy bedspread, the smell of comfort surrounding his head. His bedside lamp flicked and faded with the sweep of his hand and he was lost to the dark and safety of his room.