One Day to the Next

Chapter 1

Welcome to the Real World

I've always found it amazing how quickly things can change. You can wake up one morning, expecting everything to be as it was when you went to sleep, only to find that nothing will ever be the same again.

Life's funny like that, isn't it?

Maybe, though, that's how it's supposed to be. It keeps us from getting bored, from staying too long in situations that could kill us. Not our bodies, but our spirits. But at the same time, change can hurt more than anything else in the world.

More than fear.

More than hatred.

More than love.

My whole life had been about change, constantly shifting from one day to the next. I used to fall asleep wondering what kind of world I would wake up to in the morning, even from the earliest days of my youth.

Now, as I listen to the soles of my shoes tapping against the cold marble floor of my workplace, I wonder - what is it that I will witness today?

Being an auror certainly has a downside in this day and age. While recently, Voldemort's attempts at gaining back power seemed to have slowed somewhat, that didn't mean there was any lack in Death Eater activity.

Yet, the answer to my question is the same as always since I started my job - nothing. I will witness nothing today, because today, like everyday, I am stuck behind a desk, sifting through paperwork. Me, the Boy Who Lived, a desk jockey, as Muggles would phrase it. Ironic, isn't it?

But I suppose keeping the savior of the wizarding world out of harm's way is of the utmost importance after all. No point in placing me in needless danger until the moment of truth. That had always been Dumbledore's philosophy, regardless of how he tried to give the opposite impression after that not-so-long-ago incident in the Department of Mysteries.

"Incident."

An interesting word for it, isn't it? But that's what we all called it, afraid to say it like it really is. Especially around me. Who knows what they call it when I'm not around? Perhaps I'm paranoid, but honestly... do we ever really know what goes on behind our backs?

I nod to a coworker - I don't know his name, though I see him everyday. I'm sure he knows mine... how could he not?

But I nod anyways, give a smile, and continue on my way. Everyday, I see him, and everyday, the same nod and smile.

For a boy whose life used to change so drastically, so quickly, so that his life was nothing more than shifting sand...

My life is now unbelievably, unaccountably, and unbearably static.

* * *

To: Harry Potter

From: Hermione Granger

Re: Lunch

Harry! I can't believe I forgot to tell you this morning, but I'm going to be in a lengthy professor's meeting at Hogwarts today during the lunch hour. Dumbledore feels it has become necessary to step up school security some.

I'll see you at home,

Hermione

* * *

I stare at the piece of parchment in my hand blankly, feeling oddly at a loss. What am I supposed to do for lunch now? Every Friday since we left Hogwarts two years ago, he and Hermione had had lunch together. Ron usually comes when he can, but often between Order work and practices with the Chudley Canons, those times are few.

I, however, have no such problem. Neither the Ministry or the Order is willing to let me wander too far from safety, or get buried under work - I've beaten Voldemort more times than anyone else can claim, but I'm much too fragile for real work. Go figure.

I allow the paper to float gently, gently down to rest on the top of the paper tray labeled "complete". Then, I turn my eyes to the pile of paperwork easily three times as high, that rests rudely in the middle of my desk. Attempting to withhold a sigh, I collapse into my chair. A chuckle to my right lets me know that my pain is being mocked, and I pause in my misery to glare at the elderly auror sitting beside me.

"Whoa, now, there. No need to be nasty," he says, voice scratchy and hoarse.

Paul Bellwick has been working here longer than Mad-Eye Moody, and tells me repeatedly that I am not the only so-called auror in training to be forced to remain on desk detail for so long before being permitted to do field work. And I'd be ready to believe that, too, if only the rest of my class hadn't been doing fieldwork for over three months now.

The only other auror-in-training that is stuck in my position is one Ms. Kaila Bradshaw, Muggleborn and proud of it. However, despite that pride, she remains only minimally magically talented, and is nearly a squib. I remain, to this day, uncertain as to how it is that she managed to gain a spot on the training list of aurors. And it does very little for my ego to know that I am being held back with the likes of her, as horrible as it may sound to say. Hermione was quite angered when I brought up the subject with her a few weeks ago, and I haven't made that mistake again.

But here I am, ready for another tedious day of work, filling out and approving other, active, auror's field reports alongside Paul and Kaila, who share the small office with me.

We don't even get exciting paperwork, unlike the wizards across the hall.

I work dutifully throughout the morning, gaining two papercuts and a new callus on my writing hand. Not bad, for four hours' work. I think that callus just allowed me to set a new record. When Paul heads off to lunch, just as Kaila wanders into work four hours late, I remain at my desk, simply sitting, and wondering what to do with myself.

Kaila sets her bag down loudly on the floor, and clears her throat. I look at her then, offering a small smile in greeting. She grins back, and gives me a thumbs up.

I believe she attended Beaubaxtons, if her accent is anything to go by, yet I consistently have a hard time associating her mannerisms with other Beaubaxtons graduates, such as Fleur Delacour.

"Did you see zeh big upset downstairs?" she asks, beginning to unpack her lunch. I shrug, and my stomach growls. That's right, I didn't pack a lunch. Thanks, Hermione. You couldn't have chosen another day for your current flightiness to start to affect me?

"No, when I came up everything was calm," I respond. She nods, as if she figured as much, which begs the question: why would she have asked me in the first place?

"Vell, there is definitely somezing up!" she exclaims. She appears childishly delighted at the idea.

However, me being who I am, take this message in a slightly more pessimistic light, and respond anxiously, "Is it Voldemort?"

She gives me a chiding glare, but I see no need to apologize for my use of Voldemort's real name. It's not even his real name, for that matter... if I were to get technical. Which I may, one day. Sometimes, to amuse myself, I wonder what would happen if I pointed out that his name is Tom. Would everyone named Tom be forced to go by "You Know Who"?

Curious things, social customs.

Just as it is occurring to me that I am becoming cynical in my old age of twenty, Kaila continues, "I do not believe so, mais! Who knows zese days, yes?"

Yes. Okay.

A niggling worry worms its way into the back of my mind for the remainder of the day, so much so that I have four new papercuts to add to my collection from the morning. It isn't until I'm walking in the doorway of the apartment Hermione and I share that I realize I never owled her back.

Oops.

Making a careful sweep around the apartment, I realize that Hermione isn't currently in the building, and allow myself a moment of relief. That moment, however, dissolves completely as the door slams open a couple seconds later.

"Harry Potter!" she yells.

I bite my lip, and wonder if I'm too old to hide under my bed.

"I know you're in here! You hate your job and work officially ended half an hour ago."

Realizing hiding is useless, I poke my head out of my bedroom doorway. The expression on her face is thunderous, and I wonder if it has occurred to her that she may be overreacting.

"Look, I'm really sorry, I meant to owl you back, I just forgot!"

Apologize. Good.

"You forgot?! I was worried about you all day, and I felt so guilty! You could have owled me to let me know you were okay."

"Sorry."

"I really felt terrible! And then I realized that you, of course, didn't have a lunch, and then I felt even worse."

"Sorry.... Look, don't worry, I got lunch from a place in Muggle London, just a little ways away from the Ministry."

"Oh good, I'm glad," she says, visibly relaxing, voice sugary sweet. Then, all that disappears, and she adds, "I'M GLAD I FELT GUILTY FOR NO REASON! WHICH, BY THE WAY, I WOULDN'T HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD JUST OWLED ME BACK!"

Suddenly, I miss my desk. And Paul. And Kaila.

At least there, there were witnesses.

I bet neither the Ministry nor the Order has thought to protect me from my roommate.

* * *

Hermione settled down some once we had eaten dinner. Thank Merlin. Now, as we sit side by side on our couch, in companionable silence, I no longer feel the need to fear for my life. She has a textbook open in her lap, and her brow is furrowed in her mask of concentration. She's been working hard, Hermione - but then, she always has, hasn't she?

"You know, I always knew you wouldn't be able to leave school," I comment randomly.

She pauses, and looks up at me curiously. "Oh? Well, I'm not in Hogwarts anymore, and I only have a year or two more of teacher's training..."

"But you'll still be in school teaching, won't you? And of course you're in Hogwarts, you spend your days there when you don't have class. They even let you - an intern - go to professor's meetings."

Hermione flushes slightly, and glances down at her textbook, presumably from the implied praise of my words. I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. Even after all these years, she's still the same old, sweet, Hermione, once you get past any first impressions of her.

"Have you seen Ron lately?" I ask, knowing I'm interrupting her, but unable to help myself. It's been over two weeks since I've even heard from my best friend.

Hermione shuts her book - loudly - in exasperation, then responds shortly, "No, Harry, I haven't."

"Oh, okay... Sorry, Hermione, it's just... Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

I seem to be apologizing a lot lately. Apologizing to Hermione. Apologizing to Paul and Kaila when I'm being particularly surly. Apologizing to Mrs. Weasley for not making it to 'family' dinners on Sunday, merely because I don't want to be surrounded by a roomful of successful, happy people.

We settle back into silence, and this time, I don't break it.

She does.

"My parents want to come visit," she says.

I look at her incredulously.

"You just snapped at me for interrupting you," I accuse. "No talking until you're done reading."

"But -,"

"No."

"Harry!" she exclaims, and I know that were she standing, she would stamp her foot.

I wink at her, and she smiles after a long moment of stubborn scowling.

"So, your parents?"

"Yes, they want to come visit. But..."

"But?"

Hermione bites her lip, and I begin to understand.

"You STILL haven't told them you're living with me?"

"Well, just think how that sentence sounds!"

I know how that sentence sounds, I do. And I know what she means, but really. Hermione and I are not, nor will we ever, be involved. So why should her parents have issues with her sharing an apartment with me? And quite honestly, I'm getting very tired of being shunted out of my own apartment every few months and into Ginny's, whilst she takes over my room.

And not only because she always - and I mean always - leaves a prank behind for me to find (such a sweet girl, that Ginny). It's just the principle of the entire situation. And I find it difficult to believe that anyone can be happy lying to their parents for years on end.

"Hermione, no."

"No?"

"We are NOT doing this again! I refuse to stay at Ginny's."

"But, Harry, it would just be for a week this time, and...."

"This had better be a good 'and'..." I interject, rolling my eyes.

"And I don't feel like dealing with this right now!" she all but sobs.

At this point in the conversation, I am truly at a loss for words. Even sarcasm, which has been a tried and true defense mechanism for the better part of five years, fails me.

I realize, without a doubt, that I can argue until my throat is raw, but I will be spending a week at Ginny's. The word "fine" escapes my mouth heavily, and then Hermione's arms are around my neck, and she's squealing in a girlish manner entirely unlike her.

While her happiness does make me feel a little less put out about the whole thing, some resentment still manages to surface. I lie awake later that night, wondering where the next prank a la Ginny will be placed. Under the bed? In the pillowcase? It's anyone's guess, really. The moon casts a blue glow through my small window, and I seriously begin to question my life at this point in time.

Nothing has felt... right... since Hogwarts. Now, I'm just sort of drifting from day to day, living the same routine over and over again. I suppose I should be happy that I get to lead such a boring, normal life. There was a time when I seriously doubted I would even survive to leave Hogwarts. But now that I have, I want more than anything to go back - back where there were possibilities, hope, excitement.

I roll over onto my stomach, turning my face into my pillow and squeezing my eyes shut as I realize: At Hogwarts, I was never treated as much like a child as I am now.

And maybe that's the difference.