One Day to the Next

Chapter 3

The More Things Change

"So, mate, how's work?"

For the last twenty minutes, Ron has been attempting to make polite conversation with me. When this question, yet again, receives an answer of silence he begins talking about himself. I try not to listen as he starts discussing his own work with the Chudley Canons, and how much he's enjoying it. It only reminds me of what it is that I don't have.

My arm is beginning to tire, and I think that perhaps walking to Ginny's apartment, lugging my old school trunk, wasn't such a good idea. Call me a martyr, but I wanted Hermione to feel guilty about shoving me out of my own home yet again. It sounds selfish, yes, but I'm also hoping that this guilt will add to the guilt of lying to her parents and maybe, on some glorious day, she will finally tell them she lives with a male friend.

Until that day, however, Ginny's apartment is like a second home to me.

"Have you been listening to me at all?"

No...

"Yes..."

"What was the last thing I said?"

"Er..."

Ron is looking at me, somewhat resentfully, and I begin to feel a bit guilty. I haven't seen my best friend in weeks, after all, and the first chance I get to talk to him alone, I spend ignoring him instead.

I stop walking, and turn to face him. "Ron, I'm sorry. What was it you said?"

"I asked how Hermione had been getting along."

"It WAS you at dinner with us just now, wasn't it? Why didn't you just ask her?"

I know I must look completely bewildered.

"Well, I didn't think it was any of my business."

"Of course not, she's only one of your best friends..."

"Harry, shut up. She just seemed kind of...standoffish...tonight."

I nod, knowing exactly what he's talking about. She's been like this for a while, now - I'm never quite sure where I stand with her. I could have sworn she used to be more... lucid...

"Well..." I say cautiously. "She has been having a few ups and downs recently. I think she's just tired...you should see the amount of work she's been doing."

Ron shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, fingers playing absently with the hem of his worn jumper. I watch him closely, unsure what exactly it is that I'm missing.

"But otherwise, she's been doing okay?"

"Yes..." I say slowly. Ron nods, and then starts walking. I stand still for a moment before grabbing my trunk once more and following him.

I barely take a step before he stops abruptly and whirls around to face me again.

"Is she seeing anyone these days?"

There have been times, over the years, when I have utterly failed to understand where exactly Ron is coming from. This is one of them.

Multiplied by about 100.

"Not that I know of..."

"Oh, okay."

And he starts walking again.

Well, okay.

* * *

I stare at the ceiling, watching as the white paint gradually becomes brighter. Outside the open window, the sun is rising.

And I haven't slept at all.

Ginny's bed is too firm, as I've told her many times before. Last time I was here, I asked her if I could transfigure her mattress into a more comfortable consistency. She refused, and I fear she has set a trap for me in case I ignore her warning.

I know for a fact that she has transfigured MY bed. She's hypocritical like that.

Any minute now, Ginny's alarm will go off, and I will have to get up from this too hard mattress, with too little sleep, to spend another too long day at work. I can't say that I'm looking forward to it.

The alarm sounds, right on schedule, and I groan and slide my legs over the edge of the bed. Seeing my trunk in the corner of the room, I remember my walk here with Ron, and I make a mental note to send him a letter sometime. Out of my many failings, the one I regret the most is my inability to be a good friend, which is becoming more and more apparent to me.

I shower and dress without really noticing what it is I'm doing, and I can only hope that my socks match - but truthfully, I'm a little too tired to check. I realize belatedly that I have forgotten my toothbrush in my bedroom, and that I'll have to go back over there to sneak it out, later.

Sometimes, I wonder if Ginny and Hermione have ever stopped to think what would happen if Mrs. Weasley were to floo in, unannounced, while I'm here. When it comes to her daughter, Mrs. Weasley strikes me as more of a "terrorize first, ask questions later" kind of person.

Upon exiting the apartment, I come face to face with Ginny's neighbor.

"Nice to see you, again," she says, smiling widely at me.

She is entirely too perky for this hour in the morning.

"You too," I mutter, pocketing my wand after locking the door behind me. Ginny would kill me if anyone broke into her apartment because of my negligence.

"It's been a while. How long are Hermione's parents visiting for this time?"

"Don't know."

She should realize by now that I'm not the best company when I'm here. We walk to the stairs side by side in silence, and then part ways. She's headed up, I'm headed down.

I think it's symbolic of my life, actually.

"Say hi to Ginny for me, will you?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply.

I've gone down only a few steps when I stop and call Kennedy back.

"What is it?" she asks, bending over the wooden railing to peer down at me.

"Well, it's only that I left my toothbrush at my apartment, and I need a way to sneak it out of there."

"At least it wasn't your work robes, this time..."

"Anyways," I continue in a slightly louder voice. I've tried to forget the results of that incident. "You're friends with Ginny, right? So I was thinking, if you were to come with me, you could pretend the toothbrush is yours."

"Are you asking me on a date, Harry Potter?"

I'm appalled when I feel my cheeks heating up in a blush.

"Um...well, I...er..."

Sometimes, my eloquence amazes even me.

"Just kidding, Harry. Wow, you're blushing, aren't you? Pick me up at 5, and we'll stay for dinner. Now, I've got to be off."

I watch her skipping up the stairs, and am struck by three thoughts.

One: What have I gotten myself into?

Two: That woman is insane.

Three: I needed more sleep before dealing with said insane woman.

* * *

To: Harry Potter

From: Moody

Meeting at 09 00.

* * *

I shift in my chair somewhat uncomfortably, resisting the urge to grasp my head in pain. That usually garners unnecessary reactions. It seems to be an unwritten rule that Harry Potter cannot simply have a headache.

I am surrounded by middle aged wizards, all of whom stare straight ahead at Moody as if he were Merlin himself, taking in every word that he says.

I struggle to comprehend how this mindless group people are by far my superiors in the Ministry.

For the last hour, I have been told and retold what measures were taken to ensure the validity of Malfoy's statement. And those measures have been explained, and explained, and explained. Merlin...or, rather, Moody ... still has yet to reach his point.

Absently, I twirl my quill, barely noticing as spots of ink begin appearing on the table. I do, however, feel the glare boring into the back of my skull, from the wizard whose hand I just flicked ink all over.

Oops.

Quite suddenly, however, the laser beam is removed from my skull, and the room erupts into noise. Angry, disbelieving voices overlap as each fight for dominance.

I sit in my chair, and struggle to figure out what it is that I have missed.

Finally, the aurors become aware of Moody's scathing expression, and they quiet down.

"But as of right now, Mr. Malfoy is our newest spy within Voldemort's circle. The Minister of Magic himself has approved it, and none of you have any place to disagree."

"What?" I blurt.

Moody raises an eyebrow at me.

The auror next to me - the one I sprayed with ink - mutters, "I wish I could say that such a delayed reaction surprised me...I always said he was touched in the head."

And suddenly, my dark mood from this morning returns full force.

"I'd have to agree," I say shortly, turning to face him with the full force of my lightning bolt scar which, I know, stands out a stark red against my forehead. Under the pressure of my stormy expression, I see his eyes widen slightly.

"Potter! Wilson! That's enough. Potter, one more outburst and I'm going to have to ask you to leave - as it is, you're only here because you were Mr. Malfoy's supervising auror."

I face Moody once more, and state, "Sorry, sir. I had a bit of a headache, and didn't quite hear what you said."

I do realize that it is wrong to use my scar to prove a point. I do.

It's just that sometimes, I really don't care.

"Wilson?"

"Yes sir?" responds the wizard.

"You have been assigned as Malfoy's handler. I believe you are familiar with all this entails?"

"Yes sir."

Apparently, the earlier uproar had been the result of the revelation that Malfoy's statement had been verified as accurate.

I find that I'm not nearly as surprised as I should be.

"Good. Now, the next order of business - there is a Death Eater meeting tonight. We need to figure out how to ensure that Malfoy returns to the Death Eater camp safely, and that he is accepted by Voldemort. I believe all of us should be here for this crucial decision."

Although some of us are here to remain silent.

I don't need to hear the words to know that they exist. As Moody's magical eye focuses on me, the message comes through loud and clear.

So there I sit, allowing the noise of twelve grown men discussing, and sometimes arguing, like children. I wonder vaguely if they perhaps have just forgotten to ask me to leave.

"...And I want to magically listen in on the conversation. We can place a charm on Malfoy's clothes, and -,"

"You can't do that!"

The words are out of my mouth before I remember that my opinion is not wanted.

"Potter, I thought I made it clear that - !"

"Yes, I mean, you did, sir...but...You can't put charms on Malfoy!"

"And why not?" demands Wilson.

I stare at him incredulously.

"Because, Voldemort will check for something like that! It's a stupid move, and it will put Malfoy in unnecessary danger."

"Last time I checked Potter, I was the one in charge, here."

I look at Moody, appealing to him for back up.

It never comes.

"Potter, out."

I leave without another word.