Land Where Our Fathers Died

Part One: Accido

It was winter.

The Sun and Moon Bar was packed on the frigid day, filled with those who couldn't wait to sit down to a beer or imported German ale. Even for Greenwich Village, it was a bit pricey, suited more to the bourgeoisie than to NYU students or street musicians.

Of course, it wasn't meant for either, and a warding charm kept tourists and denizens alike from entering the building, seeing only a dingy pawnshop with boards over the windows.

Harry liked the Sun and Moon. He thought it had an interesting aura--but today he wasn't in the mood to socialize with either Americans or his fellow expats. He was, instead, lost in thought, and as he entered the back alley, he picked invisible lint off his coat, absentmindedly tapping the garbage cans with a stick in the rhythm that would let him enter Libertas Street.

A ConEd grate opened below him. Harry hated this part; he didn't understand why the Americans would have people--

He fell down the bewitched chute and landed on his arse in the middle of the street. Dusting himself off, he strode towards the federal building with a determined look on his face, despite the witches on the corner whose only goal for the day seemed to be laughing at everyone who came into the lane the...long way.

Harry, despite the distractions of the busy street, kept thinking. He appeared lost in thought even as he went through the corridors of the building to his small corner office. The British ambassador to the American Bureau of Magic had a decent amount of importance, but not enough to merit a room with a larger desk or enchanted windows that looked out over the Muggle skyline. He didn't particularly give a damn, it wasn't his home anyway. The Ministry had simply wanted him out of the way.

And that, thought Harry, was the whole problem.

He brooded until the stone owl on his desk gave a chirp, Hedwig giving a responding hoot to confirm the long distance message. American wizards had developed a system a few decades back to get messages across the continent--otherwise, a simple request for information in Death Valley could take a week to get to Chicago and risk valuable owls besides. The enchanted figurines were, for most, owl in form; it was a touch of whimsy Harry actually liked. It was too bad they hadn't caught on in Britain.

The Hedwig replica took pen in beak and scrawled words on the blank notepad below it.

Harry groaned. "If I have to go to bloody Long Island again, I'll resign." British expatriates were generally well behaved, but occasionally things did get out of hand, particularly in Muggle-filled areas. Harry only had to manage the New York/New Jersey area, but it was an annoyance to clean up messes that the American Muggles should have dealt with themselves.

Harry paused in the middle of his mental rant regarding wizards who cast spells to find parking places in Great Neck. "Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy had been the best double agent against the Dark Forces since Snape turned two decades ago. Now that the war was over, Malfoy was apparently living a life of leisure in San Francisco, his reward Galleons keeping him wonderfully at ease. Harry wasn't pleased with this; HE was the one who'd gotten Voldemort, after all, and now he had to sit at a desk for hours a day while Malfoy Apparated to Tijuana every week. Despite Malfoy's victory for the war effort, Harry still thought the man was a wanker, who never had done true work in his life.

Potter--

Attached is my official request [the stone owl was still scribbling]

to return to Britain this weekend via a one day visa.

I am quite aware of the bother this requires,

and appreciate the assistance you will most

certainly be able to give in this manner.

Regards,

D. Malfoy

Dragonhyde Street, San Francisco

Harry could almost hear Malfoy's voice, could sense the touch of sardonic glee put into the missive. For a moment he stepped away from himself--oh, my hands are shaking, he thought, how curious--before nearly biting through his lip with frustration.

Malfoy.
Shite on toast.

--

The Atlantic air seemed colder in Cambridge. Harry wrapped his robes about him, sensitive to the ocean wind and the lack of tall buildings--and smog--to protect his skin.

"Harry!"

Hermione, a large backpack weighing her down, had stepped out of one of the largest of the many brick buildings and caught sight of him before he could locate her. She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the day. You didn't just Apparate right in, I hope. All the Muggles are so very astute when it comes to noticing things, especially the scientists."

Harry awkwardly patted her back, noting his hands were getting dangerously chapped. "Er...are you free, Hermione?"

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione stepped back, her long hair whipping into her face by the wind. She brushed the stray locks back impatiently. "You need to get inside, you're not dressed for the weather."

She bustled Harry to a small coffee shop across the street, settling him down with a mug of Darjeeling, before she continued her questioning.

"It took me forever to get used to the weather here in winter. It's so much colder than in Scotland in winter. The wind just seems to cut thr--" She paused. "Harry."

Harry, rubbing his hands together, looked at her with a mournful expression, similar to that seen on a chastised puppy.

"What on earth is wrong?"

He pushed the sheet of paper from Malfoy across the table. Hermione quickly scanned it, brow furrowing, then began to laugh. It was not the expression Harry was looking for.

"You came to show me a letter from Draco Malfoy?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yes. I believe that's why I came to see you. I expected a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, yes. A hug, perhaps. Not...giggling. I have to take Malfoy to bloody Suffolk on a moment's notice. On a whim."

"And you have to go," Hermione said, still smiling.

"You don't like Malfoy either--what's so damn funny?"

Hermione shrugged. "Situational irony, perhaps?"

"How so?"

"Well, to get into Britain, he has to work with you. And save the Cause, he's always worked against you. It's quite simple, Harry."

It was not in Harry's nature to appreciate the tone of voice Hermione was using, but he kept his feelings under wraps. The conversation would only go even further downhill if he snapped at her. In carefully modulated tones, he replied, "Of course. Britain's a closed nation for everyone in the wizarding community who is vulnerable to the Dark. And Draco Malfoy is certainly vulnerable."

"I see what this is about."

Harry mentally toned down his response. "What?"

Tossing her hair back, as it was getting in her mug, Hermione smiled slightly. "You're not upset at Malfoy. You just don't want to go back home if it's not permanent. I've known you too long, Harry. You have the same expression as you did when we went on summer holiday back at school."

He broke slightly, giving her a point for cleverness. "And?"

"Harry, we all miss Britain. What I wouldn't give to see my parents...and roam the bookshops in Charing Cross Road before a butterbeer...but your duty is to your work. You need to take Malfoy. You're annoyed at the fact that his money lets him get in the way of your agenda, perhaps, but other than that, you don't want to face going home."

"They're cleaning house, Hermione. I don't want to see it. I've seen enough of the Dark to last me several lifetimes, and..." He sighed. "They say it's changed. And I don't want to see that with Draco bloody Malfoy, prat extraordinaire. I don't know if I want to see it at all until they're done, and even then, I don't know."

Hermione looked sad. "I know, Harry, but I can't say 'Make something up and get out of it'. You need to go with him. There's no shirking your duty, and even if you don't want to do this work, even if it is busy work, it is the task at hand--your task. The Ministry needs you to do this for them now, and you've already done so much." She looked down, then grinned at him through her chestnut locks. "And when you get back, I'll take some time off and visit you. I've barely been to New York. We can have a drink or two."

Harry smothered a laugh at her innocently phrased statement and kissed her cheek. "Sure. I'll owl you when I get back."

He ducked into the men's room, flushed the toilet with a whoosh of sound, and Apparated back to New York, apprehension weighing down his mind--and curiously--thoughts of Hermione's glorious hair as well.