This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy...
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Harry watched the bloke fumble through the stack of trays on his desk. Eventually, he found the right form and set it in front of himself. Overhead a faulty lumos spell occasionally flickered, shifting the shadows on the stone walls that, unlike the rest of the Ministry had no windows, false or otherwise.
The desk auror patted around his desk for a quill, flipping up the mess of parchment in search of an elusive pen.
"I swear if Brewster stole my quill again," The desk auror muttered, "You do a nice thing, lend 'em out for the signing, and they just walk away with 'em. Do I look like I'm made of quills?"
Harry fought down a yawn. Next to him, the two newest junior aurors were holding onto either side of the suspect, both standing impossible straight and trying very hard to look like they'd done this before. Harry had done it about a hundred times before and it was always entirely boring.
The desk auror opened drawer after drawer until finally pulling out a bedraggeled looking quill, "Got ya!"
He slid the form in front of Harry.
Harry didn't ask for the quill, he had concerns about what it had been through, instead pulling out the fancy fountain pen Hermione had given him when he had been promoted to regular Auror.
"I, Auror Harry Potter, do transfer this suspect to the custody of Auror..." Harry glanced at the name plaque sitting on the desk, "Smith." He signed his name and pushed the parchment back to Smithson.
"Right you are, and I Auror Henry Smith, accept the suspect into the custody of the Ministry cells until such time as his trial or bail," Smith said, signing the form with an well practised extravagant flourish.
Smith grabbed a heavy wooden stamper, the rubber greying and faintly cracked with age, smacked it into a very sad looking ink pad and then thumped it onto the form. All formality seen to, the form folded itself up into a paper aeroplane and sailed off to the filing department.
Harry turned to his charges, the juniors straightening up even further so they were in real danger of italicising themselves. The suspect was wobbling slightly, still off-kilter from the effects of a stunning spell administered when he wouldn't stop trying to bite the arresting auror, that being Harry, who rather wished he wasn't at the time.
"Alright, you two help Auror Smith take the suspect to his new home for the time being," Harry said.
"Sir! Uh, should we re-join you at the scene after we've- we've delivered him?" The brown-haired Junior asked. Harry thought her name might have started with K... but he wasn't willing to risk a guess. He had no idea about the other one. Harry would just keep avoiding calling them anything until he heard someone use their names. It had worked so far with most of his other fellow aurors, in that he found he hadn't really ever needed to use their names enough to learn them.
