The Boy Who Lived

Stupid Bloody Letter

Yours sincerely,

Pansy Parkinson
Assistant Researcher
Department of Genealogy

Harry rolled his eyes again. Honestly, was this some kind of petty revenge on the part of Pansy? Had she really spent the past four years plotting something so absurd and to what gain? Was she hoping that he would suddenly swan around the Ministry, lording it over everyone, only to be scorned upon when it was proven a prank? How fucking typically vindictive, he thought.

He scrawled another note, it simply said: Piss off, Parkinson. I'm too busy for your petty jokes. H.P.

And that was that.

Or so he thought.

Harry should have known that his life was never that simple.

He sighed again and tried to push aside any potential for a familiar bad mood evoked by Pansy and her stupid geneo-shit letter... Lord fucking Potter, he snorted to himself. As if!

He dismissed her letter as a hoax and flipped open the folder in front of him, the Rauliff case. He frowned and decided to allocate the case to Mara's team, they were better suited to what looked like it was going to be a straightforward thuggish case of intimidation and extortion.

There was a knock on his door. He had requested a meeting with Raquel to confront her about not completing her admin tasks. He sighed impatiently, distinctly not looking forward to another half-hour of lies and crocodile tears.

'Come in,' Harry called, not looking up as he flipped open the folder on the house fires and re-read the details. There was still the unanswered question of how Triple-F and his gang had gained the information on where many of these secret locations were.

He heard the door close and muttered 'just a mo...', his hand hovering mid-air to signify for Raquel not to interrupt, there was something there that caught his eye, just a footnote about links to Justin and the Sacred Twenty-Eight that made his brow furrow, surely he was Muggleborn? The detail was tantalisingly out of reach, it needed more research.

'Hmmm... maybe....' he muttered to himself and he circled the information in red using wandless magic. Merlin, he needed more time so he could look into these things properly.

His visitor cleared her throat softly and he looked up into a pair of brown eyes.

'Parkinson!' he said in surprise.

Bloody hell, she'd changed! She no longer wore her hair in a sharp bob, instead, it hung limply and shapelessly around her pale face. She looked too thin, harrowed by life, her eyes dull, her black trouser suit swamping her tiny frame, white blouse as starched and blank as the expression on face that was so unreadable. He didn't remember her being so small at school, he'd thought of her as more pug-like.

'Your Grace...'

He had to credit the woman, she kept a perfectly straight face, there wasn't even a twinkle in her eye. In fact, he decided Pansy looked slightly worried as she held a bundle of scrolls against her body, almost like a protective barrier.

He raised an eyebrow in query at her presence in his office.

'Er, birthday salutations and congratulations, your Grace...'

'Pansy, if you call me that one more time, I swear, I'll hex you through that door and straight back to the bloody sixth floor quicker than you've ever knocked back one of your infamous hangover potions. I told you, I haven't got time for this crap!'

She took a step back. 'It's not crap! It's my job. I can prove it to you...'

Harry was surprised. If anything, the woman looked scared.