"We cannot accept," Malfoy says, "what we do not choose."
Narcissa is silent.
Malfoy crosses the room in a short number of strides and leaves, his footsteps fading down the hallway, and the memory dissolves to nothing.
Harry's not sure what he should make of it.
* * *
The Wandsworth Warriors win the Margate match.
Ginny arrives at the apartment just after five o'clock in the evening. Harry is standing on the balcony, staring out over the Thames, watching the trains. The wards suddenly shimmer, wavering across his view, and the next moment Ginny has tumbled into the middle of the kitchen, a portkey clutched in one hand. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with victory. She kisses him before rushing away again; the team captain has organised a celebratory dinner for the team.
"I'll skip the drinks afterwards and just come home," Ginny promises as she changes into a set of casual robes.
"Don't be daft, go and have fun," Harry says, and Ginny smiles as she kisses him again in farewell, rushing out the door again. A moment later, there's a brief pop as she Disapparates.
Harry goes out onto the balcony again. The sun is setting over London, silhouetting the buildings starkly against the pale blue sky.
It's the last day of summer.
If he listens carefully, he's certain he can hear someone whistling again, sending the notes into the gentle August sky.
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly...
* * *
Harry wakes early on Monday and leaves Ginny sleeping. She's used to his early starts.
Sometimes, he thinks, it's like there's only one of them living in the apartment.
The morning sunlight slants across the white walls. He puts the kettle on, gets a mug out of the cupboard, measures a spoonful of sugar. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet apartment. Every footstep echoes on the floorboards; he can hear every breath he takes.
Inhale, exhale.
The sliding door to the balcony is clean, all fingerprints Scourgified away. The glass is clear as air. The view beyond it could belong in any real estate magazine.
Maybe nobody's living here at all.
* * *
At the Ministry, he passes by the Auror offices, listening to them laugh and joke about some potions incident. Ron hasn't arrived yet, Harry thinks. It's a running joke that he always sleeps in.
The Investigative Division offices are far more quiet. Harry unlocks the door to his office and steps inside.
Unlike the pristine apartment, his office is a comfortable clutter of mismatched furniture and piles of paperwork. There's the battered desk with his chair behind it; in the corner of the office are two comfortable chairs and a low table with an inviting bowl of sweets. It's been deliberately designed to be as soothing as possible, as the designated corner for interviewing (often distraught) relatives.
The walls are lined with colourful pictures: bright crayon drawings sent in by families grateful for news of long-lost spouses and parents, and a framed picture of the Chudley Cannons on one wall (a joke gift from Ron). Harry, aware that many friends and family of missing people will sit in the office and look around it, has made a concerted effort to hide anything upsetting. Unlike the Auror offices — often with enlarged mugshots on the walls or mind-maps that track motives and suspects — Harry is far more discreet with his file information. It was one of the first thing Holdsworth taught him about being in the Investigative Division.
