Who: Harry Potter and OTA Where: Harry's office at the Ministry. When: Late Friday night. What: Harry hasn't been home in days. Rating: TBD... Status: Ongoing and public.
Song: Pale Artist: Within Temptation
The world seems not the same Though I know nothing has changed It's all my state of mind I can't leave it all behind I have to stand up to be stronger
[Chorus:] I have to try To break free From the thoughts in my mind Use the time that I have I can say goodbye Have to make it right Have to fight 'Cause I know in the end it's worthwhile That the pain that I feel slowly fades away It will be all right
I know I should realize Time is precious It is worthwhile Despite how I feel inside Have to trust it'll be alright Have to stand up to be stronger
[Chorus]
Oh, this night is too long Have no strength to go on No more pain I'm floating away
Through the mist I see the face Of an angel, calls my name I remember you're the reason I have to stay
[Chorus]
The song quietly echoed through the office Harry currently occupied. It was a muggle radio that Harry'd managed to get from Arthur Weasley a few years ago. He rather liked it, he'd never gotten too into some of the music Wizards listened to on a daily basis, though some of it was rather good. Still, this particular station seemed to be tracking Harry's thoughts. It wasn't as if this was some sort of song that was being played on repeat or loop or anything, but in this particular moment it actually seemed to make the world seem to stand still.
Before Harry were files, reports, the whole lot of it. Kirke, Geoff, and the other two dead Auror's files were sitting on his desk, strewn atop papers that included debriefs, congratulatory mail, apologetic mail, hate mail, the world of Harry Potter was sitting below those files. Yet, on top of those files even were photographs. Photographs of his parents, of Sirius, of Albus, of Remus and Tonks, of Fred Weasley, people he'd cared deeply for one by one. People who hadn't deserved to die, who died for him. In fact, there was a file of Clint's sister sitting on his desk now. Since Clint's little retort, Harry'd begun researching those that'd died during the war, a war he'd brought on.
Right now though, the loved ones were taking precedent over anything else. A half empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat on the edge of his desk; he wasn't drunk, but he'd definitely been drinking on it for the past few days. There was scruff in place of smoothed flesh, his hair seemed disheveled and he was wearing mostly the same clothes he'd been wearing the night of the raid. He'd obviously changed his shirt--had too--and what not, but he hadn't even opened his journal. He managed a small comment to Angelina, but other than that nothing. He hadn't even contacted Lavender, he meant too but he kept getting distracted.
What was he doing here? That was the question Harry kept asking. Kirke was dead, he knew who did it, and there was nothing to investigate. Yet somehow, Harry seemed obsessed with looking over the raid over and over again, running it through his head and how he'd fucked it all up. What was more, Geoff was still missing, and Harry REFUSED to put KIA on his own files. All the other files said it, but Harry still had MIA. He wasn't going to give up, not a chance in Hell.
He winced when he moved, and growled at the pain his ribs gave, and he slapped the potions away that were on his desk, given to him by the St. Mungo's staff. He'd gone in, only because they'd threatened to fire him if he hadn't, but the potions didn't do a damn thing. All they did was make him woozy, tired, and it made it hard to focus--which might be the reason he was staring at pictures of people not pertaining to the case, but who also had died because of his own foolish decisions, or because of him, or for him. He took another drink from the bottle, and sighed as he looked at the potions now leaking across his floor, then just sighed as he fell back into his chair, rubbing at his temples. Wasn't this supposed to have ended after the war?