Politics was a fickle game.

There was no denying that, when Harry Potter had received a missive from Cameron Rosier requesting a private meeting, he’d sighed and then pouted in distress; if Rosier wanted to meet him privately then it would certainly be to request a favor or to pull a power play such as the one Harry had recently tried to pull on Admete Brown. There was also little use in denying that such matters were one’s that the Auror certainly had no wish to start getting into so often. But most important of all the facts that couldn’t be denied was the tiny knowledge that he couldn’t just tell Rosier to go stick his meeting up his arse. However, if this meeting was going to take place, Harry was certainly going to keep some façade of control.

Hence the fact that he found himself sitting on a rather cold bench, with a rather freezing bottom, wearing a rather dull trench coat and a rather colorful hat and holding a rather warm paper cup full of coffee in his hand with another rather colder one waiting by his hip for his companion. In muggle films, rendezvous like this one always seemed quite exotic and fun –but in reality Harry Potter was discovering that they were honestly quite the opposite; or perhaps they just weren’t meant to be held on cold winter evenings, perhaps the Auror should have requested Rosier wait until summer. But the truth was, even with all his negatives feelings about this meeting, Harry was rather curious as towards what Rosier might want. And so he waited, sipping from his ever cooling cup of coffee and trying not to slip off to sleep –Ginny was getting ever more pregnant by the day, and as her stomach grew so did Harry’s lack of sleep.

When his mobile beeped in the side pocket of his trench coat, it took the Auror an instant to understand just what it meant: the silly phone had been a purchase forced on him by Hermione, only to be used in emergencies related to Ginny or the boys. As soon as this registered, Harry was throwing his mug at the ground, pulling the less than modern contraption from his pocket and flipping it open. One new text flashed on the screen, and his green eyes had barely had time to read the words before he was disapparating –and instantly appearing in the ground floor of Mungo’s where Ginny was going into labour.

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Two hours, quite a bit of screaming and growling, and a whole lot of positive support later, Harry stepped out of the room where Ginny and his new born baby girl –Lily Potter- where now asleep. Despite the dark smudges and the over all pale and sickly complexion of his skin, there was a peaceful smile on his face, as he gingerly nodded towards Ron and Hermione and all the other Weasley’s. They began to stand, but he waved them down: he needed coffee before speaking with any of them and sharing the joy. So Harry turned down the corridor and had barely made a few steps before he heard his surname spoken in a rather tense tone and turned to find himself standing face to face with Cameron Rosier.

Oh. Right.