Harry Potter’s day began very unexpectedly quiet. That may have been due to the fact that as he woke up, the rest of his family was still fast asleep. This was an unexpected thing in itself, because usually Albus or Lily were the first to wake up, storm into their bedroom and shout about getting up, playing Quidditch or Gobstone and meeting Hugo and Rose.
He got up and dressed slowly and silently trying not to wake Ginny who was still sleeping in their bed. It was a nice day, slightly sunny. The sky was still a shade of bright pink and mild air brushed his face as he left the house for the ministry after a short breakfast. He liked these quiet days, he had had almost enough trouble for the rest of his life and being head of the auror office provided him with just the right amount of it to keep him busy. Just as he appeared in the Atrium of the ministry still calming the feeling that he had been squeezed through a tube while apparating (which he would probably never get used to), people ran to him, shook his hand and congratulated him. A single look to the side and he saw his own face like it looked now changing into his seventeen-years old face and back. The headline of the daily prophet was displayed in big black letters above the picture: The boy who lived 35 years.
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