It was one of those nights for Harry,
the kind when all the repressed doubts and regrets about how his life had turned out came to the surface and it felt like being punched in the gut with every step he took; when the pressure
of the job finally got to him and the demands started to sink in. Harry knew when he was cornered – he
he had no way out whatsoever.
So on those nights, he usually resolved to drown his sorrows with ample booze in some nameless pub,
and probably with some half-attractive bloke who he would make sure to Obliviate in the morning,
It was a sad way to live life, but Harry had made peace with the fact that he rarely saw his son and friends long before stealing files had turned into blackmail and, yeah,
assassinations eventually. It was a circle he couldn't seem to get out of, and in a way, didn't want to get out of.
He got to catch the bad guys, mostly Muggle, but that was a given considering the wizarding population was hardly extensive enough to be vastly influential.
Wars affected the Muggle world, but everyday politics and gang-related ordeals – even the scandals,
if Harry remembered the resignation streak in the Ministry's high ranks correctly – were kept under wraps for the most part.
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