‘Surprised’ didn’t really begin to cover it.

Sarai had known Aurors her whole life—her father had been the best, after all. How many dinners had her mum hosted, welcoming new blood to the ranks, ever welcoming? Every Victory Day, in the courtyards of Hogwarts where the war had ended, she’d met yet another hero, someone else whom her father had fought with and esteemed. The world seemed to be overfull with heroes. 

Then she had seen the memorial—a candle for each of their dead—and she’d realised just how many heroes their world, her [i]father[/i], had lost.

So when she had figured out her father's idea, she had expected to see Proudfoot, or Advani walk through that door. Hell, even Callaghan would have made more sense. He was so young, so unfamiliar...except, hang on, she could have sworn--

“Harrigan?” She queried cautiously. She looked to her father, whose lips had twitched briefly. Harrigan wasn't right, was it? She tried to remember, but she knew she'd seen him...a Ravenclaw? No, a Gryffindor? Morgana’s tits, the name was just out of reach...

“Sarai,” her father's rumbling voice cut through the haze of confusion, and reminded her [i]just [/i] what he was proposing. “This is Auror Higgs--”

[I]Not even close [/i]. 

The reality of the situation finally truly settled in.There was no way this was happening. Yet he seemed completely committed to the idea. He almost looked [i]amused[/i]. Well, as much as Kingsley Shacklebolt ever did. Sarai turned her sharp gaze on him, trying her hardest not to let his maddening calm spark her temper further.

“You have completely lost your mind, you utter lunatic,” Sarai deadpanned, nails digging into her arms. “I do not need a [i]nanny [/i]--”

“It would not be the first time I've been called mad,” Kingsley had the [i]nerve[/i] to chuckle, and Sarai could not longer keep her temper at bay.

“No, this is ridiculous. It’s mind-bogglingly stupid, actually,” she hadn’t meant to snap so harshly at her father. Not that it mattered; he simply arched a heavy brow at her in carefully measured calm. “Merlin’s spleen, I’m not completely incompetent. I can mind myself.”

Sarai had looked after herself for two years, had put herself back together beneath open skies and in crowds of strangers. It was infuriating to come home to this coddling. They hadn’t coddled her when she had needed it, every nerve raw with grief. This went against everything she’d ever been taught.

As a child, her father had always told her to keep her back straight, to rely first and foremost on herself. He’d taught her magic to keep safe, the value in keeping the world at arm’s length while you observed, how love was a power worth having, but that its power was equal parts disaster and softness. Shacklebolts did not depend on others when they could get the job done themselves. They reached out only when a problem was beyond their grasp, but they never burdened others. They were the spine of this world--you could always rely on a Shacklebolt to keep the world from falling to pieces.

 Had he ever meant those lessons, meant to clad her spine in steel and drive her to excellence? Or had he simply lost faith in her when she’d dared to fall apart and run? 

“And are you wasting resources on Amir or Princeton?” Sarai scowled, searching his suddenly too-placid face. “Oh, of course not--”

“Amir is an Auror in good standing, Sarai. Princeton has his own detail. This is not me wasting resources.”

“You really think the papers will buy that? Minister Shacklebolt, frivolously wasting funds and manpower on his wayward daughter?” Sarai’s voice had softened, gone equal parts pleading and concerned. The world had fallen away to this battle of wills. She had to make him [i]see [/i]. “Dad, they'll burn you at the stake.”


“They can certainly try,” he intoned with a finality Sarai had never once questioned. She bit her tongue. His heavy hand found her shoulder, squeezing firmly. “This is not up for debate.”

Sarai’s looked up into black eyes and she knew she couldn’t truly defy him. That was the downside of being born to a man who belonged more to legend than reality. He saw more, knew more, and in all her years she had never known him to be wrong. She might have dismissed it as mere hero-worship if she hadn’t seen that same wonder across dozens of other faces. Her father was stars made flesh, a force of nature and it was foolish to fight him.

Damned if Sarai wasn’t going to give it her best shot. She’d just have to find another angle, whatever weak point existed in this whole clusterfuck.

“Higgs,” he insisted, gently turning her shoulder, “will be providing your security.”

Sarai looked reluctantly at not-Harrigan, having the good grace to wince at that faux pas. He looked...well, not entirely at ease with this whole situation. And young. She couldn't figure out her father's rationale--Higgs was the last person she would have expected. Merlin’s balls, she hadn't even known he was an Auror.

Now that she had his name, it was easier to recall who exactly he was. She'd had the occasional lesson with him--they might have spoken about homework once or twice--but they had run in different circles. Shacklebolt had become synonymous with blood traitor, and so many of her classmates nursed wounds as mothers and fathers and siblings and loved ones were buried or jailed in the aftermath. She had stuck to the people she could trust to watch her back, closing ranks with her house against those who would raise their wands to strike. Higgs was a name that meant old money, old world, old [i]values [/i].

Her father must be mad to trust him.

And yet...her father knew the hearts of men better than most, he was so wise and clever and if he had really done this, if he really thought this was right, it would be utterly foolish to disagree. Sarai felt the beginnings of a headache behind her temple. She suddenly felt very tired, hazel eyes flicking to the portrait above the fire. Her mother looked so sad, so far away, and Sarai felt her throat tighten and looked away.

“And what does this entail?” She said finally, voice weary. “If you say he's watching me piss, I'm torching your office.”

That earned a rumbling laugh, and despite her frustration it felt good to hear it. He laughed so rarely these days.

“No, not that,” he reassured her. “He will be like Proudfoot was.”

[I]Was? [/i] Her stomach dropped. Proudfoot had protected them when they'd gone into hiding, had taught her riddles and card games, had talked Quidditch with Princeton and given books to Amir and helped mum keep their tiny safe house in order--Proudfoot should not be a was. He had been a good man, his smile kind beneath his heavy moustache, always willing to chase away her nightmares with a story.

“When?” She rasped, spine stiffening.

“Three months ago,” he murmured. Sarai stood very still and nodded, blinking hard. She wanted very badly to cry and to scream, but allowed herself neither. Not here. She'd wait until she got home until she raged at this shit hole of a world that took Proudfoot.

Except home wasn't private anymore, was it?

Suddenly, irrationally, she hated Higgs. She wanted nothing more than to transfigure him into something vile and fragile and it was a horrible thing to think, she [i]knew [/i] that, but he was to invade her life, her [i]home [/i] and she couldn't stop herself.