Harry made his way into the Leaky for a pint before having to do some shopping in Diagon. He'd gotten out of work later than he'd liked - negotiations with the League and the Ministry were back on and the recruiting office needed to deal with all the political bullocks just like anyone else - and so he'd decided a drink was in order before needing to be part of polite society to run his errands.
Catch site of an equally frustrated looking Shacklebolt in the back of the room, Harry smiled a small, sort-of-half smile, and ordered a drink to be sent to the table, where he now headed to say hello to who could be considered the most important man in wizarding sports.
"Kingsley," Harry started with, not making to sit down so as not to assume anything, "I take it the negotiation meetings were par for the course?" They got worse every year, from what his dad (in the Auror's office, but a Quidditch nut with friends all over the Ministry) told him.
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