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Harry looked around, four brick walls covered in some generic wall paper, white ceiling peppered with rectangular cuts to house electrical light proof of the building's muggle past. Light brown tiles covered the floor. Four empty bed frames, two on the left side of the room, two to the left, in the middle a corridor that led to the entrance door.

Under the wood frames Harry could still discern four electrical outlets, yet another mark of muggle presence. Older kids, adults now, Harry guessed, said the building used to be a muggle orphanage but had been abandoned for a while when the ministry bought it through some complicated scheme.

It made sense. The building was in a deserted muggle area so no wizard or witch would stick their noses there, and yet some wizard or witch owned it, whether they were aware of it or not, so it fell under the Statue of Secrecy and thus was protected from muggles. As a result the program and the buildings didn't exist either to the MoM or to its muggle counterpart.

It didn't matter anymore. As of today the program didn't exist.

Harry shook his head and walked to his bed, the last bed on the left, right in front of the only window. One small backpack, a wooden box the size of a cigar humidifier and an opened letter rested on top. That was what his life amounted to. He put the box inside the black backpack and slung the backpack over his shoulder. He contemplated leaving the blasted letter behind but it might still hold important information for the future.

He took one last look through the window. There was only green grass for as far as he vision reached. Harry opened the window and took a deep breath, clean ear filled his lungs. The scent of pine tickled his nose, there had to be a forest nearby but it was not visible from that window. Birds sung. That would be the last time he would be able to do that he realized. All because of that blasted letter.

Harry clutched the envelope sporting a tore brown M seal. They all had heard rumours since they had kicked Fudge out of office. The bastard was not even competent at keeping appearances. But Harry had thought that the ministry wouldn't dare closing the program down. It was too valuable.

Ha had been wrong.

The new government under Minister Amelia Bones didn't like the Enhanced Training Program. It was immoral the Wizengamot said. They didn't care about all that program and the people it trained had done to help. They were closing it down, erasing their dirty secret, they didn't want it to pollute their idyllic world.

Politicians were politicians, Harry didn't care about that, but that so many people agreed with them. That stung. After all Harry and his comrades had done for magical Britain, so people could lead their lives however the fuck they saw fit. After all they had given up on for Magical Britain and its citizens.

The Ministry will beg for the program to be reinstated in a few weeks when death eaters go wild, Harry thought.

It was for the best everyone, the ministry, his handlers, the press, repeated again and again as if that made true. They deserved a life...Harry liked the life he had now. He closed his hand around the tore envelope again the paper creasing under his grip.

"Potter! Don't lurk around! Hurry up I want to go home!" a ministry official said.

Harry balled his other fist. There was a time his name was a secret. The simple fact of knowing it was considered treason if you didn't have the needed level of clearance. Harry closed the window again and left his room closing the door behind.

He navigated the familiar halls of the 12 to 17 boys dormitories and walked down the stairs to the hall of the building. As he descended the last steps he spied the program Head's office door open. Perhaps he could find a bottle of fire whiskey. they, at least, owed him that