HP Chapter Four: TheThe Meeting

Harry sat down in the cushy brown leather seat in the smokey room.  Every man had a cigar lit whether they were smoking or not, which stung Harry's eyes.  The smell was different from Dumbledore's pipe smoke, but it wasn't horrible.  All of the Weasley men sat in the small study in a circle, all staring at Harry.

Arthur took a thick walking cane, carved from what looked like some type of dark wood with a rounded top and inlaid mother of pearl teardrops running down its length and pounded it on the ground.  "Welcome to the second annual meeting of the Brotherhood of the Weasleys.  Everyone welcome Harry, our newest member, who's been a Weasley for quite some time now."

All the men responded in unison with stamping their feet.

"Welcome Harry.  We are all so very glad you could make it this year.  We've kind of missed you around here," Arthur said as he took a puff of his cigar.

Harry shifted in his seat under the weight of their stares.  They were going to hassle him into explaining his absence, he just knew it.  "Thanks.  I am just glad none of you are sore with me for taking so long to come back."  He thought if he brought it up, maybe it would bother him less.

"No way Harry, you're family.  And you can't be mad at family," replied George, as the rest of the group stamped their feet and murmurs of "here here" floated around the room.

Harry smiled and realized this is what it must feel like to have a real family.  To have those who love you through thick and thin.  They had been through a lot together, the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry.  He couldn't imagine them not wanting him in their lives anymore.  He didn't even want to entertain the idea.  "What is all this?  Your club here?"

Arthur looked nervously over to his oldest son Bill, who then looked at Charles, who then looked at Percy, who looked at George, and then at Ron, who ran his hands through his red locks.  "We formed it a couple of years ago.  On the evening before we head out to Hogsmeade we gather together here, smoke some cigars, and talk while the women get ready."

Harry lifted his cigar to his mouth and hesitated before taking a small puff.  He choked horribly and set it in an ashtray.  "Talk about what?" he asked between hacks.

Everyone looked at their laps, except Ron who looked right at Harry.  "Lately?  You."

Ron was always a jokester.  "Right."  He poured some ice water from the pitcher into an empty glass from the table in the middle of all of them.  When Ron's gaze didn't fall, he knew he wasn't joking.  "You're being serious?  You formed a club to talk about me?"

Ron put his cigar into an ashtray as well.  "Listen, we all know what happened to you.  You're our family.  But not all the women know.  We didn't feel it was our business to share your personal life with some of our wives, and definitely not the children.  So here, we can talk freely without the risk of them overhearing."

Arthur cleared his throat with pride.  "I used a quietening charm outside the room so they can't hear us at all.  And the door is locked.  I learned my lesson after you kids would spy on us during the Order's meetings."

A wave of pleasurable remembrance washed over Harry.  He hadn't been to Sirius's house since a time after the war was over.  Even though he owned it, it hurt him too much to be there.  But remembering that night that George and Fred lowered the ear down to eavesdrop and Crookshanks ran off with it brought a huge smile to his face.

Ron continued. "I don't want you to think we're saying bad things about you, Harry.  We just have no one else to talk to about what happened to you.  I can talk to Hermione, but I had to stop because every time I did, it made her cry."

George was next to speak.  "Yeah.  Angelina doesn't know you well enough for me to tell her such a personal thing as you trying to kill yourself."

Ron jabbed him with his elbow.

George jabbed him back.  "What?  I am sorry, should I have more tact when I talk about suicide attempts?  You think I haven’t thought about it too?"

Arthur's face reddened.  "What?!  What are you talking about?"

"C'mon guys.  I lost my best friend.  My brother.  We all lost a brother, I know, but he was my twin.  In every single way, not just our DNA."  His face reddened, as though he was about to cry, but was holding back.  "I miss him every single day of my life and yes, I've thought at times what it would be like to see him again on the other side.  How easy it would be to make the pain go away and just be with him again."  He looked over to Harry.  "So, I get it.  I get why you did it.  I am just so very happy it didn't take because I can't lose another brother."  George got up to walk over to Harry and reached down to grab him out of his seat for a bear hug.

"You are the love of my sister's life, you know that?" he said in his ear.  "Always remember that if nothing else, she is worth living for."

"I know," he said back.  And he did know.  This was his life now, the Weasleys.  He was their brother, their son, their friend.  It was like being jumped into a gang of red-haired freckled goofballs, but instead of violence, they just smoked smelly cigars and hugged each other.

George wiped the tears off his face and sat down.

Arthur sat straight in his seat and banged his stick on the ground again.  "Well, now that we've gotten some truths out of the way, let's get to why we're really here."

Nods and sounds of agreement were heard around the room.  Harry wondered what on earth could come next.  Although he did have an idea.

"Dolores Umbridge's execution is coming up.  Every witch and wizard is expected to attend.  This week the entire wizarding world has time off from work for the festivities if they want it.  But as for Umbridge's execution, there is no choice in the matter.  Everyone is expected to attend.  It's not mandatory, but you cannot go to work even if you wanted to.  After the execution there will be a celebration like no other.  This will be a momentous day in history, men, and we all have to be there to experience it."


The sounds of many feet stomping on the ground together filled the room.

Harry didn't know what it meant exactly, but assumed it meant agreement.

Arthur banged his stick again and the sound stopped.  "And you, Harry, Ginny told you what I relayed to her?"

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.  This was it.  This was what he was waiting for.  To address this issue and deal with it so he could just move forward.

"For those of you who don't know, Harry has been asked to deal the final blow to Umbridge, if he so wants.  He has been asked to be the executioner."

Murmurs again filled the air, but instead of agreement, it sounded like confusion.  Harry's head started to pound.  He looked at his watch.  It was time.

"I need..." he started, but nobody heard him.  He could feel the world around him sway a little.  He didn't know if his cravings would come back all at once or if it would be gradual.  Harry had to act quickly.  He stood up and reached over to Ron's shoulder and spoke right into his ear.  "I'll be back, I have to use the loo."

Ron nodded.



Just as Harry was opening the study door, Ginny appeared on the other side.  "It's time for your meds," she whispered as she pointed to her watch.

Sweat dripped down Harry's forehead.  He could feel the withdrawal surging through his veins.  "I guess I need to be more on top of things," he panted.

Ginny put her arm around his shoulders and led him to the bathroom.

"Harry alright?" Molly called from the kitchen.

"Fine, Mum.  He's a bit sick to his stomach, is all."

Molly charged over to put her hand on his forehead.  "You're clammy, Harry.  I better fix you a pot of my soup."

"I'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley, I just need to get to the bathroom."  More sweat poured down his face.  He was surprised at the swiftness the medicine wore off.

"Nonsense, just come over and sit...." but before she could finish, Ginny grabbed her by the arm and led her away so Harry could make it to the bathroom.

"Mum, he's fine.  Just let him be."

"But..." 

"No really, he just ate something funny before we left.  He just needs to use the bathroom.  I would like some of your soup, though."  Ginny flashed her mother a warm smile.  

"Um, okay, if you say so."  She patted her daughter's hand.  "Let's go get you some soup." 

Their voices trailed off as Harry shut the bathroom door behind him.




His hands shook as he reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow.  He almost didn't recognize his own reflection as he glanced in the mirror.  His eyes look hollow, his cheeks sunken in: he looked as though death was on his way to retrieve him.  That, or like a dementor had gotten to him.  He shuddered at the thought of the latter, remembering all too well what a kiss from them had felt like.

He reached into his pocket and fingered the vial.  What if he could do without it?  What if he could beat this thing cold turkey with no outside interference, with no crazy vial of oozy purple liquid to swallow?  The nausea in his stomach was building to a crescendo that he didn't want to see the outcome of, so he pulled the pouch out of his jacket pocket, shakily slipped a vial out, uncorking the top, and dropped a single drop onto the tip of his tongue. 

Warmth spread throughout his body.  The terrible coldness that was making his body shake evaporated into oblivion.  And just like that, he felt fine. 



He made his way back to the den that Arthur Weasley had created for the men of his family to meet up and, well, talk about him.  If it were anyone else, he'd feel intruded upon, but it was the Weasleys.  They were his family.  They just said it, so it must be true.  And the Weasleys did not have a malicious bone in their bodies.  If they said they just talked about his well-being, then that's exactly what they were doing.  They didn't lie.  And they surely didn't tell you things just to make you feel better.  So, if they said he's a Weasley?  Then he's a Weasley.  

Ginny came up behind him.  "Are you okay?" she whispered into his ear.  

Harry nodded.  

"Well, what's this?  No secrets, Ginny.  You know that."  George raised his eyebrows at her.  

Ginny sighed.  "You don't need to know everything that goes on between a husband and a wife, brother."  

He crinkled his nose up at her.   "Gross."  

Harry took his seat, feeling so much better than he had just moments before.  

"Shoo," Ron said to his sister as he closed the door again. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and went back to her mother who was calling her to the kitchen.  

Ron sat down next to his best friend and leaned in.  "For real Harry, are you okay?  You looked horrible before.  Are you sick?"  

Harry could feel a knot in his stomach coming on.  He decided not to lie.  Hiding things from each other was how all of this started.  "Excuse me everyone, I have something to say."

The murmurs settled down and all eyes were on him.

He felt very overwhelmed in that moment.  He didn't like being the center of attention, but these men cared about him.  So, he took a deep breath before speaking.  "I am not sure how much Ginny has shared with you all.  But..." he paused for a moment, not knowing how to put it. 

Arthur reached out and patted his hand.  "Go on, son, you can tell us anything."

Harry almost broke down.  His entire life he never had anyone who treated him as kindly as Arthur did.  Well, no father figure, anyways.  He swallowed back his tears as his voice shook.  "I have a drinking problem.  And I have to take this," he pulled out the vial to show everyone, "every six hours to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay.  When I left the room just now, it was my first dose."  

Nobody looked surprised.  

"I assume Ginny already told you all."  

Ron shook his head slowly.  "No, mate, she didn't.  But we all get it." 

George half-laughed.  "Frankly, I am surprised that's all you're on.  I mean, it's bad enough, but I was addicted to painkillers a few years ago."  

"Muggle painkillers?  Why?  You know we have spells for that, right?" asked Bill from across the room.  

George shook his head.  "I didn't take them for pain, William," he scolded.  

"Oh," his brother replied quietly.  "That makes sense."

"How did you get off of them?" asked Harry.  If George beat his addiction, then maybe Harry could too?  

"I was in rehab."  

Murmurs filled the room.

Arthur looked astonished.  "How did I not know this?  How did I not know any of this?"  

George looked up at his father.  "Because, dad, I was ashamed.  And I didn't want you to worry about me.  You had lost your son.  You didn't need to worry you'd lose me, too."  

Arthur stood up with such fervor that everyone almost jumped out of their seats.  

"You listen to me, young man!"  He strode over to George and cupped his face in his hands.  "You are MY boy and if you are hurting, you tell me!  If you are lonely?  You call me!  If you need anything, you tell me the moment you need it!  You got it?  I will not have you," he looked up at everyone else.  "Or any one of you, shutting me out because you're trying to protect me, you hear me?  Yes, I lost my son, but you all lost a brother.  We are in this together!"  He spun around to look Harry in the face.  "And that means, you, too, Harry Potter!  You are my son now!  We are all in this together.  Nobody gets to suffer alone anymore, got that?  We are bonded not only by blood, but by this horrible, horrible tragedy that has happened to us all!"  

Everyone was stamping their feet on the floor, including Harry, yelling "Here!  Here!"  

"We will meet once a quarter, in this room, until the end of time!  And then your sons will continue this tradition, and by God there will never be another Weasley man who ever be left alone to deal with the crap that life throws us!"  He grabbed his glass of water and held it up in the air.  

The rest of the men did the same, still stamping their feet on the ground and yelling "To Harry!" and "To George!"  and "To the Weasley men!" and "Long Live the Brotherhood of the Weasleys!"  They were whooping and hollering and all of the excitement coursed through Harry's veins when he screamed "I am going to murder the bitch!"  

The sound suddenly stopped, and Harry covered his mouth, unsure if he had just said that out loud.  

Arthur reached out to his shoulder and looked at him with serious intensity.  "Are you sure?  This isn't something to take lightly." 

He took a deep breath and uncovered his mouth and looked around the room at the faces of each man.  "I...I don't know.  I mean, I want to, but when I think about doing it, I can't imagine doing it.  I just don't know what to do."  

Mr. Weasley smiled a pitiful smile.  "I wouldn't either.  This is a tough decision."

"It won't bring them back," George added, while looking at the floor.  "I thought about doing it myself, if you said no, but I know afterwards, I wouldn't feel any better.  Fred would still be gone and I'd still miss him."  

Murmurs of agreement circulated the room.  

"Though, I'd love to see her toad face the moment she'd see Harry standing before her," Ron added.  

They all started laughing, pulling them back into their joyousness.  

Harry couldn't help but agree.  The look on her face would be priceless.  She had tried to kill Harry (and Dudley) with a dementor, after all, so returning the favor would be nice.   Though after feeling the kiss of those things more than once, he would never wish that on anyone, not even someone as horrible as Delores Umbridge.  

"How do they want to me to do it?  With the killing curse?"  Harry wondered aloud. 

Arthur sat back in his seat.  "That.  Or any other way you see fit.  Many possibilities were mentioned." 

"Like what?" He was genuinely interested in knowing what the Ministry had in mind for him.  

The head of the Weasley men clasped his hands together in front of his mouth.  "Torture was one suggestion."  

The universal sound from the room was a resonating sound of disgust. 

"Do they even know Harry?  That's ridiculous.  He's a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin," George groaned.

Everyone stamped their feet in agreement.

"True, true.  I told them that very thing.  Another suggestion was to have a dragon commanded by Harry to get the job done, burning her to a crisp."  

Most of the men didn't think that was a terrible idea.  Not the best, but at least it wasn't torture.  

"And another suggestion was to turn her into a toad before putting her in a blender." 

The room broke out in uproarious laughter.  That was by far the funniest of all the suggestions and was the most pleasant Harry had heard yet.  

"I mean, it's not a half-bad idea.  Who would be upset over blending up a frogshake?" laughed Ron hysterically.   

Percy was wiping tears from his eyes.  "I wonder if we flavored it right if we could find a way to make it taste good?"  

The men were all still laughing when a knock came from the door.  

Arthur, still chuckling to himself, patted out his cigar, got up and opened the door for his daughter.  "Jesus, dad!  You need some air circulation in here!"  She squeezed past the men to open the window behind Percy's seat.  "Time to go, gentlemen.  Harry, you feeling okay?" she smiled.  

"Right as rain, my love," he smiled back to her.   

Lots of gagging noises came from behind him.  

"Grow up, boys, would ya?" Harry laughed as he rolled his eyes and turned backwards.  "Most of you are married, too."

"Ew, but not to our sister!" laughed Charlie, to which all the Weasley boys joined in making gross faces at Harry.  

Ginny sighed.  "I swear, you guys.  You're going to be teenage boys forever.  C'mon, let's go," she slid her arm into Harry's and pulled him towards the hallway and planted a kiss right on his lips. 

"What was that for?"  He smiled and pulled her in close. 

She smoothed his hair back, uncovering his scar, which was fading every year the further they got from the war.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  "I am proud of you.  And I know you're only doing this for me, but you need to remember that's only going to work for so long.  Eventually, you're going to have to do this for yourself.  Okay?"

He looked into her sparkling brown eyes and nodded.  "I know," he whispered.  "I am working on it." 

She pressed her freckled forehead into his.  "I know," she whispered back.  "I love you."  

He pulled her into a tight hug.  "I love you too, more than you can ever know," he whispered into his hair.  This time he didn't hold back his tears.  This woman was his everything.  She has saved his life more than once just by sheerly existing.  

She pulled back and wiped her own tears away.  "We're going to be late.  We should go.  Are you ready?"  

Harry smiled.  This was going to be the beginning of a new life.  Or maybe just a new era of his life.  He couldn't promise, not even to himself, that any of this was going to fix anything, but he was sure it couldn't get much worse.  He's been to hell and back, and he figured now it was time to start finding ways to avoid sliding back again.  "Let's do this."  

And with that, they followed the rest of the Weasley clan into the night.  As he walked out the front door and pulled it shut behind him, Harry reached up and rubbed the notebook in his upper pocket.  "We'll do this together, right?" he whispered to his lost friends.  And for a moment, he could feel their presences around him, helping him gather his strength, which he knew he would need.  For the first festival has begun in Hogsmeade.  

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HP: Chapter Three: The Homecoming

Harry slid the last of the luggage into the back of their automobile.  The small, greyish-silver sedan was filled to the brim with mostly his wife's things.  He never told Ginny she packed too much.  He never told Ginny much of anything like that, as that wasn't his style.  He loved his wife more than life itself and the idea of complaining about anything she did never even crossed his mind, not even once.  She was his rock.  His everything.  And how could one complain about that?

And she never complained about Harry's lack of magic use.  They could be traveling by portkey and save an almost four hour drive, but she never said a word.  She knew Harry needed stability in his life, to feel grounded in order to not lose control.  She just went along with whatever her husband wanted to do when it came to pretty much anything.  And besides, she could read her favorite fashion magazines and romance novels as he drove.  Ginny was always up for a good romance novel.

Harry had one suitcase.  A brown leather mid-sized bag with buckles and straps.  It was Ginny's father's, but he had given it to them as a wedding present.  The Weasley's weren't filled with riches, as the Malfoys once were, so they always gave only what they had as gifts, rather than buy new.  But Harry didn't mind one bit.  He loved his suitcase.  It was old-fashioned and quaint, just like his neighborhood.  And come to think of it, just like the Burrow, which had been his safe haven growing up.  He found himself actually looking forward to getting there. 

"All ready?" he asked.

"Aye aye captain," Ginny saluted him with her large round sunglasses covering up most of her upper face.  

Harry laughed and popped into the driver's seat.  Having taken the drop of his potion an hour before, he set his watch to four hours and fifty minutes to take the next dosage.  Ginny knew of the potion, and had also set her watch, just in case his failed.  When he had told her about it, she cried for the second time that day.  Harry loved to make his wife cry out of happiness.  It was such a rare occurrence anymore, but he hoped now with this potion it would happen more often.  Or rather, just the happiness part. 

"Buckle your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy ride!" he yelled in his best Jamaican accent.  

Ginny laughed at him, even though she had never taken the night bus herself, but had heard many of stories from Harry's adventures before they were even married.  

The ride to the Burrow was a quiet one.  Harry played the jazz station on the radio on a low level so Ginny could pay attention to her book.  She had called her family as they were packing to let them know they were coming.  He could hear his mother-in-law squeal like a teenage girl at a boy band concert over the phone.  Ginny had to hold the phone away from her ear so it didn't damage her eardrum.  

"Mummy, settle down," she had laughed into the phone.  But Molly Weasley was not one to settle down once she got started.  She had to run around to all the family members in the house to tell them the good news.  Ginny had waited patiently for her to get done and then told her mother she had to finish packing so they could get there before nightfall.  

Because that night was when the first festival started.  The United States had their Fourth of July celebrations, and Hogsmeade had its First of May Festival.  Although the fireworks were saved until the third at Hogwart's for the anniversary celebration, but, in Diagon Alley, they all ran around with sparklers, there was music in the streets, and laughter in the air.  Shops and inns stayed open for visitors and each one served free snacks and drinks to make the night even more merry.  Enchanted pictures of the deceased in their primes filled each wall.  Firecrackers were a constant, making hearing anyone talk nearly impossible, unless you were indoors.  All of it was very exhilarating.  The frenzy always reminded him of the night of the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, before the Death Eaters showed up.  Except there was no chance anymore of evil betraying the night anymore.  Instead it was just a celebration, nothing more.  The first few years Harry was always looking over his shoulder for trouble.  But this eased as time went on and more Death Daters were put to, well, death.

Harry giggled under his breath at the irony. 

Ginny yawned.  "Mind if I nap the rest of the way?  I didn't get much sleep and I need to rest up before the big night."

Harry looked at his beautiful wife, the sun played off her red locks, making her hair look as though it was on fire.  Her sweet smile and perfect chin.  He was doing this for her.  All of it.  The potion.  The trip.  She was worth anything he had to go through, just to make her happy again.  "Of course.  Can I turn my jazz up a little?"

She smiled.  "Of course," she mimicked his response, as she let her seat back a little so she could recline.  

Lou Gare filled the car.  Harry lost himself in the soulful sounds of the tenor saxophone and for once, he felt like he could understand the music, and not just hear it.  Perhaps it was being sober.  Perhaps it was the glorious countryside landscape of Wiltshire.  But either way, he felt more alive than he had in a very, very long time.

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Four full hours later, they pulled up into the driveway of the Burrow.

Being there again was like visiting an old friend.  It was his home away from home.  Back when he was locked in his bedroom on 4 Privet Drive with bars on his windows, Ron and his brothers had saved him and the Burrow became his home for the summer.  And after the war, he spent a lot of time there, getting to know every creak, every groan again after the rebuild.  It was the same, but not.  It sounded different.  Smelled different. And even some of the tiniest little shapes were different.  There was a piece of wood that stuck out of Ron's bedroom ceiling that Harry used to finger when he was bored.  It was a small piece, but after the rebuild, it was no longer there.  They saw it as a flaw, but he saw it as something familiar, something that was just his.  There wasn't much in his life at that point that was just his.  But eventually, he got used to the new house.  The new smells and sounds and nooks and crannies.  And pretty soon that became just like home, too.

It looked the same as it always did, with the shed on the left of the property that was overflowing with rakes and other muggle tools.  Everyone knew Arthur had a thing for muggles and their stuff, and ever since Harry and Ginny moved to his childhood home, Arthur had spent a good amount of time visiting in the early years, scouring the local yard sales for whatever he could pick up.  He'd bring his findings back to Harry to ask how to use it.  Harry would then draw up diagrams for his father-in-law, on the use of each and every item.  Harry had no idea if Arthur had used all the things he bought, but he did know of one piece of muggle equipment that he used quite often.

One year, for Christmas, Harry bought his father-in-law a set of golf clubs.  And for the next sixth months, Arthur spent his time outside hitting golf balls, rain, snow, or shine, morning, noon, and night.

Molly wasn't as pleased with the gift as her husband seemed to be.  And one day, as if by magic, the clubs had disappeared.  And to the day, nobody knew what had really happened to them.  There were rumors, like any good mystery, but never an absolute truth.  Harry half-wondered if Molly had started some of those rumors herself to take the heat off her, but he could never prove it.  Nor would he want to even try.  He knew better than to get on Molly's bad side.  He could still remember the howler she had sent to Ron their second year at Hogwarts like it was yesterday.  Harry had learned right then there that she was a force to be reckoned with.

He stopped the car and looked over at his wife.  "Hey Gin, wake up," he gently nudged her.

"Hmmmm?" she mumbled as she slid her glasses off her face.

"We're here," he replied.

But no sooner as he spoke the words, there was a loud slam from the front door.

Harry opened his door and stepped out onto the gravel.  And out of nowhere, something tackled him to the ground.

"Hey!"  Harry reached up and felt a person on him, but couldn't see them.  "Get off!"

He reached up once again and pulled at the air on top of him.  The invisibility cloak slid off to reveal a mound of red hair and Ron laughing like a hysterical hyena.

"I got him, George!  He didn't even see me coming!" Ron roared in laughter.

Harry looked up to see Ron's older brother standing over them.

"Well, get up then, we don't have all day," George held out his hand.

Harry took it and pulled himself up to his feet.  George hugged him hard and patted his back.  The years haven't been kind to George, after losing his best friend, twin brother, and other half of himself.  But then again, who had the years been kind to after the war?  Nobody had been untouched.

"So, where the hell you've been, Harry?  We haven't seen you in ages!"

Harry felt slightly awkward.  It had been ages.  Years even.  And he really didn't have any explanation.  "Just been busy keeping your sister busy," he replied with a wink.

"Aw sick, man!  That's my sister you're going on about!" George slapped him on the back.

Ron reached over and ruffled Harry's hair.  "If we know Ginny, and we do, she's probably keeping you busy running around buying her fashion magazines."

Ginny smiled and held up her magazines.  "You got that right."

George walked over and gave her a kiss on the head.  "Hey sis, I didn't think you guys were coming today.   I am glad to see ya!"

"Yup, it was Harry's idea to come.  He missed you all so much he couldn't bear to be away one more second without you all," Ginny smirked.

They all laughed and started grabbing luggage from the car.

George grabbed the biggest suitcases and stuffed them under his arms.  "Jesus Ginny, did you pack your whole house?  I know these aren't Harry's, he only carries dad's old case, but you, you own more bags than the probably all of London!"

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him as she grabbed her bathroom bag and few other small ones.  "You're lucky I packed light this time."

"Yeah, she left her good magazines at home," Harry smiled.  But as he went to grab his bag, he was struck by yet another force, but this time by one that smelled a lot better.

Hermione.  She pressed her face into his chest and held him hard.  He let go of his case and wrapped  his arms around his old friend.

Ginny looked over and smiled.  "C'mon, let's get my bags up to my room before some other family shows up and takes my old room.  Ginny knew how much Hermione had missed him as Harry had made a rule after his suicide attempt he wouldn't allow any of their friends to come see him.  As he healed from his trauma, the drinking set in worse, and he still refused to see them.  Hermione hadn't seen Harry in over a year but that didn't stop her from grilling Ginny about his condition every time she visited.

Ginny loved Hermione like a sister, even if she hadn't been her actual sister-in-law.  And she knew that Hermione loved Harry like a brother.  The idea of never seeing George or Ron for any reason was out of the question.  But then again, Ginny didn't give a crap about what her brothers wanted if it interfered with her love for them.  Hermione on the other hand wanted to give Harry his space and let him come to her when he was ready.  She respected her for that.  But at times wondered if maybe Harry would have had more incentive to get better if he knew people were checking up on him.

Harry held her for what seemed like forever.  He really did love his old friend.  She was one of his very best friends, despite all of the time they'd been apart.  To remember that she married Ron warmed his heart like nothing else.  He had missed her so much and hadn't really realized it until that moment.  Tears of his dripped into her hair.  His friend circle would never end.  And nothing could be better than that.  

"I missed you," he wept into the top of her head.

"I know," she sniffed back, her own tears wetting his shirt.  "I've waited too long for this.  And now that I have you here," she pushed herself away from him.  "I want to slap you!"

Harry was taken aback by her remarks.  "What?"

"Harry James Potter, you made me wait for over a year to see you!  Why? Why did you make me wait for so long?!"  She was now screaming, anger written on her face like a bad poem.

He didn't know what to say.  He paused to figure out what to say.  No matter what he thought up, what excuse he could give her, he knew she'd see right through it.  The only thing left was the truth.  "You know why."  He furrowed his brow, annoyed she made him say it out loud.

"Yes.  I do.  I always knew.  So what where you hiding from me?"  Whenever Hermione got angry, her hands always went to her hips.

"Nothing."  And whenever Harry was embarrassed or uncomfortable, his hands always went into his pockets.

Hermione turned away from him.  "So, you were hiding nothing?  That makes no sense.  I knew all about what was going on, yet you never let me come to see you? Why?" She whipped around to face him.  "WHY?" she yelled in his face.

His patience was wearing thin.  "Because."

"WHY?" she repeated just as loudly.

"BECAUSE.  I couldn't let you see me that way!  I was pathetic and sorry and stupid and ashamed of myself!"  He screamed back.

Hermione's face softened.  "Oh Harry, I never thought what was going on as you being pathetic."

"Well? I was!"  Anger still raged in his chest and face.  His hands were shaking.  He looked at his watch and saw it wasn't time for his potion yet and was relieved.

Hermione flopped onto the ground to sit.  "We all are pathetic sometimes in our lives, Harry. It's not just you.  But the difference is, I wouldn't shut you out.  I would want you there to hold my hand and save me from myself," her words quivered with her sadness.

Harry took a seat next to her.  "It wasn't you.  I lived my whole childhood in that home being alone.  I learned to not put my issues on others.  If I hadn't been married to Ginny, we'd probably had broken up.  I was so used to being alone, I just didn't know how to ask for help."

She looked up at him.  "How can you say that?  We've always been a team."  A few tears escaped her eyes and made a path down her cheek.

"Yeah, but with the big stuff.  Fighting bad guys and trolls and junk like that.  Adrenaline stuff.  Things that would have gotten us killed had any of us tried to go it alone.  But this stuff?" he picked up her hand and held it to his heart.  "This stuff I don't know how to share.  Every birthday was ignored.  Everything I felt and thought was shoved off with the flick of a wrist.  I had to deal with everything on my own.  If I was hurt or sad.  If I was lonely.  I sometimes can't even connect with Ginny on that level.  I am surprised she hasn't divorced my arse yet."

Hermione chortled through her tears.  "Me too."

Harry smiled back.  She laid her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her.

"You know.  You're going to have to learn how to share your feelings with others, Mr. Potter.  These Weasleys are a sharing bunch and you might not have a choice this week.  One way or another, everything is going to come out, you know that, right?"

Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slowly and closed his eyes for a second before collecting his thoughts.  This was exactly what he was afraid of.  This is what kept him drinking.  The idea of fessing up to everything, to opening up his life for all to scrutinize, this is what he feared most.  Not Voldemort.  Not dying.  But this.  And now that he wasn't drinking, how was he going to deal with it all?  He reached down and felt the potion pack inside his coat.  Then he reached up to the journal in the inside pocket of his coat and traced the outline with his hand.  For a split-second, he wanted to jump his car and go home to his bottle of whiskey that was under his desk for emergencies.  But just as quickly as the thought came, it disappeared.  He knew it must be the potion working its magic because he'd never experienced that quickly of a resolve of wanting his warm elixir before.  "Do you think we could keep the conversation light at first?  I don't want to be bombarded by all of this the moment I walk in."

"Of course.  I'll go in and talk to them while you get the rest of the luggage."

"Thank you, Hermione. I owe you one."

She stood up and smiled at him.  "Oh Harry, you owe me so much more than just one.  More than you ever know."

He smiled.  "That is true."  He stood up and went to the car to get the rest.

Hermione wiped her eyes and made her way inside as Harry pulled his bag and two more of his wife's into his arms.  He slammed the door shut and started to walk inside.

It felt so good to be home.  If he'd have known just how much he'd have come a long time ago.  He looked up at the many stories that towered over him and closed his eyes.  He was home.  He was really home.

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HP: Chapter Two: The Next Day

Birds chirped overhead.  A slight dew covered everything, even the glasses Harry forgot to remove the night before.  It was dawn in Little Whinging, on the first of May.

This time of year was always hard for Harry.  Before Harry had his "accident" they would have been getting ready to visit home to honor those that didn't make it.

There were festivals held in their honor; drinks named after them.  They were modern day heroes.  Dumbledore.  Sirius.  Snape.  Lupin.  Fred Weasley.  And so many more.  And yet, so many had survived including Harry, yet none of that mattered to him.  Even his so very best friends, who missed him like crazy, didn't matter anymore.  Nobody but those who were in his notebook.  The Boy Who Lived.  That's what they had called him from the time he was one.  But now that term seemed insulting to him.  He hadn't wanted to survive.  Not when so many had died.  Who died because of him.

The prophecy foretold that if either of them had died, they both would.  Yet there he was.  Wiping the dew from his glasses and wondering why he was there to live yet another dreadful day.  He still could not understand what happened that day...for all knew, he was dead.  But for some reason, he had come back.  To do what?  That was a question he asked himself for the past seven years.  In the beginning, he was just grateful to be alive.  That those closest to him were still alive.  But as the years passed, the reason became more and more unclear.  His purpose, if there really was one, seemed to only be to just be alive. But was that enough?  What good was his being alive if there was nothing to fight against anymore?  If there was nothing and no one to save?  His fate seemed to be sealed at age one, when his mother's love kept him from being murdered by the evilest wizard that ever lived.  He endured his aunt, uncle, and cousin's abuse just so he could grow up and save the world.

Back then, he was The Boy Who Lived for a reason.  Now, he was the just the guy who survived.  He was the guy who got his friends murdered.  His father figure murdered.  Who got the greatest wizard who ever lived murdered.  All for him.  They all died for him.  And yes, it had worked.  He did save the rest of them.  But it didn't matter anymore.  Too much blood had spilled in the name of Harry Potter and living with that meant whiskey for breakfast and making his wife cry.  What was the point anymore?

He rubbed his eyes as his glasses lay on his chest.  He stared into the cloudy morning, chilled to the bone.  His blanket was wet with morning dew, so he got up and threw it across the clothesline to dry in the morning sun.

The door was unlocked.  At least Ginny wasn't angry enough to lock him out, thank goodness.  A nice warm shower would warm him up.  A quick glance at his watch told him he was due to his weekly therapist appointment with Dr. Quigley in a little over and hour.

He had been seeing the doctor for a year and a half, ever since his "episode" he had had with that serrated bread knife in his kitchen.

"So, you're finally up," came Ginny's voice behind him in the kitchen.  She was vigorously scrubbing the oven with cleaner, blue rubber gloves up to her elbows.  She always cleaned when she was upset and her overly-tired and red eyes told him she didn't sleep that night.

"Why are you still up, Gin?" he asked as he reached for his toothbrush in the cabinet.

"Why do you think?" she curtly replied, as her scrubbing increased.

He knelt down to her level on the floor.  "Listen, I am so very sorry about last night.  There was no other way to tell me, I get that.   You didn't do anything wrong.  And you were not the reason I was upset."

She stopped her cleaning and stared at him, and he could see her eyes weren't just red, they were blotchy, as well as her cheeks.  She obviously had been crying all night.  "But you left me there.  On my knees.  I wonder how many of our neighbors saw that?  Saw you walk away from a sobbing wife?  And after you left?  I laid on the ground and stayed there for an hour before coming home.  I was terrified of what I might find when I did."  She threw her sponge across the room.

Harry's heart broke in two at the thought of his wife too scared to come home because of him.  Another person he let down in his life.  He hugged her hard and stroked the back of her hair.  "Oh Ginny, I am so sorry.  I would never do that again because I love you too much.  I could never hurt you like that," he lied.  He didn't want it to be a lie, but he also couldn't let her down anymore either.  So he said what he knew what she wanted to hear.

"You can't promise me anything, Harry.  Not anymore.  Not after all you've put me through," she cried into his shoulder.

She was right.  He had not only let her down over and over again, but he had also put her through total hell.  He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Do you want to come to my therapy appointment with me?"

"No, sweetheart, I need to sleep.  I've been up partying all night and I am exhausted," she smiled as she pushed herself up.

That was their way.  To make jokes and smile when the feelings get too hard to feel.  Ginny was never angry with him.  Never.  She got frustrated, yes, but never angry.  She totally understood him.  Understood his pain.  Hell, she lost people in the war, too.

But Harry knew the difference between the two of them: those people didn't die for her.  They died for him.  For if he had died that night with his parents, that madman would also have died with them all.  Sure, there'd still be deatheaters, but what would they be following without their god alive?

And then he remembered the horacruxes.  Pieces of Voldemort's soul would have still lived on and eventually those crazed lunatics would have found a way to resurrect him without needing Harry.

And this how it always went: the stifling guilt, the shame, and eventually, the remembering of the truth.   He couldn't just stick with the truth, no, he always started out with the guilt.  It was a never-ending cycle of despair that just refused to stop.  He couldn't make his brain break that cycle, no matter how hard he tried.  He wondered if seeing the therapist would even help today.  But after last night, he needed desperately to talk to someone that wasn't Ginny.

"Go to sleep then, my darling.  I will be back after my appointment.  Then we can make arrangements to go visit home."  He knew that would change her mood.  And besides, he needed to see people and places before he made his decision about Umbridge.

Ginny's face brightened.  "Really?  You mean it?"

"Well, Tuesday is the big day, isn't it?  The anniversary?  And there'll be festivities all week, starting today.  I think it will be fitting to go this year.  With her execution and all."  As soon as he said the words, he knew it was the right thing to do.  Even if visiting during this time of year was the hardest thing he could think of to do.  But he was already miserable, why not add a little more?  He snorted at the thought.  A little.  Ha.  Try a metric fuck-ton.  But it made his wife happy.  And right now, that's all that mattered.  She deserved to be happy, after what he did the night before.  And the previous year.  

Ginny ran over to him and give him a big fat kiss on the cheek.  "Oh honey!  Thank you!  I am so happy!"  She knew better than to ask questions.  She just accepted Harry's moods and whims as they came.  It was something she was used to.

"You better get some sleep then.  We need to pack."

She nodded and skipped to the door of the kitchen and blew him a kiss.  "I love you Harry James Potter.  With all my heart."

Harry's heart ached.  He knew that Ginny thought this was a sign of him turning a corner.  But to see her happy was better than her weeping on her knees again.  "I love you Ginerva Molly Potter," he replied as he pretended to catch her kiss and pull it to his lips, like he used to when they were first married.

Ginny shut the door and Harry could hear her climb the stairs to their bedroom.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shower was long and warm.  Good thing the therapist only lived a few blocks from his house, otherwise he'd be late.  But that wouldn't matter, as Harry was Dr. Quigley's only patient for the time being.

After the second wizarding war, being a therapist was in demand.  Normally wizards didn't use such a muggle invention, but after the atrocities that were witnessed by so many men, women, and children, the profession exploded.  Pretty soon everyone knew someone who was seeing a therapist or was seeing one themselves.  And while most of them stayed in the wizard world, Dr. Quigley thought that renting a house near Harry was the best choice for both of them.  Knowing Harry's attempt on his own life was most likely not going to be a solitary act of a desperate man, but rather a possible repeatable offense, he knew that moving as close as possible to his patient was the best way to keep an eye on him.  That and the fact Harry refused to visit anywhere outside of muggle territory anymore made it less of a trek for him to make house calls.


Dr. Quigley's cottage sat on the top of the biggest hill in the area.  The front was covered in ivy which gave it an otherworldly feel, though Harry suspected that's what drew the therapist there to begin with: a house that looked like home.

There was no grass, only a low-lying jungle of assorted plants and flowers.  Most were already beginning to bloom, though Harry suspected it was an enchantment as nowhere near as many flowers had opened in the rest of Surrey.  He was quite admired amongst the garden crowd in the area.  They went as far to say that he must have had a "magic touch" with his gardens.  Little did they know.

He climbed the thirty seven narrow wooden planks, which were dug into the ground as steps, to the front door.  Quigley always complained that he wished his front door was more in tune with the rest of the house, but alas, it was a white wooden rectangle, as boring as a weekday muggle.

Harry knocked on the knocker three times, as he always did.  And then a few short seconds later, he heard Quigley's voice from inside yell "Coming!" as he always did.  It was always the same.  Harry liked the simplicity and security of knowing exactly of how things would go.  It calmed him.  Not once, besides the first day, had he needed a drink before coming.  Even though the therapist liked to make his appointments early for just this reason, Harry had been known to down a few before breakfast on occasion, especially around this time of year.  But not before showing up to therapy.  There was something about being able to express himself without pity, without regret, without having to hide a single feeling that added to the feeling of calmness that those days brought.  Therapy was his sanctuary.  During the last session they discussed having daily sessions for that coming week, but now with the trip in the works, that wasn't going to happen.

"My my, Harry, you are on time, yet again," came Quigley's voice as he opened the door.

"Why, did you not want me to be?" Harry smiled.

"No, my good man.  I am just glad to see how punctual you are, even during this time of year.  Come in, come in," he ushered his old friend in.

"So, listen," he said with a scrunched face.  "I know we talked about me coming here every day this week and I had agreed, but Ginny and I are going home."

The doctor smiled.  "That's wonderful!  Who's idea was it?"

He sure cut to the chase, but Harry was proud of his answer.  "Me."

"No doubt due to the upcoming, well, how shall we put it..." he paused before he sat down and gestured for Harry to do the same.

"Execution?" he replied, as he took his coat and placed it on the chair next to him.

"Well, yes."

Harry fingered his wedding ring.  "Partially."

Dr. Quigley grabbed his reading glasses, a notebook and quill from the table next to him.  "You can be honest with me, you know that.  No need to hide things when in therapy."

"Well, last night when Ginny told me about the execution, I kind of freaked out on her.  She stayed up all night crying, thinking I might...hurt myself again."  He leaned forward and ran his hand through his shaggy hair.

The therapist scribbled something in his notebook and then looked up at Harry.  "Well, did you want to?"

Harry leaned back.  "No, no, not at all.  I only wanted to sleep."

More scribbling.  "Uh huh.  And how much to drink?"

Harry sighed.  He hated fessing up to his drinking habits more than anything.  "A half a bottle of whiskey."

The doctor pulled his glasses down his nose.  "All day?"

He pulled in a deep breath.  "No, that was before bed.  Before that I had six glasses."

The scratching of the pen of the paper was louder than usual.  "So pretty much an entire bottle of whiskey, then, correct?"

"Yes.  I opened it yesterday morning."

"And you tell me you don't want to kill yourself?" he asked without any accusatory tone.

Harry was taken aback by his question.  He hadn't felt like going near a knife since that day.  "No, not at all.  I may not be happy, but I surely don't want to die," he only half-lied.  Death was not something he feared, he just didn't want to be the one who pulled the trigger.

Quigley placed his paper on the table.  "My dear man, drinking an entire bottle of muggle whiskey in twenty-four hours time is a sure fire path to your deathbed.  You may have not had the urge to pick up a knife and slice yourself again, but you sure do have a death wish, whether you know it or not."  Dr.

Quigley had a way with words.  Meaning, he didn't use tact when he spoke, just the pure truth came flowing out of his mouth.  Which sometimes unnerved Harry.  

Shame washed over him like the tide.  He hadn't thought of it that way.  What made him feel even worse was the fact this wasn't the first day he'd done this.  He had been gradually increasing his intake of the intoxicant over a period of weeks.  But he had never drank this much before and had no idea why it was different now.  Well, it was mostly due to the time of year.  But it wasn't a conscious act.  

"No need to feel bad, Harry.  You are a smart man.  You know this is a disease.  An addiction which is covering up your feelings of toxic shame," he reached over and patted Harry's leg.  "I will admit, though, I am fearful of you going off on a trip when you're reaching such a height in your alcholism.  Especially when the subject matter of said trip is exactly why you started drinking the first place."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "I didn't think of that."

The older man picked up his paper and quill again and scribbled more down and sighed.  "Well, we have to find a solution here.  I think you need to go.  But there has to be a way we can do this without you ending up in the hospital.  Or worse. What is your plan once you get there?  I take it you'll be staying with Ginny's family?"

He cleared his throat.  "Yeah.  They rebuilt the Burrow after it was burned down, so there is plenty of room there.  I can't imagine I'd stay anywhere else."

More scribbling.  "So, what do you propose to do?" he asked, without looking up.

Harry knew what he had to do, although he didn't want to.  It was dangerous, mostly to the people around him.  He had no idea what he was capable of or who'd he'd be without the whiskey.  It had been so long that he had lived without it.  He sighed, deep and heavy, and hung his head.  "I'll take it," he mumbled quietly.

Quigley's ears perked up.  "What's that, my good man?  What did you say?"

He knew good and well the man sitting across from him heard exactly what he had said but repeated himself anyways.  "I'll take it," he said, this time louder.

The therapist clapped in glee.  "Oh finally! I've been waiting so long to hear those words!"

"How you do you know it's safe, Dr. Quigley?  How do you know how it will effect me?"

The doctor sat back in his chair.  "Listen, you can't go there drunk.  You can't drink an entire bottle of whiskey all week long, or ever again, I might add.  You can't do this anymore.  This is a time for closure.  And you can only get that while being sober," he reached into his pocked and pulled out a purple liquid in a vial that was corked.  "The potion will take effect immediately.  And you have to take it every six hours or else it will wear off.  You will feel it wearing off because your body will go into withdrawal.  You'll start sweating.  Your hands will shake.  And if you go long enough without, you may go into convulsions and possibly die from shock.  So it's imperative to keep on top of this.  Set an alarm to remind you both."  He reached over and slipped it into Harry's hands and cupped his own over his patient's.  "This isn't a crutch, like alcohol is, this is a cure.  If you take it long enough, you will be cured of your addiction."  He held up the bottle to him.  "And this is magically imbued to refill itself once it's gone, so you'll never run out.  There is zero reason to miss a dose, you understand?"  

Harry nodded.  Cured.  That was a word that he wasn't sure he wanted to hear yet.  And he certainly knew he wasn't ready.  Maybe if he took the potion that blocked his need and want for alcohol, he could them imbibe when the effects wore off?

"I know what you're thinking, good man, and that would surely mess your system up even more and possibly even land you in the hospital," Quigley retorted.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed.  "What are you, some kind of wizard?"

They both started laughing hysterically.

Quigley wiped the tears from his eyes.  "My good man, you are an addict.  You all think alike.  Whether it's a food addict, a drug addict, a sex addict, or an alcoholic, you all want to cheat.  To get away with whatever you can so you don't have to give up your addiction.  What I am challenging you to do is make the choice, right here, right now, to be sober.  For good.  Can you do that?"

Harry's hands had been shaking for a while, but he hadn't noticed until now.  Ever since his drinking increased in volume, his need for the firewater had come earlier and earlier.  It was barely ten a.m., and he was already needing more.  He fingered the vial in his hand.  "I am afraid."

"Good.  You should be.  Fear says you understand the risks.  But it doesn't say you shouldn't do it anyways.  This won't be easy.  I never said it would be.  But then again, didn't a great muggle once say that nothing in life came easy?"

Harry smiled while staring at the vial.  "Nothing comes easy.  It's a song by Lynyrd Skynyrd."

Quigley reached down into the drawer on his end table and pulled out his pipe and tobacco and lit it up.  "Hmm, with a name like that, you sure he's not a wizard?"

Harry let out a small laugh.

Cherry tobacco smoke filled the air.  "So, the next time you think about how hard it is to be sober, Harry, remember Mr. Skynyrd and his song.  Nothing, for any muggle, or wizard, comes easy in life.  You know this better than most.  I will point out one last thing before you go.  You would not be alive right now if there wasn't a reason.  You were dead, Harry Potter.  But you came back.  And that can't be for nothing, can it?  I think your story doesn't end here.  I don't think it ended seven years ago that last day of the war when Voldemort died.  You came back for a reason.  But, good man, it's up to you," he reached over and poked Harry's chest, "to figure out why.  You make your way in life, not some prophecy, not some destiny.  You.  If you choose to give up, then it's over.  But, if you choose to live?"  He leaned in close to Harry's face.  "Then you can do anything."  He sat back in his seat and took a draw off his pipe.  "And that, my good man, is the greatest story ever told.  Harry Potter, the boy who lived because he chose to.  Not because he had to."

Tears escaped from Harry's eyes, wetting his lips and chin.  "On my own terms."

Quigley slapped his hands together.  "Exactly!"

Harry looked at the vile in his hands.  He came here looking for answers about Umbridge's execution but instead ended up addressing something so much deeper and more important than the death of some evil bitch who deserved to die in every manner possible.  He thought about her being taken that night by the centaurs and wished they would have just killed her then.  But no, they eventually just turned her in to the authorities.  He sighed, once again, and put off thinking about her until the actual execution.  Right now, he held the vial that could save his life.  For so long, all he wanted to do was to numb his feelings, his memories.  He never really grieved them.  Any of them.  And if took this potion, he'd be choosing to have to come to terms with all that he had lost.  Was he ready?

No, he wasn't.  But then again, he knew he'd never be ready.  So why not at least try?  "So, how do I take this?"

Dr. Quigley took it out of his hands and opened the stopper.  "Right here is a dropper attached to the cork.  One drop, every six hours.  You have to set a timer, even through the night.  You want to wake up in the morning," he snickered, but then thought better of his careless joke and continued.  "I will give you a pouch in which to carry it in.  If it breaks, don't worry, it will fix itself and be refilled.  I thought of everything, so there are no excuses not to take it." He reached back into his drawer and pulled out a leather pouch and handed it to Harry.

Harry took it and the loose vial and placed it inside.  "I think I got it."

"And Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Leave the whiskey at home," he winked.

Harry faked a smile back to him.  "Of course."

"I mean it Harry."  He puffed another puff on his pipe.

He walked over and hugged his therapist goodbye.  "Thank you Dr. Quigley.  I will do my best."

He exited the cottage and knew he spoke the truth: he would do his best.  He just wasn't so sure what his best was anymore.

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HP: Chapter One: A Message From Arthur

The glass clinked at he set it on the small brown end table next the chair where he sat.  The ice hadn't melted yet.  Although he almost always finished his drinks before that had happened.

"That's your sixth today," Ginny mentioned as she laid a tray of food on the coffee table for him.

He cleared his throat and looked at the tray.  "I didn't know you were keeping count."

She smiled.  "I am always keeping count."

He reached over and took the fork off of the tray and poked it into his already-cut-steak.  He half-cocked a smile.  "Well, it's good to know I am being watched so closely.  Don't want my drinking to get out of hand."  He shoved a piece of steak into his mouth.

His wife sat down in the chair across from him and crossed her legs.  She held a green coffee cup in her right hand that stirred itself with a spoon.  "My sweet love, I'd definitely say that six drinks is already out of hand."

He smiled as he pulled the table closer to reach his food.  "Your steak is awfully good tonight.  What seasonings did you use? I don't even need a knife to cut it," he joked.  Although he was used to this, having his wife cut his food for him.  He wasn't allowed to use knives after the last time he had tried to slit his arm open.

Ginny slapped her thigh in jest as she brought her steaming coffee to her lips.  "You are so funny.  I forgot how funny you can be."

"Yeah, well, age does that to a man," he replied with a mouth full.

"After you're done, do you want to take a walk outside? It's a clear night.  It's so warm for late April."  She took another long pull of her coffee.

"Aren't you going to eat?"  He gathered up the last of his baked potato on his fork and plunged it into his mouth.

She set her cup on the table.  "I had a late lunch.  C'mon.  Let's go take a walk."

"Alright."  He stood up and took his plate to the kitchen before grabbing his jacket to head outside with his wife.

He stepped out the back door, letting the screen door slam behind him, and found Ginny sitting on the steps of the porch.

"Would you look that that?  There's not a cloud in the sky."  She pointed up.  Her red hair shone in the moonlight against her black coat, which was draped around her like a cloak.

"We don't even need a flashlight tonight," he said as he reached down to take her arm.

They walked together down cozy little Privet Drive.  After the war, Harry thought it best to leave the magical world all together.  Because everywhere he looked, he saw those that he had lost.

"Do you think it was a mistake to move here?" he quietly asked her, knowing her answer as he had asked many times before.

She squeezed his arm.  "Of course not.  It's quiet here.  Simple.  But I always wonder how long it will last.  Doesn't living here give you bad memories?"

After the Dursleys went into hiding during the war, they decided to never come back.  They were content to be as far away from the life they left behind as they could.  So Harry had the house all to himself.  "No.  Well, sometimes.  I mean, now that we're here and it's been so long, I see it as our house, not the one where I was stuck living under the stairs for so many years."

Ginny nodded.  "I agree, it is our home.  But you know it's hard for me a little bit.  Growing up around wizards and all that.  You grew up around muggles, so it's easier for you."

Harry shifted his weight and took her hand.  "I know.  And I know keeping you at home with me can't last forever."  He looked up to the stars as he walked.

"No, it can't.  I want to work again, perhaps to go back to the Daily Prophet.  I want to have children.  It's been seven years, Harry.  How long will be long enough?"  She said these things with no malice, with no pushing.  She never pushed Harry, knowing how fragile he was and probably always will be.

They paused at the end of the street where he had saw Sirius for the first time many years ago.  He turned to face her, wiping her hair from her eyes and sighed.  "I just don't know.  I can't....I don't know how...."

She pulled him into her.  "I know, sweetheart.  I know.  I love you, you know that.  And you know I'll wait forever if I have to."

And thing was, he knew that was the truth.  He knew she'd live in that odd little house of his on that odd little road with all the odd little muggle neighbors till the end of time if she had to.  All just for him.  This made him both very happy and horribly sad at the same time.

In the beginning, she took to living the muggle life quite easily.  She got together with the neighbors for block parties and helped in the community garden.  She even took a couple of the elderly women shopping once a week and afterwards held tea at their house with them in the garden.  But deep down, he knew she wasn't as happy as she pretended to be.  He knew she longed for the life she left a long time ago.

It wasn't fair to keep her there.  It wasn't fair to either of them or to their friends who were still alive.

He hadn't seen them with regularity for years now.  Except Edward (whom they lovingly called "Teddy").  Though as Harry's drinking increased, Ginny took the responsibility of keeping the Professor Lupin's company more and more.  She took him once a month to see her parents and to visit her brother George and his wife Angelina.  More often than not, Ginny spent more of her time with Edward in his town than in her own.  This meant Harry hardly ever saw him at all, as he hadn't been out of Little Whinging in years.

Recently he had been having nightmares about Remus.  Watching him die and Remus begging Harry to be the godfather of his child.  And at first it was easy.  He took to the boy right away and for a long time, they were inseparable.  But as Harry's depression took over him, he found less interest in things one once loved.  One thing being Edward.  He told himself that the boy would be better off without him, because if something bad had happened to Harry that Edward would be heartbroken.

Odds were, though, then nothing bad would happen to Harry, as all the threats had been dealt with.  All except one.

Ginny stared off into the distance.  "Harry, I need to ask you something.  It's important."

He sat on the curb and started at the swings.  An eerie de ja vu came over him.  "Yes?"

She sat down next to him and took his hands.

"Wow, this must be really important," he joked.

"Listen.  My father called me today to tell me something.  It's time.  In two weeks, it's her turn."

Harry pulled his hands away and stood up.  "What? Already?"

"Harry, Azkaban has been rid of all the death eaters.  And all the people who have been a part of the war.  Every single person who had a stake in overthrowing Hogwarts and Ministry of Magic and those who sided with Voldemort have been executed.  It's her turn."

After the war, rather than keep Azkaban open and risk an uprising again, they decided to execute all of the prisoners.

"After she's gone, they can close it for good.  And that chapter of our history will be over," she continued.

He stared at her.  "Over?"

She sighed.  "You know what I mean.  It can't happen again.  With all the security precautions put into place and the total revamping of Hogwarts' policy, there is little to no chance of anything like that happening again.  For those of us who remember, it will never be over.  But once she's gone, she's the last one.  And that's it.  There will be not one person left who was affiliated with the wrong side of things."

Harry's thought drifted to Malfoy.  His family was executed two years after the war.  Every single one, except him.  He knew that even though his family was on the executing side of the war back then, that now Draco must be fighting his own demons, just as Harry was.  "When will it happen?  What day?"

"On Sunday.  May 15.  Three o'clock in the afternoon.  And that's not it."

Harry sighed and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  "And what else is there?"

"Well, of course they want to know if we'll go to the execution.  Ron and Hermione will be there.  As will my entire family. Actually all of Hogwarts staff, new and old will be gone.  Actually, I'll be surprised if any witch or wizard alive won't be there," she ran her hand over his shoulder.

"That's a given."

"But the other part is something bigger than all that.  It's much more important."

"Out with it, then.  I can handle it."

"I hope so," she searched his eyes for the truth.

"I can.  I promise.  I mean, last person alive who took part in the biggest horrific thing in our history will be executed.  What could honestly be bigger than that?"

She gently smiled.  "They want you to do it, Harry.  They want you to be the one to execute her when the time comes.  That is if you want to."

All happiness drained from Harry's face and he felt his entire body go cold.  "They want what?!"

She reached up to take his hands again, but he yanked them away.  "You don't have to, Harry.  They just want to give you the option.  That's all."

"What kind of option is that?!  Why...what....arrgggh!" he screamed as he stomped off toward home.

Ginny ran to catch up to him.  "Listen to me!  You do not have to do this.  We can pretend like I never told you about it."

He glared at her.  "But you did, didn't you?  You did tell me about and now you want to pretend to forget?  Are you mad?"

"No, I just don't want you to go off the deep end!"

Harry threw his head back in fake laughter.  "You mean like having six drinks?  That kind of deep end?  Well, sorry honey, I might go home and have another after hearing about this!"

She stopped in her tracks.  "You know what I mean!" she screamed after him, tears running down her face.


He slowed down and kicked a can that was in the road.  "That will not happen again.  I promise you that."

Ginny, now heaving with sobs, dropped to her knees.  "I knew shouldn't have told you!  You can't promise me anything! You did it once, so you can easily do it again!"

Harry knew he should go back.  To console her.  To hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.  But that would be a lie.  And he knew it.  He had no idea if everything was going to be okay.  He had no idea if he'd go home right now, down the rest of his bottle, and find a knife to finish the job he started and didn't finish.

He brushed the spot on his coat where the notebook lay, bulging out to make a rectangle shape he was always keenly aware of.  It was his penance for not dying, to keep alive the names and faces of those who were slain.  To always have them on him, to be aware of their once existence, to never forget.  He knew he had to live in order to see this woman die.  But beyond that, he didn't know if he'd be next or not.  But to be the one who killed her?  He'd already killed enough, why were they asking for another?  Why would Ginny think it was okay to ask him to do this?  He moved to muggle-land for a reason: to get away from all the dying and murdering.  Granted, there were no more murders, but there were memories of them.  And that was enough.  That was too much.  This was too much.

Harry ran in the other direction, leaving Ginny at the end of the road.  He felt horrible, but he needed a drink.  That would calm him.  That would soothe his tortured soul.  It always did.  It kept his demons at bay.

He grabbed the bottle from his liquor cabinet and downed the last of it into his stomach.  He then grabbed his blankets from the bed and went out to the garden hammock to sleep.

As he laid on his back and stared up at the bright and starry night, he rubbed the back of his hand.  It burned for some reason.  He tried to shut the memories of that toad-faced woman out of his head.  But even being on his way to drunk didn't help.  But soon, he felt that familiar warmth spread throughout his body and he knew sleep was on its way.

If Dolores Umbridge was going to die, then he wasn't going to think about it until morning.  All he wanted to do was fall into a dreamless sleep and wash the pain away with his whisky.  The whisky was doing its job, and he hoped the hammock would follow suit.

By the time Ginny walked through the door, Harry was snoring in the moonlight.

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