Note: First and foremost, I will be updating Say You Love Me soon. This story is merely a request fic that I have been playing around with for a week or two. It will more than likely run about 3-4 parts. Secondly, I have drawn on my real life dealings with MS for this story, but I must stress that MS is different for everyone. Some people with MS are still up and walking 20 years after their diagnosis and some, like me, aren't so lucky. Don't take this as a set in stone template. Also keep in mind that I am not a doctor.

The Guest House

Prologue

"What absolute rubbish," Neville ground out as he tossed a copy of the latest issue of The Daily Prophet across the table.

Harry sighed and shrugged. A few stiff drinks had relaxed Harry enough that he was no longer snarling like a wild beast because of the headline. Over the past five years, he had grown almost used to the constant headlines and gossip columns bearing his name. That didn't mean he enjoyed it, but it didn't bother him as it once had...or at least, it hadn't until now. With his divorce in the final stages of completion, his very well publicized split from Ginny was becoming evermore the standard front page fare for reporters who did a startling lack of reporting on anything that truly mattered—somehow Shaklebolt's latest trip to America had been pushed back to page three. The words "Potter's Mistress Speaks Out" in bold script across the top of the page were sure to sell more papers than anything the ministry had done in quite some time.

"How she managed to make a one-off seem like a bloody decade-long romance, I will never know," Harry muttered bitterly as he took another drink.

Neville refilled their glasses. "I wish I could tell you that people won't believe it."

"They will," Harry agreed flatly. "Ron and Hermione certainly do."

"You have to admit that they are in a bit of a hard place during all of this, Harry," Neville told him. "I would imagine it would be hard for Ron knowing that his best friend had an affair while married to his sister."

"It wasn't an affair!" Harry cried.

"Call it what you like, but you did cheat on Ginny. I know you wish you could take it back, but what's done is done," the blonde man said sympathetically.

Harry looked away and took a drink. "Want to hear something strange?"

"What?"

"Part of me doesn't want to take it back." Harry hadn't allowed the words to pass his lips until that moment, but then it felt like a damn had broken inside of him and he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry I hurt her, I really am, but I didn't want to continue on the way we were. For the longest time, I thought I could just be happy pretending everything was as good as she seemed to think it was. I thought that all couples had their bland times. Then it just started stretching on forever. I honestly can't tell you the last time I was genuinely excited to be around Ginny. School, maybe. What kind of marriage is that?"

Neville frowned. "Christ, Harry. Did you ever talk about it?"

"A bit. How do you tell someone who is truly in love with you that you don't know if you want to be with her? It just never came out. I know it's a shite way to end things, but I was almost relieved when she kicked me out. Maybe I deserve everyone thinking I am the biggest fucking wanker in Britain . Maybe I am." Harry drained the glass and held it out to Neville.

Neville rolled his eyes as he poured Harry another. "I'm sure sitting here and getting arseholed with me is the best way to resolve all of this," he said with an uncharacteristic amount of sarcasm. "You are a bit of a wanker for it, I will give you that, but get your head out of your ass. You need to move on. Ginny needs to move on. Fuck, all of Britain's witches need to move on!"

"To what?" Harry asked. "With all of this mess looming over me, I can barely even make it into the Ministry offices without having to fend off Rita Skeeter and her ilk. Any semblance of normal life has kind of gone round the shitter."

"Take a bloody vacation then."

At the time, Harry had completely dismissed the suggestion—laughed it away actually—but four days later the thought of a vacation was beginning to become a bit of an obsession. He was half mad from spending all of his time and energy running away from the reporters who stalked him day and night. His work had even suffered for it. It was nearly impossible for him to go out into the field and when he was in the office he was unfocused. In fact, things had become so bad that Minister Shaklebolt had taken the time to personally ask Harry to take time off until the whole thing had blown over. This time, however, Harry was not even remotely inclined to ignore the idea. He wanted nothing more than to get away from all of the insanity.

Now the question at hand was where to go. Aside from ministry business and his time on the road with Ron and Hermione, Harry had never traveled. The Dursleys weren't about to take him anywhere he might have enjoyed if they could avoid it, and he had been too preoccupied as an adult to take a proper holiday to any place more exotic than Dover. Also, there was no way he was going to be able to make any sort of arrangements within the wizarding world without finding himself hunted down. He contacted a Muggle travel agency which had sent him a bundle of brochures with palm trees and blue waters on the front of them, but none of them really appealed to him all that much. In the end, Harry resigned himself to just picking one out of the pile and going with it.

He had been about to call the travel agent and make his reservations when Neville dropped by that afternoon. Harry heard the distinctive sounds of someone arriving in his fireplace. Until that very moment, Harry had completely forgotten that he had planned to have lunch with Neville. Doing his best to appear as though he were merely getting ready to leave, Harry shoved the brochure in a desk

drawer before greeting his friend.

Neville eyed him skeptically as he entered the room. "You forgot, didn't you?" the professor asked.

"No, I just lost track of the time," Harry lied.

"You sound like one of my students who didn't do his homework," Neville chided. "Not that it's any big loss. I doubt we would make it very far with all of your followers swarming us anyway."

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "My kitchen is well stocked though. I could make us a bit of something."

Over a plate of sandwiches, Harry talked about the pros and cons of each location—mostly the cons. Harry wasn't exactly enthusiastic about any of them. From the sand to the humidity, nothing was right. Neville was much more patient than Ron or Hermione would have been, he managed to sit through nearly an hour of Harry's ramblings before deciding he'd had enough.

"What about somewhere a little less exotic?" Neville asked irritably.

"I hear Antarctica is particularly nice this time of year," Harry rejoined dryly.

"I was actually talking about America."

Harry stared for a moment as though he'd never heard of the place before. "As in the United States?"

Neville nodded. "Dean Thomas has a house in Maine near the shore. He rents out his guest house on occasion. Luna and I stayed there once. Very nice place."

"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "I never really thought about America as much of a holiday really, but I guess the it sounds better than sitting on a beach pretending to enjoy myself. Do you know it is open at the moment?"

"Not sure. Owl him. If it isn't you can always sip mai tais in Tahiti."

Dean was not a morning person. Were it not for a certain four-legged companion sitting beside his bed thumping his tail expectantly, he would have happily stayed abed until noon. Rolling to his side, Dean sat up and stretched out his sore muscles. Leonidas laid his massive head on Dean's thigh and looked up at him with anxious brown eyes. "Yes, yes, I know," Dean murmured. "I'm not moving quickly enough for you, but it's the best I can do." He reached for the forearm crutch lying beside the bed and hauled himself up to his feet shakily and threw on a robe.

After opening the door and letting the German Shepherd run free in his fenced in yard, Dean made himself a cup of strong coffee. He settled himself on his front porch with the steaming cup in his hand and watched Leo frolicking. Suddenly the dog began to bark and growl at something up above. Dean had to shield his eyes to spot a bird flying low toward him. The owl wisely chose to let the letter fall and avoid confronting Leo's bared teeth. "Now that wasn't very friendly," Dean told the dog as he picked up the abandoned envelope.

Without a spared second, he tore into the unmarked enveloped and scanned over the contents:

Dear Dean,

How have you been? Luna and I were disappointed that you could not attend Astrid's birthday party, but we do understand. I do hope that things turned out well for you. However, things have not turned out very well at all for Harry Potter. I don't doubt that you have heard some of the rumors concerning Harry's divorce from Ginny. With all of the chaos surrounding him, Harry has decided to get away for a while, and I thought of your rental. Is it possible that you would be able to accommodate Harry for a week or two?

Neville

Dean sighed. The guest house was open, but he wasn't so sure he wanted Harry Potter staying in it. Neville and Seamus aside, Dean had all but turned his back on the magical world. Though he didn't regret his Hogwarts years one bit, time had moved on. His life had changed so drastically that he had no idea what it would be like to see Harry again.

Still, Dean knew exactly what it was like to need to escape for a while. With that in mind, Dean grabbed a pen and a bit of paper.

Part 1

Harry hadn't been expecting gray skies and rain when he arrived in Maine. Truth be told, he hadn't known what to expect. Arriving by portkey in the late afternoon, Harry surveyed his surroundings. A dense patch of trees shielded the drive from the any sort of roads. From where he was standing, he could see a large house with dark wood siding and a porch that wrapped around the whole house. A rustic looking wooden fence gave the place a homey feel to it that made it look warm even through the chill of the rain. Though Harry couldn't see the guest house from where he was, he assumed that it was tucked in behind. Well, Harry thought, this does look like the kind of place to be left alone.

Just as Harry stepped onto the porch, a dog began to bark from inside the house, and Harry paused. Being mauled wasn't on his agenda for his vacation. Before he could continue, Dean emerged from the house holding the leash to a large black and tan beast. "Don't be fooled by the barking; he's harmless, I assure you. Pet him once and he will shut up," Dean told him over the dog's noisy greeting.

Harry held out his hand reluctantly expecting to draw back a stump. Instead, the animal licked his hand and then rolled over and offered his stomach to Harry. "Some guard dog you are," Harry said as he let out a breath of relief.

"It's good to see you, Harry," Dean said. "You look just the same."

For the first time Harry's attention landed on Dean. He had been prepared to say the same, but then he realized that Dean really had changed. He was thinner than Harry remembered. His hair was cut close, and he now sported a goatee, but that wasn't what caught his eye. Dean was leaning heavily on a crutch. Willing his gaze elsewhere, he looked into Dean's dark eyes. "Good to see you too, " he replied.

"Come in. I'll show you the place." Dean headed off through the living room. Harry trailed behind Dean and tried not stare at his host's spastic gait as they walked. "Normally, I'd take you around the main house, but I don't really fancy a walk in the rain today."

The pair emerged underneath a covered walk way that connected to the guest house. The guest house was nearly a miniature of the large structured and even had its own porch with a swing on it. Even without going inside, Harry knew straight off, he would like this place. Harry's instinct was confirmed mere moments later when Dean opened the door to reveal an interior that was masculine without being cold. The living room and kitchen were open and when combined with the high ceilings gave the place and openness that appealed to Harry. Dark cherry furniture and beige and wine upholstery (an almost Gryffindor like touch) only added to the house's charm.

"Do you like it?" Dean asked.

Harry nodded. "Very much."

"The bedroom is through the french doors over there and the bathroom is just off to the left. The place is set up with all of the usual Muggle devices, but I did connect the fire place to the floo network for any magical guests," Dean explained. "I put a few necessities in the fridge and cupboards—coffee, milk, eggs, and the like, but you'll want to go town for groceries. I made some chili and you're welcome to come over for dinner if you'd rather not go out in the rain this evening."

"Thank you. That's more than I'd expected really," Harry said gratefully.

"Well then, I will leave you to get settled. Come over whenever you're ready to eat," Dean told him before he started for the door. For a brief moment, Harry noticed a look of pain cross Dean's face as he moved.

When Harry was left alone, he pulled his shrunken belongings from his pocket and brought them back up to size. He hadn't packed too terribly much; just his clothes, some books, and a bit of paperwork he just couldn't leave behind at work. Taking his time to familiarize himself as he unpacked, Harry began to feel a bit more at ease with his surroundings. For the first time in quite a while, Harry was hopeful that he might actually enjoy himself. The mere silence around him as he put away his socks was enough to bring a smile to his face. How long had it been since he had been able to relax? Too long.

Harry flopped down haphazardly on the bed after the last of his belongings were put away. The feel of a warm mattress beneath him made him keenly aware of the hour. Though the clock on the wall told him that it was only seven, Harry's internal clock told him it was much later. He supposed he should have taken the time difference into more consideration, but as of late, he hadn't been sleeping well. He had assumed that his insomnia would make him at least a bit less vulnerable to the change, but his entire body felt tired and his eye lids were heavy. If not for Dean's offered meal, Harry could have easily fallen asleep, but instead he pushed himself up.

The rain had slowed to a light mist since he'd arrived. Harry breathed in the heavy scent of pine that nearly covered the tinge of salt from the ocean and leaned on the railing of the porch. The air was cool and helped him wake up a bit more before he started toward Dean's. He knocked gently only to be greeted by the dog who was wagging his tail happily but Dean was nowhere in sight. Harry waited a moment before deciding to slide in uninvited.

"Hello?" Harry called out softly.

"Be there a minute," Dean called back from another room. "Make yourself at home."

Harry closed the door behind him and began to look around. He hadn't really noticed much when they had passed through earlier. His attention had been too focused on the changes in Dean to see much else. Like the guest house, the main home was filled with the same dark cherry finished furniture, but the fabrics in the room were darker blues and greens. A large flat screen television hung on the wall opposite an open stone fireplace. Though the place was devoid of the knickknacks that usually signaled a woman's touch, the house was far from bland.

Photographs lined the walls, most of what appeared to be family and friends, but one face was prominent among them. Harry found himself staring at the face of a handsome stranger. The man in the picture (a Muggle photograph) was blonde with blue eyes and a healthy tan. He reminded Harry of Dean's home—warm, inviting, open, and perhaps a bit rugged. Whoever he was he meant quite a lot to Dean. Finally, Harry's eyes landed on a picture of them together confirming the suspicion that had been building. The pair were seated on a the beach with a plaid blanket wrapped around them. Dean looked so very happy wrapped in his lover's arms. For a brief moment, Harry felt a pang of jealousy. He had always wished to be loved like that, but some things just weren't meant to be.

"Sorry about that," Dean said from behind him. "I was just cleaning up my paints when you came in."

Harry was slightly embarrassed to have been caught snooping about Dean's photos but he straighten up and put on a smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked.

"Very," Harry confirmed.

Dean led Harry into a large kitchen. "I put a warming charm on it, and it should have thickened up nicely. Nothing better than hot chili on a rainy day, but I did keep it fairly mild in case you don't share my love of spicy food."

"Haven't really eaten too much of it," Harry told him apologetically. "Ginny didn't exactly get very adventurous in the kitchen."

A sad look came to Dean's eyes. "I was sorry to hear about that, by the way. For what it's worth, Harry, I was really hoping you two would be happy together."

"Yeah, so was I. Things happen though, I suppose." Harry shrugged. "What about you? You and your partner look happy."

Dean smiled sadly. "We were very happy. Ethan died in a car accident a little over two years ago."

Instantly, Harry's heart sank in his chest, and he silently cursed himself for being so bloody stupid. "I...I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's all right. We had more in our six years together than some people do in decades and decades together. He left me with a heart full of memories and a beautiful home to remember him by. I still miss him, but I know that I was just blessed to have him." Dean looked away for a moment. "No use getting all sentimental. Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love one."

"Name your poison. I have wine, beer, and a fairly well stocked liquor cabinet," Dean told him.

Still feeling a tad off kilter, Harry couldn't decide. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Dean handed Harry a bottle of beer. "Dos Equis it is then."

Harry took a tentative sip of the brew and smiled. "That's really good."

"Glad you like it. Now on to the food." Dean levitated a heavy pot onto the table and ladled out a large bowl of the steaming chili.

"Thank you," Harry said as he accepted the bowl. His stomach growled greedily as he took in the spicy scent of it. Despite his host's assurances that he had kept it mild, Harry found that his mouth was soon ablaze as he took his first bite. He had to hold back a wracking cough as he quickly reached for his beer. Beads of sweat were already appearing on his forehead. "Wow," he managed to get out.

Dean laughed heartily. "Don't tell me the Boy Who Lived is afraid of a wee bit of heat in his food."

"It seems that way," Harry admitted sheepishly. "It's good though."

"I can make you a sandwich, if you want," Dean offered still largely amused.

Harry's pride wouldn't let him concede. "Of course not, the chili is fine.

The two men settled into a companionable silence as they ate. To Harry's relief, he soon became accustomed enough to the spice to finish his bowl and ask for another. As he ate, Harry began to wonder why he hadn't become better friends with Dean at Hogwarts. The boys had never really had any major quarrels, but they had never been close. They had always moved in separate circles. Still, Harry was amazingly comfortable just sitting there with Dean saying nothing at all. After they had finished, Dean sent away the dishes with a flick of his wand and offered Harry another beer.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. Neville told me that you normally don't let out the guest house until summer, and I do appreciate the extra work," Harry said as they moved to Dean's couch.

"It's really not that much work. I'm actually happy to see you, Harry."

Harry frowned. "You sound as though that's a surprise."

"It's been a long time since I've been around any of the other Gryffindors in quite some time. I kind of turned my back on the wizarding world more or less after I was diagnosed. I guess it was just easier," he admitted.

"What diagnosis?" Harry asked.

"Neville didn't tell you? I assumed when you didn't ask that Nevill had told you," Dean murmured.

"No," Harry replied shaking his head. "I just didn't want to be rude."

Dean sighed. "I have MS—multiple sclerosis."

Harry had heard of multiple sclerosis before, but he didn't exactly remember what the term meant. He was just about to ask about it when Dean continued. "Basically it's a disease that attacks my nervous system causing a whole laundry list of unpleasant symptoms. No two cases are exactly the same. Mine has been progressing pretty steadily, but so far it's been mostly limited to my muscle control in my legs and my balance."

"I'm sorry to hear that. So what do the healers say?"

Dean shrugged. "Not much. There haven't been many cases in wizards. I'm one of maybe a bare handful in history so there hasn't been much research. There is a Muggle-born healer in New York who's been working with me. I can honestly say things could be much worse."

Where the silence had once been comfortable between them, now there was a sort of quiet tension. Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. He hadn't really dealt with anything like this before. The only person he could think of that he had ever really known with any sort of disability was Moody, and he had barely known the auror. Harry shifted uncomfortably as if the physical move would make it easier for him to think of something to say. Luckily, he had a furry savior.

Without warning, the dog who had been lying quietly in the corner for the majority of the night decided to crawl into Harry's lap like some little pug. Harry spilled his beer and let out a loud groan as an oversized paw found its way on top of Harry's crotch. He tried his best to push the beast away with little success. The damned animal had to weigh at least forty kilograms! During all of his struggling, Dean was sitting there laughing as though this was a normal occurrence.

"Leo, down!" Dean commanded after his laughter had subsided. "He really must like you. He doesn't do that often."

"I just have a way with animals, I guess," Harry quipped. "And you named your dog 'Leo'? Like a lion?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I didn't name him. Ethan did. His real name is Leonidas—like the Spartan king. Ethan loved the movie they made about it so much he named Leo after it." As if he was trying to decipher what was being said about him, Leo cocked his head to the side and let out a little grunt. Dean scratched the dog's ears. "He doesn't live up to the the name really. He's quite the coward. Have you ever had a dog before?"

"No, my relatives would never allow something like that. I've never been much for dogs," Harry said thinking back to Marge's bulldog.

"I wasn't either, but he won me over. He kept me company after Ethan died. I'm not quite sure what I would have done without him." Dean bit his lip. "Not to be nosy, but how are things with Ron and Hermione through all of this?"

Harry swallowed. "We had a huge fight over it, Ron and I. Not sure how things will go with that really. Hermione has written me a couple of times, but Ginny is her sister-in-law and a dear friend. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by any of this. What I did was pretty unforgivable. I deserve it."

"No one deserves to be alone," Dean told him.

"I should go. I'm getting really tired," Harry lied.

Dean nodded. "Good night."

"Good night," Harry returned as he headed for the door.