He lounged across the sofa, watching as leaves cascaded from trees and the rooftop above his head. Crackling came from the fire behind the grate before him, and he rolled a high-baller filled with scotch and ice around in his fingers. A book lay discarded on the carpet beside the sofa, and he still stared out the window. Gray hair brushed his forehead, tickling the tell-tale scar. Lids began to droop over piercing green eyes, which had lost their luster as of late.

Downstairs, he heard a door open, and light footsteps on the marble floors. He didn't move. He lay there, staring out the window at the cloudy gray sky and falling leaves. The brown and gold of the autumn day did nothing to boost his spirits, he hated fall. It was so beautiful, and cold. How he loathed the cold. The footsteps downstairs stopped. Well, he knew they didn't stop; they had simply left the marble, probably on their way to the study where he lay.

"Dad?" a voice called. He knew it would be her, it was always her. Luke was in Egypt or something, Brody was off with his romantic conquest of the month and Kayla was dead for almost twenty years now. She was the only one left. Ireland wouldn't be coming to see him, he forbid her from coming. She reminded him of her, and he didn't want that. "Dad?" she said, opening the door. He took another sip of scotch. "There you are," Lara said, coming in the room. "Have you eaten today?" she asked, setting down a tray of food beside the couch. He took another sip. "Give me that," she whispered, snatching the glass from his hand.

"Go away, Lara," he replied, closing his eyes.

"Nice to see you too," she replied. "Conrad sent some books along to you if you want them. They're downstairs."

He rolled his green eyes to glare at her. "You see that book on the ground?" he asked. Lara nodded. "I've been reading that book for three years now. I think I've actually read the same four paragraphs over and over. I'm only sixteen pages into it, and I couldn't tell you a single character. Take your damn books with you."

She turned away, and he felt a momentary stab of pain, then it subsided into numbness again. "All right, Dad. There's your lunch. If you need me, you know where I'm at," she whispered. Once she got to the door, she turned back to him, and continued, "I miss her too, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes as she shut the door. She had no idea what she was talking about. She couldn't miss her half as much as he did. He had loved her every moment since he was fifteen years old. Forty-five years was a long time to love someone. Every moment of his life had been for nothing now, as he lay on the uncomfortable couch in the study she decorated, sipping a drink she never would have approved of. But she wasn't here to scold him, so what did he care. "I wish I never fell in love with her," he whispered, feeling his eyes close in unconsciousness.

He awoke in a bed. Normally, this wouldn't bother anyone, except when you were Harry. He hadn't slept in a bed for almost three years. He always passed out on some sofa somewhere in the house. He sat up, and looked around. He didn't recognize the room at all. He'd never seen it before. It was decorated in Ireland colors, like the Quidditch team he'd played on for five years. On the bedside table was a picture of him, Hermione and Ron standing on the Quidditch pitch for Ireland. He was dressed in his Seeker uniform, Hermione and Ron were grinning, he was smiling happily. He'd seen this picture a million times, only this was different by two things. The first one was that there was no Kalli, and she had been in all the Quidditch pictures. The second one was that he was far older then he had been when he quit Quidditch. Kalli had been pregnant with the twins when he almost died falling from his broom. He had quit that season.

He pushed himself out of the bed, glancing around the room. There was so much missing. His closet door was open, and his clothes took up the whole thing. When Lara had cleaned the closet, removing Kalli's things, he hadn't had the heart to take up the empty space. Lara had claimed that by leaving the space empty, he was denying himself closure. He told her that he didn't go into the bedroom anyway, so what did he care. Not only was her side of the closet full, there were no picture of her anywhere. What had happened?

He grabbed a robe, and stepped from the bedroom door. All of a sudden, his heart dropped. He wasn't in his house. Where was he? There were pictures of him and Ron and Hermione everywhere. Where were the pictures of Luke and Lara, Kayla, and the grandkids? What had happened last night? Why wasn't he in the house that Remus Lupin had given him and Kalli on their wedding day? Mid-step he disapperated, and appeared in the kitchen of Hermione and Ron's house. Ron jumped, spilling coffee all over his clean robes.

"Bugger, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Where is she?" Harry demanded, grabbing his best friend by the front of his shirt.

Hermione came down the stairs, and stopped short. "Harry," she said, watching as Harry released Ron's robes. "What are you doing here… In a bathrobe?"

"I need to know where she is. Why isn't she in any of my pictures?" Harry demanded, turning toward her.

Hermione was shocked by the raw fear and anguish in his eyes. She had known Harry for almost fifty years, and she had never seen this kind of pain in his eyes before. She took another step off the stairs, and moved toward him. "Who?" she asked softly.

"Kalli," Harry replied. Hermione tilted her head slightly, her eyes questioning him. "Kalinda Damia."

"Remus' niece, from fifth year?" Ron asked, his voice filled with confusion. "Why do you care about her?"

"WHY DO I CARE ABOUT HER!" Harry exploded, his scar searing. "She was MY WIFE!" he screamed, backing up.

Hermione jumped at the tone of his voice, and took a step back. Ron stepped forward. "Old chap, Kalinda Damia died the summer before our sixth year, her parents killed her, remember?"

Harry sank into a chair, and stared at Ron. "They killed her? How? What happened?" he whispered.

Hermione stepped forward, and touched his shoulder. "She was killed in Diagon Alley, her parents showed up, and went to grab her. She fought back, her father killed her in cold blood on the sidewalk." Harry stared at the ground, gulping loudly. "We weren't there. We were in Venice, Ron was on his way. Hagrid saw it, Dumbledore tried to stop it. But they couldn't." Harry still didn't move, he sat perfectly still, staring at the ground. "You couldn't have done anything, Harry. We barely knew her. She wasn't part of our group, she wasn't a Marauder."

"She was a Marauder. She was my wife. We had children. Luke, Lara, Brody, Kayla, they were our children."

Ron shook his head. "What are you talking about, Potter. You've never been married."

"You were my best man. Hermione was the matron of honor. We were married on the steps of Hogwarts. I quit Quidditch when Kalli got married. I became Headmaster at Hogwarts. Our kids grew up together, Weasley."

"Headmaster at Hogwarts?" Ron laughed. "That's rich. You're daft, Potter."

Hermione knelt down in front of Harry and whispered, "No, he's not, Ron. He honestly lived this. He married Kalinda Damia, and he had these kids. She was a part of his life for a very long time, perhaps almost all of his life." Harry stared at her, his green eyes hallow. "We just need to figure out why she's gone, Harry. And we will."

"How?"

"We'll go to the root of it all. Professor Lupin."

They sat in the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron, across from Remus Lupin. He looked completely different then the man that Harry knew so well. He was well over ninety, and he certainly looked it. He sat hunched over, a glass of water dripping before him. "What can I help you two with?" he asked, his voice cracking with age.

"We have a few questions about your niece," Hermione replied, sipping her own glass of water.

"Kalli?" Remus asked, his eyes flicking to Harry. He nodded. "Hmmm, I remember her talking about you, Potter. She used to say that she wished you would invite her to Hogsmeade one weekend. Of course, that was during her fifth year, before her parents attacked her in Diagon Alley."

Harry's eyes drifted to Remus, and they held. "Tell me more about her," Harry whispered.

"You know more, boy," Remus replied. Both Harry and Hermione looked surprised. "I see it in your eyes. You've known her far longer then I have."

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked.

There was a momentary silence, then Remus replied, "I know Kalinda Damia, he knows Kalli."

"How do I get her back, Remus?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "I just need to get back to my kids, my grandkids."

"I'm assuming that you've heard of The Chanting," Remus said softly. Harry nodded. "Have you heard of the Never Curse?"

"She used it when Willow wished that she'd never come to Hogwarts. Everything was wrong, upside-down, dark. It was all because Willow wished she was gone. Is that what happened?"

"What did you do last night, before you fell asleep?" Remus asked.

Harry thought for a long moment, mentally replaying the events of the night before. "Lara came over, and I was short with her. Kalli passed away three years ago, since then I've pretty much quit living. I was really drunk, and I ignored Lara. Well, just before I went to sleep, I remember… I finished the last of my scotch, muttered something about Kalli, and passed out."

"What did you say, Harry?" Hermione asked, rubbing her hand across his shoulder blades.

Once more, he was quiet, thinking hard about what he had said. "I wish I never fell in love with her."

"That's it. You need to take it back," Remus replied.

"I take it back. I need her in my life. I need her back. I need to know that I had her. She was my life. Without her I'm a has-been Quidditch player, with no family and no dreams," Harry spilled out. "Why isn't it working?"

"There must be a counter-curse. We just need to find it," Hermione said. "That's easy. It just involves research."

"Lead the way, Einstein," Harry said. He turned to Remus. "I thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

Remus smiled, "I only hope it brings her back to you, and to myself as well."

Books were piled above their heads as Hermione and Harry poured through pages and pages of curses and counter-curses. No one had reported having The Chanting since 1856. In 1856, a senile old witch claimed she could do magic without a wand. In demonstrating, she blew up herself and two other wizards. Before that, Godric Gryffindor was the last to claim The Chanting. There was very little literature on the ability, anything they had was strictly circumstantial.

"There's nothing here, Harry," Hermione whispered, leaning towards him. "There's no information on The Chanting other then if Kalli had it, she was one of the very few." Harry nodded, putting his head down on the table and sighing.

Another book slid onto the pile. "I don't know if this will help, Mrs. Weasley, but I remember there being a passage about magic with wands." Harry lifted his head, and stared at the man before him.

"Conrad?" Harry asked, his eyes widening.

Conrad Finnegan stared at him. "Yes, sir? Can I help you?" He froze for a moment. "You're Harry Potter." Harry nodded. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"HARRY!" Hermione screeched, causing people to stare from all over the library. Harry bolted, almost falling from the chair. "This is it," Hermione continued, in a much softer voice. "I found it!" Harry rushed around the table, and bent over the book with Hermione. "It says here that there was a long term study done with three witches, who, together, could cast spells without wands. They were sisters, and they were called The Powerful Three. There was one spell that they created. The Never Curse." Harry leaned in, and began to follow the words with her. "The phrasing has to be precise for the counter-curse to work. You have to say "I wish I never made that wish", then someone with The Chanting has to reply, "Never is a strong word, are you sure you mean it", then the curse is lifted."

"But, according to this, the same basic idea applies to the creation of the curse. Someone was supposed to ask me if I was sure, and I was supposed to respond. But I was alone," Harry replied, pointing to the paragraph above it.

"You're sure?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. He nodded. "Positive, Harry?"

"I was drunk, Hermione. How can I be positive?"

"Come on, Potter."

The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the winding staircase. "Why are we here?" Harry asked as he and Hermione began to climb the stairs. "What can Dumbledore help us with?"

"It's not what I can tell you, it is what I can offer you," Dumbledore said from the top of the stairs. "Besides, if you really remember a world where my granddaughter is alive, then we need to get you back there."

The three of them entered Dumbledore's office. It was much the same as Harry remembered it, but he also remembered it when it was his office. He recalled Kalli perching herself on the corner of the large desk, pregnant beyond belief, and smiling at him. That brilliant smile lit the world up, and it could outshine the sun if you gave it a chance.

He didn't even remember being truly happy until he walked into that office. This was where he found out that Sirius was still alive. This is where he found out his wife was pregnant with Brody. This is where Luke and Lara told him they were Animagi. This is where Conrad asked him for Lara's hand in marriage. This is where his life took place. Kalli was his heart, his soul. She was always with him, no matter how long she'd been gone. She wasn't gone. She was with him.

On the desk sat the Pensieve from a million hours ago. Harry's mind reeled to when he was lodged in Dumbledore's memories, and then Snape's. "You know what to do, Harry," Dumbledore said, motioning to the Pensieve.

Harry stepped forward, pulled out his wand, withdrew a long silvery wisp, and placed it in the Pensieve. Without a backward glance, Harry tumbled into the memory.

Stretched out on the couch in front of him was a very decrepit looking man, twirling a glass of scotch around in his hand. Behind him, the door opened. "Dad? There you are. Have you eaten today?" She reached over to take the glass. "Give me that."

The whole story played out before him, but for the first time he watched it through sober, open eyes. Lara had pain etched all over her face, she watched him like her soul was dead. Her ice blue eyes were dead and cold. "I miss her too, you know," Lara said, at the door. In her eyes, he saw more pain then he ever wanted to see in his daughter's eyes. "Not as much as I miss you, though Dad." Harry's heart wrenched.

"I wish I never fell in love with her," the old man on the couch whispered. A voice swept through the room, a voice that chilled his blood and sped his heartbeat.

"Never is a strong word, my love, are you sure you mean it?"

"Yes," he whispered, half asleep.

He fell from the memory, landing in the office once again. Hermione and Dumbledore were sitting on the couch, watching him. "What happened?" Hermione asked.

"She was there," he replied. "She was in the room with me. She asked me, and I responded."

"I thought you said she died three years ago, how was she in the room with you?" Hermione asked.

"Let's ask her, shall we?" Dumbledore interjected, rising to his feet. He stepped over to his cabinet, and unlocked it. He pulled out a large, oblong object. "This is the Mirror of Purgatory, otherwise known as Athena's Gateway. It's the way that Greeks got in touch with the dead."

He set the mirror down on the desk, and said, "Just lean over it, and invoke her. If she can help you, she will come to you."

Harry leaned over, his own reflection staring up at him. "Kalinda Damia…" He waited a moment, then glanced to Dumbledore. The old man shrugged. Harry leaned back over, and whispered, "Kalli Potter…"

The mirror shimmered, and shook, then Kalli's ice blue eyes, and gray curls appeared. "Hello, my love," she whispered, smiling up at him. "You figured it out. I'm so proud of you." Harry nodded. "Then, you know what to do?" Again, Harry nodded.

"I wish I never made that wish," Harry whispered into the mirror.

"Never is a strong word, my love, are you sure you mean it?"

"With all of my heart," he whispered in return.

He jerked awake, falling off the couch. The glass in his hand flew across the room, and shattered. "Dad?" Lara called, and her heard her footstep running down the hall. "Dad?" she cried, pushing the door open. "Are you okay?" she asked, stopping once she was in the door.

Harry stood up, and turned toward her. "Come here," he whispered, opening his arms to her. She took a timid step toward him, then rushed into his arms. "Oh, baby girl," Harry whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing to you."

"What happened, Dad?" Lara whispered, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I lost everything I've ever loved," he replied, kissing her hair.

"When Mum died," Lara replied softly.

"No," Harry sighed, "When I lost you too."

A voice drifted through the room, chilling Harry's blood, making his heart speed up. "I'm always with you, my love. Never say never."