A/N: So, this is the prologue to a new fic that I'm currently writing. I didn't have a Beta for this chapter, but I do for the other chapters, so sorry if this one is a bit off! This is just to set the scene, so it is a little shorter than usual, but I hope you like it anyway. Please review and let me know what you think (: I'd appreciate it so much!
I'm also posting this on AO3, so if you prefer reading on that site you can check it out there (the link to my AO3 is on my profile).
Warnings: This fic will contain depression, hints at suicidal thoughts, alcohol abuse, and mild self-harm. If any of this is triggering for you, it may be best if you don't read this fic. I will post this warning at the start of every chapter as a precaution, but when it comes to the specific chapters that portray any of the listed warnings I will make it extra clear at the start that those are what you are going to find if you read on.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and I do not own these characters or the Harry Potter franchise.
It was warm in the Three Broomsticks; the sort of warm where it feels like the heat is hugging you. Poking at the coals of your soul and slowly bringing life back to each cold, stiff muscle in your body. And a good job, too, since it was freezing outside amongst the bitter winter.
It was December 1st and, to celebrate the start of the Christmas season, Neville had arranged for the old group to meet up for a drink. Usually meet-ups like this happened in the Leaky, but not tonight. It was much easier for Neville to meet in Hogsmeade seeing as tomorrow was a working day.
Neville was glowing. Of course, he had every right to be, having proposed to his girlfriend a few weeks previous. Swirling his Firewhisky around in his glass, Neville took a sip before uttering those words he'd been saying ever since she'd accepted.
"I still can't believe she wants to marry me," he said.
If Harry had the energy to roll his eyes, he would have. Instead, he just sipped at his drink.
"Well, she's one lucky lady, isn't she?" Ron replied, nudging Neville in the ribs with his elbow. The two shared a secret grin and it made Harry feel sick.
"Heavens, no! I'm the lucky o-"
"Lucky one? Yes, of course you are," Harry spat. He would've claimed to have tried from projecting too much disgust into his words but, in actual fact, he didn't try at all.
The whole group went quiet. All that could be heard was the faint clinking of glasses being cleared and background noise. Harry didn't care, though; he had stopped caring a long time ago. Thankfully, Luna was a godsend in awkward situations.
"Hannah said she'd let me help with the flower arrangements," she piped up, and Neville smiled weakly, but gratefully, towards her.
Harry took a large gulp of Firewhisky.
"That's nice, Luna," Harry heard Hermione say. "Have you had any thoughts about the flowers yet?"
That's when Harry zoned out again. Now that he wasn't paying attention, the mood picked up fairly quickly and they were all chatting and laughing among themselves once more. Not with Harry, though – Harry was no longer part of the group. Of course, they all said he was, and included him as if he was, but nobody could deny how out of place Harry had been lately.
He finished what was left of his drink and reached for the bottle in the middle of the table, filling his glass to the brim with his next dose.
He'd tried to hold it together after the War but from the moment Auror training started, Harry could feel himself deteriorating. Not physically, but emotionally; mentally. It was as if the freedom was a slow-reacting poison, seeping into his bloodstream and taking him over inch by inch. It was changing all the parts of Harry that were Harry, converting them into something bitter; something inhuman.
Harry had always feared that this would happen. So, he fought against the darkness and, boy, did he fight hard. He managed to hold it off for a long time, too, but it was draining. He barely got any sleep, he had no energy to do anything either, but he battled through work. He sat through family dinners and he let Ginny drag him out places she wanted to go. He put on a brave face but it was no use. He looked haggard all the time. He looked defeated. He felt defeated.
Though, while he was suffering more than he ever had before, the lives of everyone around him were getting better. Ron and Hermione's careers were blossoming and really going places. Neville and Hannah were engaged and sickeningly in love. Seamus and Dean, despite dismissing all the rumours, were definitely shagging and had been concocting up a business idea for months – although they refused to reveal anything about it. They kept saying it was going to be spectacular, though. Ginny had even managed to score herself a place with the Chudley Canons (it wasn't her first choice, of course, but Ron was pleased.) Last of all, the lovely Luna: she had her own 'Magical Travels' column in the Daily Prophet and was getting paid to go out and explore the world. She was getting paid to do what she loved and it irked Harry.
He was happy for everyone, naturally, or he would have been if he wasn't feeling so lost as of late. He was just jealous. It was unfair that everyone had everything they could possibly want, and Harry was, yet again, battling another war – but this time with himself.
The only thing that was holding him together was the brightly coloured glue that was Ginny. Even so, she had been giving him strange looks of pity recently, which only resulted in loosening the strength of their bond.
Harry lifted his glass to his lips to find that he had already drank the whisky he had poured himself not too long ago, and, now that he was paying attention, he was already subject to its effects.
The pub had grown louder and more obnoxious since he'd zoned out which just caused everyone to shout even louder, trying to maintain conversations over the buzzing noise inside the tavern. Harry felt someone place their hand over his, which were now both resting on top of his knee, and realised it could only be Ginny. He looked up slowly, blinking even slower and out of sync, and put on his best, sad smile. Ginny mirrored his smile but hers seemed a lot more heavy-hearted. She said something to him but he couldn't make it out over the bellowing of Ron's belly laugh.
"What?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows to signal that he hadn't heard a thing. It was more of a necessary action than a reaction.
Ginny leaned in. Her hair tickled the base of his neck and her breath was unbearably hot.
"I said, I think we should talk outside," she said. She wasn't shouting but she did amplify her voice a little. While it might have only just been enough for Harry to hear, it was still loud enough to cause his ear to ache.
Without a second thought to her request, Harry stood up, wavering slightly, before grabbing his coat and slipping out the booth. Ginny followed him, grabbing her own along with her woollen hat, and they both walked through the hazy, warm bar scene, slipping on their jackets and buttoning them up as they went. Neither saw the guilty looks the group were shooting them, but Ginny could feel their weight. Harry felt nothing.
Once outside, Ginny cast an umbrella charm over the pair of them. It had started to rain since they arrived and the sharp, wet pellets of water were already wearing the snow down; melting it into slushy puddles. Harry wore that same emotionless expression he always did, but his eyes, at least, were still full of emotion, even if it was sorrow.
"What's up, Gin?" he asked. A phrase that used to be so warm and comforting, now feeling so cold and detached.
"There's no easy way to say this, Harry," she began. "But I think we both know this has been on the cards for some time now."
Harry's fuzziness suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a cold surge of dread spreading down his spine. He tried to tell himself to calm down, that this wasn't what he was thinking, but his thoughts were running away with what she was implying, and the adrenaline surging through his body didn't help, either. Inspecting her closer, Harry realised that Ginny's face was wet. Yet, they were under an umbrella charm.
She was crying, but trying ever so hard not to.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, but- Look, I understand you're not well-"
Harry clenched his fists, some of his knuckles cracking under the pressure, as he pushed out an "I'm fine," through gritted teeth.
"No, Harry, you're not!" Ginny clenched her own fists, her anger flaring. "And the sooner you admit it, the better! You're not you anymore; you're not the man I fell in love with, and, no matter how many times Ron and Hermione reassure me that I should just 'give you some time' and I 'need to be patient' with you, it doesn't convince me that that is what you need."
Her voice was noticeably straining with emotion, so she paused for a moment. The only sound was the pounding of the heavy rain against Ginny's charm, but Harry couldn't decipher between that and the blood rushing in his ears. "You need help; self-help, professional help, I don't know, but help. I can't give you that, but, Merlin have I tried. I tried so hard to help you and I've tried so hard to love you, but the matter of fact is, I can't and I don't. I still care for you, Harry, and I always will," Ginny swallowed hard, her hands shaking and her voice unsteady, "but, the truth is, I'm too tired to play pretend. I think we've both known I was pretending for a long time, but it's over now." Ginny sucked in a deep breath and blew it back out again, but much slower, trying to compose herself. "This is the end, Harry. This is our end."
For the first time since she started speaking, Ginny looked – really looked – into Harry's eyes, what but she saw wasn't Harry. Long gone was the glum look that glistened his orbs; long gone was the last spark of emotion she'd seen in him. Harry was Harry no more, and what Ginny was looking into weren't eyes. They were black, bottomless pits; they were darkness. The empty void behind his irises scared her.
"H-Harry?" she managed to choke out, still attempting to remain as composed as she could.
Harry was staring right through her; staring into her as if he was trying to figure out how she could hurt him like this. She was the only happiness he had left and now she was gone.
Halfway through her speech, something snapped in Harry, and now he could only feel one thing: rage. And he was shaking from it. He clenched his fists even tighter, letting his nails dig into the palms of his hands, as he tried to regain control of his body. All he wanted to do was strike. Not with wands and magic, but with fists colliding with strong jawlines and freckled noses.
He had to leave. He had to get out before he hurt her.
Harry took a step back, emerging out from underneath Ginny's bubble charm and into the pouring rain and blistering winds. The rain hit hard and from all angles, but Harry felt comfort in the sharp pain it left upon his cheeks. The whole time, his eyes never left her.
Ginny reached out, wanting to drag him back into the warmth of her magic and let them talk things over. She didn't want him to leave like this. Harry, however, was having none of it. Lightening flashed in the sky, illuminating the front step of the tavern.
As the light faded into darkness, Harry was gone.