AN: Trying my hand at the HP world, please let me know what you think. This story is probably going to be a bit dark, but not too much. It focuses mainly on the aftermath of the Wizarding War had neither Harry nor Voldemort survived, and I like to think of it as more a coping story than anything. There will be romance, and of course drama, and maybe even a little bit of a glimpse into the new Hogwarts generation in later chapters. Just an idea I've been tossing around in my head for a little bit.
I will address things like addiction and some mentions of self harm, so if those subjects are too heavy for you please don't flame me for it...
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters to be found in this story. J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter universe and has all express rights of ownership.
Summary: In a world robbed of its hero and rid of its villain, those left behind must deal with the triumphs and trails of day to day life. An outcast ex-lover, an overworked hermit, a follower fighting to make his own way, an alcoholic mother, and a war hardened father soon form bonds with each other to try and move forward with their lives.
The rain beat a soft and steady pattern into the back of her head as she knelt in the damp grass, fresh dirt inches before her knees. A single rose was clutched in her fingertips, the pad of her thumb grazing repeatedly over a thorn. Salty tears mixed in with the few drops of rain that had started to dry on her face, her lower eyelashes valiantly attempting to keep the flood of saline at bay. The black veil that covered her eyes wavered in the gentle storm breeze, making her shiver as she stared down at the grave. The headstone was new, its light grey granite stained dark by the raindrops. Around her she could hear the whispers of people wondering why she was kneeling here, of all places, in this cemetery, by this grave in particular.
Hadn't she hated him?
Hadn't they been sworn enemies for years?
Hadn't he cursed at her, befouled her allegiance and threatened to end her life on more occasions than she could count?
Hadn't he loved her as fiercely as he could, as well as he knew how, as any man would have dreamed to love another woman?
"Mummy, it's cold out. I want to go home!" The self-centered cry came from yards behind her, from beyond chill tainted blue lips that pouted up at the figure holding the small frame back.
"Mummy's busy right now darling. Let's go play a game near the car, shall we?" The tall figure bent to comfort the small thing. Wide emerald green eyes, glistening with confusion and discomfort, glanced a peek over at the woman still kneeling in the wet soil. Without a word the child nodded and allowed the caretaker to provide a welcome distraction.
"Damn you." The woman trembled, lips fumbling around the curse. She heaved in a raspy sigh, fighting the urge to scream, to fling herself in dramatics across the still fresh dirt that covered the casket in which her lover lay encased. She instead placed the rose ever so nicely across the scar in the earth and then lifted herself to her feet, a delicate gloved hand wiping neatly at the stray tear that had escaped its confines and was racing down her right cheek. "Damn you, Harry Potter."
Pansy Parkinson walked slowly back to the sleek black luxury car that idled on the asphalt path of the cemetery, pointedly ignoring the gawking stares as she gathered her son to her side before entering the vehicle.
Her work was impeccable, as always. Her neat handwriting lined each page until the very bottom, notes scribbled in careful matrices off to the sides in the margins. Piles upon piles of research was sorted into categories at her feet, surrounding her desk as she tapped her pen impatiently upon the paper where she was writing presently. Her tongue darted out, sliding across her top lip as she thought. Her eyes glanced up and over to her partner, narrowing the slightest bit before her head ducked and her hand flew across the paper, pen struggling to supply the ink as she furiously scribed. Her free hand flipped a few pages in the tome in the top left corner of her desk, one fingers underlining the words she needed to pull for her paper.
She paused for a moment in her work, one fingernail freezing beneath a name in the book. She let a hollow laugh pass from her lips, the pen falling from her writing hand as she covered her mouth to keep any further sounds from escaping. Her shoulders shook terribly, the hand on the book now lying flat against the page, fingertips trying to pet the thin sheaf of paper as she stared at the name.
"Harry." She breathed into her palm, now rocking back and forth as if to comfort herself. "Oh, Harry, Harry I'm so sorry." Her whispers had risen to a whimper, and her whimper to a hoarse apology, and her apology to minute scream, and her scream to full wails.
Hermione Granger allowed herself to be gathered into the arms of her partner, burying her face into the welcoming and warm chest he provided.
He stared at the raindrops as they battered the window, leaving small streak marks down the glass panes in individual races. He watched, mesmerized, from his high backed office chair. He pulled momentarily at the stiff uniform collar, mentally cursing the top button at the apex of his throat that kept the tunic so tightly fastened. The rain brought out all the memories and he knew he shouldn't be watching it, but he couldn't help it most of the time. It was calming to his soul, but not his mind. His mind had been racing, always trying to figure out what had done wrong or what he could have done to prevent the tragic outcome. It didn't feel like months. It felt like years.
"Auror Weasley." He turned in the chair, facing the young intern that had been assigned to him. The intern was a slim boy, maybe eighteen at best, fresh from Durmstrang. He had a hard face but curious eyes, eyes that were far too similar. "The Minister wishes to see you."
"I'll be right in." Ron Weasley shuffled a stack of paperwork on his desk and carefully touched the pair of rounded spectacles that sat in front of a framed photo from years previous, thin and childish arms slung over growing shoulders.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and his thirteen year old self all smiled up at him, and Ron couldn't suppress the smile back.
The joyous screams of delight grated on her ears as she lifted the glass of clear liquid to her mouth again. From behind sheer curtains she could watch the small forms run about in the garden, arms flailing with glee as they chased each other in circles. She closed her eyes against the high pitched noises and gripped the glass on the table with both hands, willing herself strength to not take another swallow. Moments passed and she sighed in defeat, knocking back two more gulps of the sweet burn. She exhaled a long breath and then finished off the glass, her eyes watery against the sting of the potent alcohol. Nimble fingers dug in her pocket for a treat, the candy slipping past her lips to disguise the distinct flavor of the drink before she opened the doors to the garden.
"Mummy! James is cheating again!" A mop of unruly black hair was pushed back by a tiny hand, the other small limb pulling at the hem of his mother's shirt with urgency.
"Am not!"
"Darlings, please." Ginny Potter put her hands out to stop the impending argument. "Let's go inside and have a rest. Mummy needs to start dinner."
The two small terrors raced into the house, still shrieking with delight as their game continued. Ginny brought her hands to her face, trying to block the image of her late husband's visage from her mind. As she turned and looked upon her sons, however, Harry's face floated in the back of her mind once more and her eyes lighted upon the small bottle hiding cleverly in plain sight.
The thunderheads were rolling heavily in the sky, covering his expansive property, He kept one hand buried deep in a silk lined pocket, his chin lifted slightly upwards as he examined the clouds above. His neck barely twitched when a rib wracking cough erupted from further inside the room. Heavy eyelids slid closed over storm cloud colored eyes, pale lashes falling on even paler cheeks. The pocketed hand balled into a firm fist, knuckles cracking as the coughing increased. Footsteps echoed from somewhere down the hall, large even ones and smaller hurried ones.
"Father?" A tiny voice interrupted the brief reverie from the sick coughing and the man by the window turned hallway round, a façade of indifference sliding across a bureaucratic face. A hand was extended, a silver and black ring glinting impressively in the crack of lightning that flashed outside the massive window.
Draco Malfoy drew his son to his side as the coughing resumed, his heart falling deeper inside the cavern of his chest as his wife struggled to live.
Please let me know what you think, leave me a review and I will update soon!