Nasyki: I was so devastated with the ending of Harry Potter I sulked for months. I came up with this idea shortly after DH came out…and the idea has healed my aversion to the ending somewhat. If you were in the same predicament may this fanfic revitalize you as it has done to me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, you could bet your bottom dollar that there would not have been an epilogue.

Warnings: Spoilers up to DH, this story takes place 2 days after the epilogue. This story will have yaoi aka slash, n/c or non-con, anal, bdsm, d/s, h/c etc… It'll take a while to get into that though. First we have to wait for Voldemort to make an appearance…and whatnot.

Summary: LVHP. "'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?'/Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure./ 'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'" — Voldemort had been gone for 19 years, when Harry's scar begins to hurt what else can he assume but the worst? Slowly things begin to appear not what they seem…what happens when the definition of dream and reality is gone?

Dust to Dust

By: Nasyki Ikysan

Chapter 1 (Prologue)

"'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?'

"Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

"'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?' (Deathly Hallows, page 723)" —J.K. Rowling

Scene One of Four

Thin lips pursed together tightly in lieu of the developing world beyond his grasps. As fragmented light flickered in the wake of the dimming glow, silky shadows crept from his lips half way up his face in the form of a tender smile — the light flickered — the from of a menacing leer adorning his features — the light flickered yet again — the darkness smiled for him — before dimming as the wick finally gave and the life was finally snuffed from the side of the light. The darkness was total. It took a breeze of a pale hand slipping long fingers across the neutral expression of the only other company in the room that lie lifelessly across a broad surface that was a bed. The weariness of the unaware showed in the small layer of dust that kissed untouched skin. The enveloping darkness settled and drew into the youth that seemed to sleep for an eternity. In unexpected grace and swiftness the hand withdrew itself and the breath of life was gone, greeted only by the unkindly silence.

"Soon," he spoke in morose. "It will all be over very soon. So enjoy your happiness." The room seemed to shiver in the sadness of the unrelenting voice shying away from the power. In the dark it seemed only whispers were necessary.

I need happiness. The room seemed to say in kind. Frightened by this lonely sadness that broke everything that was or ever will be.

"You are my happiness." He made no move to leave: astute in his own mind. Devoured by the little that was the flittering of his eyelids. And so he would wait, embraced by the darkness. Soon the dust would settle on him too. And soon, very soon he would be greeted by the opalescent keen of green...

Scene Two of Four

He was alone. Again struck by the harsh knowing of solitary in a room that had haunted him for many years. It hadn't changed, and maybe that was the problem. Still adorning the thick mahogany surface were a collection of official looking parchment addressed to his headmaster. The clutter of the room was welcoming as all of the trinkets collected over a lifetime slipped across the many shelves. The sword of Gryffindor clung to the wall in it's usual place, and though there was no sign of the phoenix his perch stood dignified in a purposeful manner adjacent to the large desk in front of him. He could see all of the portraits of the previous headmasters crawl across the length of the walls with the exception of one missing that he knew should be there…why it should did not cross his mind as he glanced absentmindedly at the sorting hat.

Everything looked like it should. Like it had for all of the years that he had been here, at Hogwarts…but it seemed that something was wrong with that. Sitting across from the desk in the chair he had used so many times in the past, he frowned. Something was amiss and he couldn't quite place it. All he could do was sit and wait.

And wait he did. He drew in a slow breath and it felt as though time had stopped forever, when finally there was the friendly sound of a rattling doorknob and the click of a door. He swirled around to look at the opening door, and his heart stopped—a graceful whorl of light blue robes, the lengthy man whose beard shot down, the glare of light reflecting on half-moon spectacles…and finally a withered face with sparkling eyes.

It didn't take two seconds to register this man, but no sooner had he seen him he felt something warm and wet hit his hand. He looked down and watched as tears fell from his cheeks onto a shattering puddle in his lap. Why was he crying—?

He was on his feet, wobbly and unstable as he grasped at the air and feel into the man that had been so important to him for so long, so very long…but he could still feel it in the room. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He still couldn't put his finger on it.

"Du-Dumbledore!" he choked through ragged sobs embracing the man so tightly he felt the strain on his muscles. He looked up and through his pooling eyes and he could barely see the blur of the man that smiled just so at him. Long fingers ran comfortingly through his matted hair.

"My dear boy— " he began as another ragged sob racked over the young body. "—before it is too late— "

Gentle fingers turned harsh as the soothing circles turned into an iron grip. It was then that it was too late. He looked up, and the kindly old man began to shrink. Long gray hair began to suck back into his head along with the long wiry nose. When blue eyes turned red, he knew it was much too late.

A split second later he was crying out again, now; however, from physical pain. His throbbing head burned with a shooting ache like lava through his lightning bolt scar. An echoing laugh, an echoing laugh said so much to his withering state. Blue cloak turned crimson as seething tendrils flickered in the edge of his vision. Two strong hands weaved themselves around his throat and tightened. His head burned.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" the now younger seeming man tutted using his thumbs to trace lines down and up the boy's jaw, grip still steel around his jugular. A split tongue flicked out of his mouth and came dangerously close to chapped lips. "It is almost time. Soon, it will all be over…very soon. So enjoy your happiness," the voice tisked low, sad, and oh so full of possible horrors that would soon come to be. The twinkle that had been in Dumbledore's faded eyes remained. Though now the silvery secret seemed to mean something different, and like the wrongness of the room, try as he might, he could not place it.

"You just need to wake up," the man hissed in parseltongue leaning in so that each hiss tickled the boy's ear lobe. He tightened his grip and began to shake the boy. "You just need to wake up," he hissed. Sparkling blackness began to delight his vision deluding the room to darkness. His head heart so bad… "You just need to wake up," he hissed again, eyes brimming with morbid amusement.

Voldemort said—

His terrified eyes snapped open.

Scene Three of Four

Harry Potter did not tremble often. In fact, it had been quite a number of years since anything fazed him to a strong emotion of any kind. It had been nineteen years since the contaminating emotions of anger, grief, fear, and revenge had run black through his veins. And with the passing of time the blemishes to his person seemed to leave him with only the ghost of the feelings and blurry cobwebs in the back of his mind. The only strong emotions that he had felt at all these days were the comfort of normalcy, love, and pride: these things mostly erected by his two best friends, wife, or children. Today; however, differed from his new life and new emotions that had made him for the first time, whole. His childhood brokenness had finally been mended, or so he though, until now.

Harry Potter felt terror. Retched body-clenching tremors raked his body in terrible convolutions that left him breathless. Cold, thick blood forced slowly through his veins as salty sweat dowsed his body with a colorful sheen. But nothing showed the concrete horror he felt more than his wide over-dilated emerald eyes. It had been nineteen years…

He felt sick.

Without pause for breath the 36-year-old Harry Potter had flown soundlessly off his bed (without alerting his wife), across the room, and into the bathroom where he promptly merged with the floor and purged himself of the heart-stopping turmoil he was in by emptying the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl below him. The appalling sounds of retching filled the small space quickly, reverberating loudly off the tile floor and walls. The potent smell of acidic nature filled just as swiftly as the sounds and another convolution overtook him. He felt sick. It had been nineteen years since he had defeated Lord Voldemort, and in effect, nineteen years since he'd had visions of the man or felt anything from his scar. The dream sequence was still vivid in his mind, and to him it felt just as tangible as the bile in his throat. The pain he had felt in his dream had seemed so real…yet now there was only a slight receding tingle on his scar that could barely allude to the previous pressure he had felt on it.

And all he could do was let the ill-contentment roll over him in encompassing waves. His head reeling in mild disorientation as he tried to take stock of what was going on in his mind.

Did this mean that the Dark Lord was back? Did this mean Voldemort's consciousness had somehow resurfaced? Was this going to put his children in danger? Was there even anything to worry about?

Small increments of ragged breathing intertwined evenly with the raging air that seemed to react to his parading state of mind. Unsteadily, his wavering hands slid firmly across the unrelenting cold surface. It had been so long since the lengthy fingers of dread had wound themselves around him. It seemed so foreign to him that the true feeling of being Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding race could be so palpable to him yet again, instead of this simple Harry; husband to Ginny, father of three persona that he had fallen into as of late without any sort of thought otherwise. Now, however, the fears seemed more real than they ever had in the past. In the past he hadn't felt this afraid…in the past only he needed saving as an inexperienced youth with too much thrown on his shoulders…the fear hadn't seemed real. Now, it seemed so much worse.

Letting out a fragmented breath he allowed the cold air to caress his heated skin and waited for the tremors to subside into ghosted shivers. It took several minutes for his breathing to regain an even pattern but even then his body felt somewhat unnatural to him. As the bitter taste of sickness stuck unwanted to his tongue he licked his chapped lips and felt a strong need to distance him self from the cumbersome tang. Stumbling onto unsteady legs, he flushed the toilet and walked briskly over to the sink on gelatin like feet. He had to force himself to keep from wincing once at the reflection he recognized as a tense and unadulterated disillusionment. Looking back into his listless green eyes was a morbid expression laced with dark, ominous lines under his fogy eyes and an almost wraithlike hollowness filled his normally full cheeks, thusly giving him an almost skeletal appeal. His legs couldn't seem to bear his weight long enough; however, and as he registered his face he came stumbling onto the floor efficiently slamming his head against the countertop as he did so. He hissed his pain and his hands were quickly found coiled into the strands of his ebony hair, nursing a small lump that seemed to be beginning to form on the very top of his head. Using one hand to rub against his lump he used the other to reach out and grab the counter to help pull himself to his feet.

Once he was sure he was steady he grabbed one of the cups that stayed beside the sink and filled it with water. He swallowed its content in one fatal gulp being sure to squeeze his eyes shut as his head throbbed with the added pain from his scar and blunt trauma. He was going to have one hell of a headache today. That was for sure. Placing the cup where he had retrieved it from he stuck out his tongue in disgust and let out an involuntary shudder. He was going to need something a lot stronger to get rid of the bloody awful taste from his mouth.

His mind was still abuzz with the possible innuendos attached to the burn of his scar but he tried to distance himself from those thoughts and the unwanted emotions that seemed to come hand in hand with them. Walking swiftly back into his bedroom he snagged a robe to cover himself with, while attempting to shove the thoughts of Voldemort out of his mind. Meanwhile, he snagged his phoenix feather wand off of his bedside table —force of habit perhaps, but also possibly just a paranoia of being caught off guard he'd picked up over the years — before putting it into his pocket and brining his trembling hand up to cling to the front of his robes. Silently he slinked across the room and opened the bedroom door, stealing out of the comfortable abode of his room before he quietly escaped from his sleeping wife.

As he made his way across the moaning house he didn't bother with the lights. He was already too far-gone into the cold breath of dead fear to distract him self long enough with the light switches. Instead, he wandered down the stairs like a lost soul, contemplating his doom in the darkness as he made his way into the kitchen. When he reached the room that was lowly lit with the silvery strands of moonlight that skulked through the opened shutters he swept over to the potions cabinet. Ginny had always been somewhat fearful that the children would feel the need to get into the potions, and potion ingredients among other dangerous items among the household so she made sure to magically lock up any possibly hazardous items as an extra precaution. Reaching for his wand, he quickly spelled the cupboard open and grabbed a potion for his head. Emptying the bitter content of the vial he let out a soft sigh of relief as the pounding in his head minimized to some extent and left the empty vial on the counter. The displeasing tastes in his mouth remained; however, he had an idea how to rid himself of those and also help to lessen his overworked nerves at the same time.

Wandering mutely to the parlor toward the back of the house he let out a withered sigh and moved to flick the light on. This little situation was nothing a glass of good ol' firewhisky couldn't fix. Spelling the liquor cabinet opened he filled a generous amount into his cup. The lukewarm substance slammed against the glass with a slight trickling sound as the clear amber colored fluid mocked him maliciously and his unsteady hand when the cup suddenly overflowed and filled onto the table it rested on. Cursing lowly he set down the bottle of salvation and used his wand to wave away the unneeded amount before slipping the stick back into the folds of his robe. The last thought that crossed his mind before he downed the alcoholic beverage was, 'what am I going to do if Voldemort has really returned?' and then the thick substance burned all the way down his throat melting away his nerves almost immediately. The first glass disappeared in seconds, followed by a second glass as he continued to replenish the cub before him. He reveled in the retreating taste of the bitter potion and vomit finally leaving his mouth and simply enjoined the taste of the alcohol.

Swaggering slowly, he walked across the room and fell gracelessly into his plush red chair and sunk into its cushions deeply. For the first time in a long time he looked small and lithesome against the harsh overbearing and powerful pedestal beneath him. He looked young and tired — completely lost in the confines of his own mind. From an observer's perspective he would have looked like a child trying to fit into his father's clothes, though only managing to look completely ridiculous — he sunk deeper into the cushions — but also looking as though he were trying a little too hard to appear to be brave and strong and stoic in the face of this approaching danger. With his limp limbs slung over the arms of the chair; in one hand a half-filled cup of firewhisky, and in the other the nearly empty bottle: his choices looked grim. His resemblance to a drunkard complete with droopy eyelids and the slight pink tint of intoxication across his high cheekbones was nearly flawless.

What was he going to do?

Distantly, across some crevice of the household a mysterious tick, tick, ticking could be heard and he could only wonder how deeply burrowed into the night he was. The shades on the window were drawn closely together so not even the slightest insinuation could be made as to what hour into the morning it was. Simply, he concluded, it was much too early for him to be awake contemplating the existence of his fallen adversary. Gazing solemnly at his drink he swirled the substance around tactlessly and drew into himself more than he had before.

Thoughts of his perfect life being disrupted with the haunting of his past forced him to bring the cup to his lips. What would he do if his children where to get caught up into his past and be forced to pay for the fault that, to this day, remained unknown to him as to who was the owner. He took a sip. What would he do if his wife were put into that danger again, as well? The thought of finding some protection spell — like his parents had for him — played across the foremost part of his mind. Though if he were to find one, Ginny would be sure to wonder and ask what it was for. Would he be able to tell her of his ominous dream and the dread of the returning pain in his scar? Would she believe him? Or would she simply think that it was all in his head, too caught up in her own little world of this perfect little life they lived together? The thought of her believing that his scar hurt flitted across his mind, somehow he couldn't quite see her believing it. Though she would try her best to accept him and help him, he knew in the back of her mind that she would see it simply as paranoid actions from his past coming back to haunt him. After the death of Voldemort he had spent several years trying to sort out his mind and adapt to existence without the most powerful dark wizard of all time trying to kill him. Paranoia's had of course come with that, and he had always felt the inkling in the back of his mind that the man might one day return. Ginny would more likely see his suspicions of Voldemort returning as one such paranoia.

He couldn't tell her about this.

What about Ron and Hermione? In the back part of his mind he recognized the change in his questions. He had already gone through wondering if Voldemort was really back, to what should he do now that he had accepted the return of Voldemort. Maybe it was due to his intoxicated state or perhaps due simply to the suddenness of the intrusion of his dream and the pain in his scar that accompanied it, but the thought of accepting it was too far into the reaches of his mind to process.

Ron and Hermione had gone through everything with him. He'd led them both into hordes of horrible situations just from his whims and suspicions. They almost always believed in everything that he said no matter the trouble it brought upon them selves. But that was in the past. He had asked nothing of them of that sort since Voldemort's downfall. They were a steady married couple…with two beautiful kids. Could he really trouble his two friends with this information without any other proof other than a nightmare and a headache?

Harry took another sip of the firewhisky shuddering as a spell of dizziness slipped over him.

No.

He couldn't destroy the happiness that they had. He might make a few comments to see if either had seen something suspicious but he would not risk them worrying over something as trivial as this. If Voldemort had indeed found a way to come back: he had yet to come back to full power. The burning in his scar was only slight. It was nothing enough to make people worry about, yet. No. He would bite his tongue and hold his comments. He would hold his head up high and act as though there was nothing amiss. He would be extra cautious and keep all eyes and ears open. Perhaps he would assign a few of the newer Aurors to look into seeing if anything was up with the ex-Death Eaters…or perhaps he would pay a certain Malfoy a little visit. But he would not involve anyone directly, not yet. He would lay low for now. He would wait to see what Voldemort was planning…

Scene Four of Four

Harry sighed at his reflection in the mirror. Steam filled the room and swirled about his lean and damp frame causing little shivers to run down his body. He had just gotten out of the shower, and though the water was off the small clouds of vapor stayed around him to keep him company. A golden towel clung low on his waist and that was all. His hair was wet and adhered to his face as rivulets of water dripped down his cheeks. His glasses were charmed not to fog up, as was the mirror though it seemed as though the charm was weaning slightly as towards the edge of the mirror there was the negligible amount traces of an approaching fog. Though this mattered little to Harry who was instead focused on his reflection on the mirror. His eyes trailed down his well-rested expression leering intently, trying to look for any amount of fault that would betray the glamour charms that kept his true state of dishevelment hidden. It had taken a good twenty minutes, but it finally looked as though he was somewhat presentable. He nearly scoffed at the idea of caring about his appearance enough to put on glamour charms. In his mind though, the act was defended as necessary. It was crucial to seem as normal as possible, least someone begin to worry and poke around for information.

After finishing off the bottle of firewhisky a few hours before, he'd had to down a good amount of anti-intoxication potions to get him into the mostly sober state he was in now. Though that hadn't helped the ruddy headache he was experiencing now. He heaved a heavy sigh and finally broke eye contact with him self at the sound of the door wiggling opened. Unconsciously he reached out for his wand and held it tightly as he eyed the door from the reflection in the mirror. He let out a silent hiss of breath and relaxed visibly as he saw Ginny sneaking into the room. He let his grip on his wand drop as she came up to him and embraced him from behind. She rested her head against his shoulders and kissed him softly.

"Good morning, Harry," she spoke drowsily taking time to allow her hands to drop low on his waist.

Harry smiled brightly and turned around into her hold, deterring her hands slightly from their destination. "Good morning, Gin," he whispered lovingly dipping down to peck he fondly on the lips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmhumm…" she hummed, voice and mind seeming to be fuzzy with the early morning. "What are you doing up this early? I thought you didn't have to be into work until nine?"

Harry winced internally at his suspicious behavior. He always slept as late as he could, choosing to apparate at the last possible minute without being late. Though being the head of the Auror office helped a great deal if he ever was in fact, a bit late. He debated a moment on telling her the truth that he couldn't sleep, but decided against it for a harmless white lie in its stead. "I'm actually going in a bit early today." Harry smiled as he let his arms fall from the loose hug, instead turning back to face the mirror. He grabbed his toothbrush and after putting on a bit of toothpaste began the task of brushing his teeth.

"Oh?" the curvy woman asked a little too skeptically for Harry's taste with her hands on her bare hips. "And why are you going in early?"

Briefly Harry wondered if the beautiful redhead was angry with him for not discussing the slight alteration in his plans beforehand or if she'd merely had other plans for him this morning. Harry spit out the toothpaste from his mouth and looked at her reflection in the mirror, having to forcefully resist the erg not to look lower at her perfectly exposed full breasts. Her hands were still on her hips and she looked somewhat surly now that her sleepiness had worn of. "I have a bit of paperwork that I wanted to get finished this morning. I've been putting it off for a while, but it is really about time that I finished it up." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth either. He had a bit of paperwork but nothing all that important. Really he just wanted to see if anything was happening with the ex-Death Eaters. He'd decided to make it a priority, because if Voldemort were coming back, one of them would be sure to have some useful information. "Why darling? Is there something wrong with leaving early once in a while?"

The glare that she returned to him stated quite clearly that yes, there was. He assumed that it had something to do with the fact that in all the nineteen years he had worked for the ministry he had never once gone in early for any reason, but made sure not to voice his assumption. "I was just thinking that maybe, since your actually up this morning that we could have a little bit of fun before you left for work…" Ginny trailed off, suggestively leaning against her husband raking her hands down his toned chest stopping just before his trail of hair that ended abruptly at the towel around his waist.

Oh. That's why she was upset. Harry mentally sighed not at all liking the idea of denying himself sex so early in the morning, but he knew that it was imperative that he not get off task. Even now, there was the silent reminder of a low pain in his scar that reminded him so. "Ah, Gin, I'm sorry, I really have to leave soon…" he trailed off hoping that she would get the message. He feared that if she initiated anything anymore than she already had he might have problems saying no.

Ginny sighed heavily hands going up his chest instead of down to give him a tight hug. She kissed the place in-between his shoulder blades before letting he arms fall and breaking the contact. "Fine," she ground out, only slightly irritated with him before slapping his arse and smiling mischievously. "But you owe me when you get home tonight…" and then the water was running again and a new burst of steam entered the bathroom.

Smiling in response to her suggestion Harry went about his daily ritual and left the bathroom a few minutes later to get changed.

By the time he got downstairs Lily was already sitting at the table.

Grudgingly he moved over to the stove and began fiddling with the food debating on what to make for breakfast. "Good morning, Lily, did you sleep well last night?" Harry asked eyeing the young redhead out of the corner of his eye as he attempted to focus on breakfast making. Pancakes sounded really good about now…

Lily, whose head rested against the table in a tired and defeated manner, just grumbled to her self quietly. This seemed a little too out of character for the normally loud and obnoxiously animated girl in the morning to be good, but he didn't comment on this odd act in behavior. As far as her father could tell it seemed as though she were thinking up a coherent response. That or he had done something to initiate her ire, but as far as he could remember he had not. After a while, just when it seemed she as though she wasn't going to answer, "I had a nightmare last night."

Harry, who had not expected a response at all, let alone something as similar to his own last night experience started at this, and fumbled with the milk almost spilling it all over the counter before he caught himself. Then, trying to keep his response as nonchalant as possible, "Oh? What was your nightmare about, honey?" He could feel his pulse beginning to pick up and bit his bottom lip, unintentionally conveying his nerves. Vaguely, he wondered if Lily's and his own nightmare were connected in some way. What if Lily had had a dream similar to his? Though none of his children had ever had a dream about Voldemort before—or at least if they had they had never mentioned it—he was sure that it could be possible if Voldemort had returned. It had never seemed as though his children could be connected to the Dark Lord in any way as none of them were even so much as a parselmouth…not to mention the fact that he himself had lost the snake language with the death of Voldemort. However, in all of the years he'd had his children his connection with Voldemort had been severed…now he wasn't so sure. He made a mental note to himself to try to speak parseltongue again, maybe if he could that would further his evidence of the return of the Dark Lord.

"I got sorted into Slytherin," the girl said simply.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed out right immediately lightening the mood that had settled between them. Unfortunately, his relief in her comment was completely misread by the little girl.

"What?" she asked defensively, suddenly very irate with her father. "It's not funny! Everyone was really mean to me! And Uncle Ron wouldn't let me see cousin Rose and Hugo ever again!" she shouted as though it were the end of the world.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Harry poured the pancake batter into the pan and tried to concentrate on multi-tasking. He attempted to sooth her discontentment, "Don't worry about it too much. I just told Al a couple of days ago when we dropped him off for Hogwarts that Slytherin isn't that bad of a house. And Uncle Ron will not keep you from seeing Rose and Hugo if you get sorted there anyway. —No matter what he says. Anyway, that's still a good few years from now. I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. You'll run out of worry before you even get your letter!" Harry smiled at his youngest daughter and flipped a finished pancake onto a plate before she started up her argument.

"But—!"

"No 'but's' Lily. Now why don't you start setting the table while we wait for your mother? Before she gets down here and makes you do it for me," Harry ordered kindly and watched as his daughter drug her feet over to the counter and started grabbing plates and silverware. She looked right surly now but that didn't stop her from the task at hand. It was amazing how similar his daughter was to Ginny. They were alike right down to their personalities: it was striking.

By the time his little girl had finished setting the table, Harry was already finished with the pancakes and was setting a plate staked high onto the table. Just then, Ginny came into the room and immediately went over to her daughter giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"Good morning, Lily. Did you sleep well last night?" Ginny asked in a motherly fashion.

And then Lily was pouring out her nightmare in vivid detail for her mother to dot on and make it all better. Harry fought the erg to roll his eyes as he sat down for the pleasant breakfast. 'Kids…' he thought silently.

The rest of the meal went without any major hitches and just the pleasant normalcy like any other day. Though Harry had to keep rubbing his scar inconspicuously, which had managed to be more than a little difficult. But he couldn't risk Ginny thinking about what he was doing, she would be sure to notice and know what it meant. Not to mention that his scar seemed to be acting strangely, in the past the pain receded after a connection with Voldemort. Now, instead it seemed to be getting steadily worse. It was possible that it was because their connection had been dead so long that he simply wasn't used to the feeling anymore, but this time it seemed that there was more to it. He could feel it. There was something different about the scar, but as to what exactly, he was unaware.

Then, all at once, the meal was suddenly over and Harry was helping Ginny to pile the dishes into the sink. Lily had already run out of the kitchen to do whatever it was she did in the mornings, when Ginny shot him a petulant glare.

"I found an empty bottle of firewhisky in the parlor this morning. One that wasn't even opened yesterday," Ginny shot accusingly with words, low and seething. Harry could feel his headache get worse by the second. He had really hoped that she wouldn't find out about that until after he left for work. Apparently he hopes were just that and nothing more. Thoughtlessly he cast a quick silencing charm around the room. He was not about to risk Lily hearing one of their arguments over nothing. All couples had their problems, but that was not something for kids to know about.

He didn't bat an eye. "And?" Harry asked incredulously.

"And, I also found several empty potion vials this morning as well," Ginny's temper was beginning to show. Though Harry was missing what the problem was. He always seemed to miss the problem in these little battles. Ginny always seemed to look for something that wasn't there. Even though this time he knew there was.

"And?" Harry asked again.

Ginny looked hurt at the question but only for a moment before her anger took hold once again. "And, I was interested in finding out what it was all about. Did something happen last night that I wasn't aware of?" her voice was strong and steady, but it did nothing to cover up the underlying worry that she was feeling towards him. Harry had to outright ignore it so as not to fall pray to her. He'd already decided to leave her out of the loop on this one and he was not about to change his mind. He would find out what was happening with his scar and possibly Voldemort, and she would never be the wiser if he had anything to say about it.

"And?" Harry quirked a brow, reaching a hand out to play with his hair. "So? I had a drink last night. What else is there to it?" Harry attempted to keep his thoughts as far away from him as he could. He would not yell. He would not loose his temper. He never had to his wife and he'd be damned sure that he never did.

"You had a drink last night?" Ginny rolled her eyes condescendingly. "You had the whole bloody bottle! You don't normally drink like that. What aren't you telling me?" again, her words were steady but her emotions were crumbling. She was really worried that something had happened and she wanted to help him though it.

Harry sighed heavily but would not meet her gaze. That would be the end of him. It always was. "Fine," Harry concluded shortly. "So I had a couple of drinks last night. But there isn't anything else to it. The vials were just something to help with being pissed."

Ginny rolled her eyes that looked like glass from unshed tears, "Oh, so there isn't anything to it? You get pissed for not bloody reason and you expect me to be okay with that? Harry, what's wrong? Talk to me! I only want to help."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes and he snorted at that. He had really not wanted this conversation so early in the morning. His headache was back full throttle and there was going to be no getting rid of that. "I don't need help when there isn't anything wrong," he retorted tersely. "If your worried I'm going to get a drinking problem, don't. I won't do it again. Now, I need to get to work. I'm going to be late. I'll see you tonight. I'll owl you if I'm going to be late." Harry leaned down and placed a pensive kiss on her cheek before apparating to the ministry without another word.

End Prologue

To be continued…

Nasyki: God's I hate HPGW. I don't know how I am going to stand it enough to get to the LVHP stuff, but I'll have to manage. That bathroom scene nearly killed me and they didn't DO anything. I'll keep it to a minimal for both of our sanity's. I'm trying to keep this fic as cannon as I can, so bear with me. The LVHP will be a little scarce in the beginning but it will come soon enough. Be patient, my lovely.

Also, I am very sorry for the run-on sentences, and comma splices. :3 I am aware of them, I am too lazy to fix them — and don't have a beta. Ignore them.