Disclaimer: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world.

Notes for the convenience of the reader: Harry's children: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie.

Chapter 11:

Bellamy spent over a year spell-breaking, with few breaks. Their trips covered a large part of the world, not just Europe. But then he thought that it was time to do again what he liked best. Hogwarts was thrilled to have him back, again doing his three days a week, and again doing Thursdays and Fridays in London. He thought he'd alternate, a year for wizardry, a year for himself.

He did other things, too. He'd always been firmly discouraged from interfering in the activities of the aurors. But they all knew that he could hear a mental cry for help, as long as he knew the person well enough. They also knew that he could apparate to the side of that person, without needing any other clue to his whereabouts. And when an auror was in dire trouble, he wasn't going to worry about the prospect of a rebuke from his boss.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and he was teaching a remedial class at Hogwarts. There was a mental cry for help from Gareth, who was no longer armed and was surrounded. Bellamy appeared, the wizards were instantly stunned, and Bellamy leaned against the wall, as he watched Gareth retrieve his wand, call for help, and go about the job of arresting five wizards who'd apparently been having a nice time 'muggle-baiting' as they called it. He assumed the two victims would have their memories modified, something he found offensive. So as soon as more aurors appeared, he said casually, "That's all, then?" and vanished.

Three years later, and it was two young aurors, Nick and Don, who called for help. They were not long qualified, and had taken on two very clever and experienced witches. This time, it was late evening, and Bellamy turned up wearing only a towel twisted around his waist. The witches were disarmed, the aurors released from their bonds, then Bellamy paused, felt, and the anti-disapparation spell was removed from the room.

He had an air of impatience, and the aurors were uncomfortable as they thanked him. But Bellamy said, "Take no notice, it's only just..." And he paused, before grinning and saying, "It was the most incredible bad timing! She'll probably never forgive me!" Even one of the witches, in spite of being under arrest, laughed. She was a Malfoy, she had influence. She doubted if she'd be under arrest long.

He was asked about it a couple of days later.

"Well, I gave her chocolates, and then some flowers, and then some jewellery, and even now I'm not sure I'm forgiven." He grinned. "There's something so very unromantic about being seized with an urgent tummy ache right at that moment!"

Bellamy's womanising was legendary. The aurors doubted if they'd done any real harm to his love life. And they'd been about to have something very nasty done to them. The rescue had been just in time. But yet another story was told about the great wizard.

His life was full. He taught, played, travelled, visited, socialised, and played.

He involved himself in research, too, and wrote another book that the intellectuals of his world would consider essential reading. He was surprised though, when in Rome, he was approached by an Italian auror who was helping watch over him. Bellamy was fluent in Italian, as was known, and the wizard didn't need the translator as he told Bellamy how much his book had meant to him.

Bellamy was surprised. "Well, I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Not many people are interested in Grasstici Luculi."

"Grasstici... No, no, no. Your book about horses, but not really about horses. My wife brought it home."

Bellamy reddened. The thought of that book embarrassed him. It had not become common knowledge among British wizardry, although it had been reprinted several times, was widely available in ordinary bookshops, and had now been translated into a dozen languages. But he put on an imperturbable face, and spoke smoothly, accepting the congratulations, and hoped that his slight blush would pass unnoticed. Surely at his age, he should have outgrown the tendency to blush!

There were few deaths in those years that touched him deeply. His staff always knew when one occurred though, even if they were not told. Instead of eating with them, he'd eat alone, and instead of encouraging his horse to buck and play, he would only want to gallop, as far away as the horse would take him before becoming too tired. There were a few deaths that were not from old age, but rather from illness or accident. He was able to accept those easier. It was those ones whom he'd known from babyhood, who became old, and then died, that were the hardest for him to bear.

The spring weather was unusually warm and sunny in Bellamy's hundred and twenty-fifth year. The gardens were beautiful, the grass lush and green, and three new foals romped and played. Bellamy was teaching, fully involved in preparing the fifth and seventh year students for important examinations.

Three grandchildren died within weeks - three of Margaret's children, Mary and Wilhelmina who had both married Davenports, and Timothy. Bellamy was cool and collected at the funerals, and only the dogs and horses knew how often he was out walking at night. And then there was a long series of friends who died, Brad, Sanaz, Malcolm, Anthony. Anthony had been very close. He had to go to the funeral of Anthony. He remembered so well the occasion that they'd met. He'd been away a long time, and Anthony was freshly qualified as an auror. Anthony had mistaken him for a muggle, and tried to modify his memory. Yet a couple of weeks later, they were constant companions.

There were other deaths, it seemed a new one every week. Bellamy became quieter and more vague. He was supposedly teaching, but there were times when he had to be reminded what subject it was supposed to be. He was relieved when the school year came to an end. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate.

He didn't need to concentrate when travelling and breaking spells. He was looked after, almost every minute of the day. And he could break spells in his sleep. He didn't need to think, and somehow it was becoming very difficult to think.

Beth arrived. Her husband had died the previous year, but Beth had a great strength within her. Jeremiah had been the same as Beth, a true natural Telepath. Now he was gone, and Beth was so terribly alone. And Bellamy wondered that she was strong. Why was he not so strong?

On Beth's urging, he asked for a month off. Beth was going to stay for a while. Beth looked around her with misgiving. She knew her father's trouble, but Chris and Chrissy, Jason and Melissa, Will, Tracy and Klaus - half his employees were old. Her father became so attached to people. And she thought again, he felt too much, loved too much, felt too much pain.

Every day, Beth and Bellamy rode together, and they talked. Beth had an immense understanding and compassion. Bellamy's pain became a little easier to bear. But it was only when he tried out a new horse, a black colt with a broad blaze down his face, that Beth felt that she'd made a real difference. The colt was encouraged to buck, and Bellamy clung to his back and laughed. He'd always liked to play with his horses like this. Beth watched, smiling. He had a lot of spirit. But he confessed something that worried her. He told her that he was not allowed to make himself die until after Julie was dead. That Julie might feel herself responsible if he died by his own action. He spoke as if it was just yesterday that Julie had left him, rather than many years.

Beth left, and Bellamy resumed spell-breaking. He was better for a few months. He was no longer having nightmares, as he'd nearly always had nightmares. But he never slept well, either. It was always a restless, unhappy sleep. Ginny and Luna came to him in his sleep. He argued with them. He didn't want to live forever. When Julie died, then so would he. Night after night they would appear to him. And one night Hermione was there, too. Hermione was severe with him. He was being very silly. He should just make the most of life, as he always had. One couldn't always have exactly what one wanted. One just had to make the most of what one was given.

Bellamy didn't even think he really believed in an after-life. He knew there were ghosts, but he also felt that dead was dead. And yet, whenever he'd been severely ill, he'd seen them. He'd even seen his parents once, when he was a lot younger. He'd been dying then, and there was just a line to step over, and his parents were waiting, and a great black dog that was his godfather. His life had been saved, although it was years before he recovered his health that time.

When he travelled these days, it was Gareth in charge. Big, solid, dependable Gareth. There was Ricky still, small, lightning fast. Always four others. Graham still travelled with them as the Ministry Healer, and he was becoming increasingly concerned about the health of Bellamy. He was docile these days, and submitted when Graham demanded to do a thorough examination. He was far too thin, and measures in several vital areas were lowered. But it was his behaviour that was most worrying. He scarcely spoke, no longer slipped the aurors in order to get up to mischief, or find a girlfriend, and was apt to wander off vaguely if not reminded what he was supposed to be doing. And yet, he did his work with casual efficiency, saved a few pumpkin-heads, and called up the strong magic when needed without fanfare, and as if it was a matter entirely routine.

Franz died. Bellamy was cool and composed when he attended the funeral. Then his own employee, Jason Wiley, died. Jason had spent a large part of his life working for Bellamy, and only his middle daughter had left the area. He was buried in the enclosure on the property, that already contained the graves of his aunt and uncle, who'd worked for Bellamy before him. There were a few other graves there, too, although most of Bellamy's former employees were buried in other places, not one that was hidden from the world. Even Ginny, Bellamy's first wife, was buried at the wizard cemetery near London. His second wife, Luna, was buried in the walled garden on the estate, that Kevin Wiley had made. Melissa was a widow, and Bellamy tried to offer sympathy. But he was so filled with his own pain, each death adding to it.

The week after, Graham had extra monitors in his kit. Bellamy obliged again when he was ordered to Graham's room for an examination. It was as if he couldn't trust his own judgement, and so did whatever he was told. But the sensor devices that Graham touched to the forehead of Bellamy only served to confuse his healer. One monitor was supposed to measure general mental acuity, another, subtly different, the degree of confusion or alertness. They were both off the scale, as other measures often were when used on Bellamy. They definitely did not indicate confusion. But sometimes, it was like Bellamy was of a different species.

Graham was still concerned. Was the great wizard going mad? Could he be dangerous? The aurors carelessly lost him one day, although he hadn't disapparated, just wandered the wrong way after visiting the toilet. They found him gazing at the sea, having apparently forgotten he was supposed to be at work.

That Friday, after work, Graham reported to Kate. There was a real concern that Bellamy was not himself. Kate listened, frowning, and then called in Deirdre, her chief adviser. Graham repeated his story. Rumours were spreading, quiet, whispered rumours. Bellamy was so greatly respected. But what havoc could he wreak if he really went mad?

Manfred applied for a job as head of a different department, even though the job carried less prestige than he currently enjoyed. But Manfred had been Bellamy's known enemy for too many years. He was worried what the head of the auror department might be compelled to recommend. Other wizards could be easily controlled simply by removing their wands, and most wizards, wands or not, lost their power to work magic when they became confused. But Bellamy could call up a power that made heads hurt, and, as often as not these days, would forget even to raise his wand. It was known from instances in the past, too, that he could be very greatly weakened physically, and could still, it seemed without effort, do things that no-one else could do.

Beth visited again, and again Bellamy requested a month off. And again, he appeared better when he returned - a little less thin, a little more alert, though he still scarcely spoke. Tom Davenport, his own grandson, had won the position of head of the auror department. Bellamy congratulated him, smiling, pleased for him. Tom had wanted to be an auror since he'd been small. He wondered why Manfred had left the job, when it was generally so much desired.

Julie died. Bellamy heaved a sigh of relief. He was free. He could die. He went to the funeral, quiet and expressionless, then went home. In an easychair in his bedroom, it was time. There was just that place in his mind, he knew where. Just a slight squeeze, and he would be dead. He'd tried to do it before, long ago, when he'd been a prisoner of the Dementors. But he'd been too weak then. He'd be able to do it now. His will was prepared. A note asked that he be buried next to Luna in the walled garden...

But Ginny said he was absolutely not allowed. And then Luna. They were side by side, ganging up on him. Again he argued. He should be allowed to die. Everyone had to die sometime. Why couldn't he die if he wanted to. He'd always done what Ginny told him, always done what Luna told him, and almost always done what Julie told him. But when Julie appeared, too, and told him that he was definitely not allowed to die, that he was still needed, he gave a shriek of pure frustration, and stalked out of the house, walking, walking on the moors. He tried again, sneakily, a long way from his home, hiding next to the stone wall. They didn't say anything that time, just ranked themselves together, and looked at him accusingly. The three of them. He gave up, cried for a time, then slept, next to the wall.

The next week, it was supposed to be Spain. Among the aurors ready to accompany him was Nathan Bagster. Bellamy looked at him, leaned against the wall, and said that if Nathan went, then he was not. Tom came to talk to him. Bellamy said that he had nothing against Nathan, that Nathan had never done anything to him, that he merely refused to have him close.

With Bellamy rumoured to be increasingly confused, Nathan had suspected that his chance may have come. But this was the great wizard, and although Bellamy didn't seem to know anything for sure, he thought he'd best be discreet, and said obligingly that he'd stay behind, although adding spitefully that it appeared that Bellamy was not himself, and that he'd best be humoured. Tom glanced at Bellamy, worriedly, but said only that he'd ask for volunteers. They were an hour late, as they had to wait for another auror to pack and present himself ready for departure.

At dinner that night, Gareth asked Bellamy why he hadn't wanted Nathan near him. It seemed he had to be reminded that the incident had even occurred, and then he gave a vague and meaningless answer. Gareth persisted. He wanted a proper answer. Bellamy looked away and said that he didn't know. Gareth was insistent, finally asking whether Bellamy had looked at his mind, did Nathan mean him harm? Bellamy was apparently tired of being questioned, rose from his chair, and wandered toward the door. Abandoning his own dinner, Gareth quickened his steps to catch up. Two other aurors also followed.

"Did you look at his mind?" Gareth asked again, and this time he had a sort of an answer, as Bellamy stared at the darkness, and said in a troubled tone, that he didn't think he could do that any more.

Gareth was silent, just walking with him. He didn't seem to have any direction in mind, just walking quite fast, but mechanically. At last, Gareth said firmly that it was time to go back to the hotel. Bellamy stopped and looked around, lost. Gareth took his arm, and guided him, "This way." He was overcome with pity. He hadn't believed it before, but it appeared that the great wizard really was losing his clarity of mind.

Yet, mostly, there was little obvious change, except that he was very quiet and easy to manage. He accepted guidance as he never had before, but he cured a series of pumpkin-heads the following day, even keeping most of them calm. Surely one couldn't work a cure like that without a great deal of mental precision as well as force.

Friday afternoon, when they returned, Gareth told Bellamy not to go home just yet, that he wanted him to go and see Tom. So Bellamy just touched his wand to his luggage to send it home, and did as he was told. And even that spell, casually used, was one that Bellamy had invented, and that no-one else, aside from Beth, had ever been able to reliably master.

Manfred happened to see the pair as they passed, on their way to Tom's office, and was thankful it wasn't himself that might have to make a courageous decision. Surely the great wizard, if he truly was going mad, was too dangerous to be allowed to live. People had been trying to kill him for most of his life. He trusted the aurors, though. Manfred reckoned that the aurors could kill him if he needed to be killed.

Tom had his reports from the week, and only invited Bellamy and Gareth to join him for afternoon tea with him, as he made conversation. He spoke to Bellamy about the Quidditch match at his place a few weeks ago, and they discussed the chances of Abercrombies against the Bournes, as was set for the following Saturday. And he said to Bellamy how his sons, especially David, always loved the dragon matches. Bellamy, unusually, smiled. "The first time I made a dragon like that, it was to threaten a Minister for Magic. I was lucky to be forgiven!" Tom and Gareth both laughed. It was one of the stories, and they'd both heard many stories of the great wizard. They never really knew how many were true, but it seemed that the dragon must have been.

Bellamy rose. "Finished with me, now?"

Tom nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow week, if not before."

Once he'd gone, he said to Gareth that he thought it would be all right, that even if he was a bit confused now and then, he didn't seem the slightest bit dangerous. Gareth nodded, not very happily.