CHAPTER ONE

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"The Announcement"

—

"So... how's he holding up?"

The voice of Lily Potter was the first to break the tense silence that settled over the dimly-lit living room of her childhood home. For as big as the house was, the living space was arranged in a close, intimate manner—exactly the way her parents desired for their children to grow up. She sat in the middle of the main couch, her back as stiff as a board and her hands neatly folded in her lap. Her light, copper red hair was tied into a single plait down her back, though a few stray-aways peaked out by her ears, signaling the end of a long day. On either side of her sat her two older brothers.

The elder, James, wore an expression of impassivity. His stare was fixed on the glass of fire-whiskey he held in his left hand, though his lips had yet to taste. He wore a long, brown trench coat over top a plain white button-down, a black tie, and black slacks. He'd loosened the tie just minutes before, as it now hung slackly around his neck. It was the standard uniform for those that worked on Level Two of the British Ministry of Magic. Albus, the younger of the two Potter brothers, sat to the right of his sister, forward in his seat with elbows resting on the tops of his knees. His light green eyes and the dark circles underneath them paraded the exhaustion his body was feeling. Out of the three siblings, it was he who remained closest to the situation since it began.

Opposite of the couch, in a large, plush arm chair, their mother sat. At forty-eight years old, Ginny Potter still bore the appearance of a woman in her mid-thirties. The athletic frame she boasted during her years playing professional Quidditch remained mostly intact and, aside from the small lines of age that framed her blue eyes, she hardly looked old enough to be the mother of three grown children. Her current countenance mostly matched that of her eldest son's, but her eyes bore the same look of sleepless nights as Albus' green one's did.

Ginny met her only daughter's question with a tone of trained calmness. "He's hanging in there," she answered with a small nod, but all three of her children knew that this was their mother's nice way of saying, It's been a hard day. Since everything began a little under three months ago, Ginny did her best to not force any unnecessary worry upon James, Albus, and Lily. They were adults and had lives of their own to worry about: James was not only a full-time field Auror, but a husband and a father to the busiest child Ginny had come across since her eldest son himself; Lily was weeks away from graduating from the four-year program at Rackharrow's Center for Elite Healing and in the process of planning her wedding for the upcoming summer; and Albus, though he remained a steady presence at the house and had accompanied his father to a handful of medical evaluations at St. Mungo's when Ginny couldn't make them herself, her middle son had responsibilities, relationships, and a life of his own to focus on.

"How'd his appointment go today?" Lily asked, eager to get to the point of why her mother asked her and her brothers to Floo home at such short notice. Though Lily was more than happy to drop what she was doing, she had a fiancé waiting for her back at the apartment they shared. He'd offered to come with her as support, but Lily declined, knowing that this was something her mother meant to be an immediate family affair.

"Well..." Ginny started, reluctant. "That's actually something that your father decided he wanted to share with you himself. He went upstairs to shower the moment we got home. I heard the water shut off just a few minutes before you all got here, so he should be down here soon." Her maternal insight did not fail to recognize the looks of worry that settled over the faces of her three children. She added, "It's okay... Trust me. He just wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Then tell him to get his arse down here and tell us!" James finally spoke up. Out of all the Potter children, it was the eldest who was the most prone to falling prey to his own emotions. It was a trait that neither of his parents could blame the other for. James' outburst was met with nasty glares from both of his siblings. From the moment he'd Flooed in, his foul mood was visible. His sister had just about enough of it.

"Christ, James, can't you just—"

Lily's retort was quickly overpowered by her mother's calm, yet serious tone, "It's alright." Lily was immediately silenced, but it didn't stop her from shooting her eldest brother a second glare. "I know that this has been a difficult couple of months for you three and—"

This time, it was Albus' turn to cut someone off. "It's been difficult for all of us, Mum," he corrected her. Then, he reached over to place a soothing hand on his sister's knee.

Ginny offered a small, sad smile at the gentleness of her green-eyed son. "Yes. You're right, Al. It's been hard on everyone," she amended. "I know it may seem like you've all been left in the dark about a lot of what's been going on, but I promise you I've been updating you on whatever we find out from the Healers. It's just that this particular decision that's been made is one that you three should hear from your dad, not me. He's allowed a lot of the information to be relayed to you through me, but... this time... it's a decision that affects the whole family a lot more than all of the others have."

A brief stint of silence settled over the four Potters until James spoke up again. This time, his tone was much softer, as he said, "I'm sorry." He then raised the glass of fire-whiskey to his lips and took a long drink. Next to him, his younger sister seemed to softened and she leaned over to lay her head against his broad shoulder.

If Ginny Potter were a more sentimental woman, the sight of her three children sitting in such solidarity across from her would've been enough to bring tears to her eyes. It was well-known, however, that where her husband remained the face of the British wizarding word, his wife was the impenetrable stalwart of the Potter family. Thus, she chose only to cross one leg over the other and lean back into her favorite arm chair as the four of them waited.

A quiet two minutes later, the sound of careful footsteps making their way down the wooden staircase echoed into the living room and stirred those within it. Ginny sat up straighter in her seat and uncrossed her legs. James tossed back the remaining contents of his glass and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Lily's fingers busied themselves with tucking her red flyways behind her ears (a nervous habit she'd always been told she must have inherited from her paternal grandfather). And Albus, ever the eager one to help, rose from the couch and turned in expectation, ready to assist his father in any way he could.

A slightly hunched over figure slowly emerged from the shadows of the foyer into the living room where the rest of his family awaited his entrance. Unlike his wife, the fifty-year-old patriarch of the Potter family looked more than a little worse for wear. Whereas three months ago he stood tall and seemingly unflinching in the face of life's greatest adversities, Harry Potter now made his way into the room with rounded shoulders and a timid countenance about him. When the younger of his two sons made a step to help him over to the identical armchair next to the one his wife sat in, the man held up a dismissive hand. Albus frowned, but sat back down next to his sister nonetheless.

A heavy silence filled the room as Harry slowly took his seat next to Ginny. His salt-and-peppered hair was still damp from the shower he'd just taken, and he was clad in his normal nighttime clothes: a plain white t-shirt, Gryffindor-red sweatpants, and a pair of black slippers. Once he was settled, Ginny immediately reached across the space between their chairs and took her husband's hand in her own in a gesture of both support and encouragement. Harry met the loving action with a small smile and a look that his children knew he reserved only for their mother—his wife of twenty-eight years. Then, he turned his glance to finally meet the eyes of his three children (hazel, dark brown, and green, respectively).

"Hi, guys."

"Hi, Daddy," the soft response of Lily immediately came, followed quickly by a simultaneous, "Hey," from both James and Albus.

"I hope you haven't been waiting down here for me too long..."

"Not at all!" Lily responded for the three of them. It was very characteristic of her to take on the role of spokesperson as it concerned her and her brothers. The boys usually allowed her to do so with minimal push-back.

"James... How's Tommy? Mum was just telling me earlier today that you started him on a kiddie broom and that's all he can talk about."

The eldest Potter son fared well against the confusion that came from his father asking a question about a topic that strayed so far from the reason he and his siblings were summoned over. It was so characteristic his father to immediately divert the spotlight from himself onto others. James offered an only slightly strained smile and answered, "He's good. Yeah... he's, well... he's not the most coordinated kid in the world, but he's definitely got the most heart, that's for sure. He's already talking about beating Slytherin in the House Cup when he gets to Hogwarts... Sorry, Al." James' answer earned a round of chuckles from his family—his younger brother included.

"No offense taken," Albus answered with a smirk and a goodnatured shrug.

"And Lily, Will's doing well?"

Lily smiled fondly at the mention of her fiancé. "Yeah, Dad, he's doing great. Told me to tell you hello from him, actually."

The smile on Harry's lips stretched just a bit more at his only's daughter's response. He continued down the line, "Still writing as much as you can, Al?"

Forgoing words, Albus Potter nodded genially at his father, hoping that his lack of verbal response would urge the man to get to the point of the family gathering. Ginny, ever aware of her husband's evasive nature, quickly piggybacked on her youngest son's efforts (albeit in a slightly more aggressive manner).

"Better get on with it, dear."

The lack of tact in his wife's urgings was overlooked by Harry, who seemed to shrink imperceptibly in his seat as the attention turned back to him and the news he needed to deliver. He sighed and folded his hands together uncomfortably in his lap as his mind spun in search for the right words to say. It was a long moment before he finally opened his mouth to speak. He was met with expectant ears ready to retain the long-winded speech that his kids had grown accustomed to when their father was forced to address something serious.

"Fuck."

Four sets of eyes shot open in shock. Ginny bristled in her seat next to Harry at his use of such foul language. She often let a few shit's or bloody's out when the Harpies' were getting pummeled or when she stubbed her toe, but they were words she hardly ever used around her kids or grandchildren. Harry, especially, avoided them at all costs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the man quickly amended at his family's bewilderment. "That wasn't supposed to come out, I'm... Merlin, I'm sorry, I..." Then, as if his family wasn't shocked enough by his outburst, Harry started to laugh. It started out with soft chuckles, but within seconds those were transformed into barks of laughter that racked across his frail body. His shoulders shook and his eyes shut tightly. If the four people sitting around him weren't so acutely observing him, they would've missed the small piles of wetness that accrued at the corners of his eyes. One by one, a line of tears slowly started to fall down his face and onto his hands (which remained tightly folded in his lap, his knuckles now stark white). His laughter quickly turned into sobs, and Ginny rose from her chair to sit on the arm of his. She wrapped her arms around her husband's trembling frame, his head immediately falling limp against her bosom.

It took several moments for Ginny to help Harry regain his composure. All the while, James, Albus, and Lily sat silent and still on the sofa, watching the scene in front of them unfold.

"That wasn't supposed to happen, I'm sorry," Harry spoke again once he'd calmed himself down. He continued on with much more poise than before. "These last three months have been... difficult, to say the least. When I decided to take that leave of absence after the Gala, it was with the full intent of returning to the Ministry as soon as your mother and Healer Bobbin would let me. We all thought that me taking some time away from Auror Office would give me rest from the stress of the job and, hopefully, would let my body start healing. U-unfortunately, I..."

A hitch of emotion caught in Harry's throat. Ginny squeezed his shoulder gently. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, starting again, "Unfortunately... That doesn't really seem like what's happening. Your Aunt Hermione and the whole upper cabinet of the Ministry has been very supportive of my decision to step away this whole time, and they've been faring just fine without me in the office, but I don't think it's right of me to keep my post any longer if I can't perform any of the duties it requires."

"Dad..." James started, but was silenced by a raise of his father's hand.

"I know, James. I know. But there are plenty of capable and willing people who can easily step into that role and... as much as it hurts me to say this... can do it much better than I'd be able to right now."

"So it's temporary? The new guy would just be an interim Head until you're better, yeah?" James pressured. The concern in his hazel eyes was almost palpable. This decision affected not only him as Harry Potter's son, but as an Auror too.

"That was the original plan, yes. It's what Aunt Hermione put on the table when we first started discussing all of this a couple weeks ago. Mind you three, it's very generous of her to even propose that. But the rest of the cabinet was of the opinion that the Auror Department is too important of a branch of government to be fiddling with the idea of an interim position and—"

James interjected ardently, "Aunt Hermione is the bloody Minister for Magic! Who cares what the bloody cabinet says! If she—"

"—and," Harry cut him off, "I happen to agree with them. You've only been in the force a few years, James, and it's always been under my leadership, but I've seen firsthand what can happen in that department if there is not someone capable and steadfast in that position."

"What are you talking about, 'capable and steadfast'? That's you to a T!" The eldest Potter son continued to argue.

"No, son, that was me," Harry answered sternly, sorrow etched into the crevices of his aging face. It was the most determined the three kids had seen their father in three months. It silenced James immediately. "As your department Head, I'm appreciative of your support and belief in my leadership. But as your father, I'm asking you to respect the decision that I've already made." He turned and looked up at his wife, who stared down at him with unwavering support and love. He took her hand in his own and intertwined their fingers. "A decision that we've already made," he corrected himself. James, finally dissuaded in his efforts, sat back into the couch cushions and bowed his head solemnly.

Albus took his brother's leave as an opportunity to speak. "We support whatever decision you make, Dad. And we're all here to help you through this as best as we possibly can," he promised in a steady tone that matched that of his mother's. "And we love you."

"We love you so much, Daddy," Lily echoed her brother, tears building up at the corners of her almond shaped eyes.

"Love you," James reiterated gruffly, clearly not happy with the decision, but willing to follow his brother and sister in support of their father nonetheless.

Unlike his wife, the display of emotion from all three of his children was enough to resurface the tear drops that Harry'd just wiped away minutes ago. This time, however, he didn't bother fending them off. He allowed the few that dared to trickle down his face and onto the chair.

"I love you all. So much."

"We're going to get through this," Ginny consoled with an air of confidence. "As a family."

"Until the very end," Albus finished.

James wasn't sure if it was the Floo from his parents' fireplace to his own, the lack of sleep he'd got over the last week, or the amount of firewhiskey he'd consumed in the last four hours, but the moment he landed safely in his own home, a wave of nausea washed over him. He stood alone in the darkness with his eyes squeezed shut for several moments. His fingers massaged the spot between his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Acutely aware of the sound of his own labored breathing, James forced himself to focus on controlling his inhales and exhales. It'd be a long, hard day indeed.

After the conversation he'd been apart of just minutes before, the twenty-five year old didn't have the mental capacity to even start recounting the call they sent him and Goldstein on that afternoon to Wiltshire. All he could think about was falling into bed and getting as much sleep as he could before his alarm sounded and he had to drag his arse back to the Ministry.

The sound of fumbling upstairs pulled James from his sleep-deprived musings. Four years of experience told him that the noise was a result of little feet puttering against hard wood floors. Though he couldn't see anything, within twenty seconds James knew he was no longer alone in the living room.

"You're not supposed to get out bed, remember?"

He was met with a muffled shout of glee. "Daddy? Is that you?" the young boy whispered into the darkness.

James couldn't help but grin. He pulled his wand from the deep pockets of his work robes and casted a quick Lumos. Light immediately came spilling out from the tip of his ten inch, holly wand, allowing him to see a small, shaggy-haired boy standing the doorway between the living room and the foyer. He was clad in Quaffle-themed pajamas and wielding his very own toy wand (a present from his Uncle Al from his last birthday). The young boy was pointing the fake green weapon at his father, a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

"You dare challenge me, young Master?" James asked in a playful, exaggerated voice that he reserved only for his son.

All pretenses were dropped as the boy was quickly overcome with a fit of giggles. He forgot about their impromptu duel altogether, dropping the wand to the floor with a small thump before closing the distance between him and his father. James lowered himself into a squatting position and opened his arms as the four-year-old jumped. Though not particularly comfortable, James never minded the way his son wrapped his arms around his neck and squeezed as hard as he possible could. He embraced the boy with just as much fervor.

"Hi, Daddy! I missed you lots!"

"I missed you so much too, buddy," James answered, giving him one more squeeze for good measure before releasing. "Where's your mum?"

"It's late, Daddy! She sleep upstairs!"

"Oh, of course she is. How silly of me! I must've not realized it was so late since you were out of bed..."

A sheepish grin creeped its way across the boys lips. "No, no! I asleep! I just wanted to say night night to you!"

"Oh, you're asleep right now, are you?" James challenged.

"Yes! I fast asleep! You just have to put me in my big boy bed, 'member, Daddy?"

"Is that how it works?"

"Yes! How you forget that?" The boy questioned, making one hell of a case for a four-year-old who'd just been caught out of bed by his father.

"When'd you get to be so smart anyway?" The boy only grinned in response and James offered a sigh of capitulation before sweeping him off of the ground and into his arms. This elicited a few shouts of glee. "Shhh, mum's sleeping," he minded his son, who quickly shut his lips and busied himself with hugging his father around the neck again. James carried him through the living room, up the staircase, and through the second door on the left hand side of the dark hallway. The bedroom was faintly lit by the Snitch night light placed in the corner of the room, allowing James to step over a mine field of toys before placing the already nodding off boy onto his bed. He made quick work of pulling both the comforter and the sheets (his wife always reminded him that the sheets were a necessity) over the boy's small body before tucking them close to his sides.

"Don't get out of bed again, okay, bud?"

"Okay, Daddy," the boy answered with sleep-laced words.

"I love you, Tommy. Sleep good."

"Love you too, Daddy. Night night."

"Night night, buddy."

And with that, James pressed a soft kiss to the small inch of forehead that was exposed behind the boy's dark, unruly hair. He made his way back over the minefield and back into the hallway. He traced the familiar path down the hall further to the last door on the right. The door was open, but only slightly. It creaked as he pushed it open and walked into the bedroom where his wife laid asleep in bed. He made quick (albeit quiet) work at peeling off his work robes, replacing them with pajamas, and brushing his teeth before slipping into bed next to the sleeping woman. He scooted close to her so that his chest was pressed against her back, allowing his arms to find comfort in circling around her waist. His touch stirred her from her sleep.

"You're home," she murmured groggily. "Everything okay?"

He'd sent her an owl after work that he needed to go over to his parents' house before coming home. He wrote to her that he didn't know when he'd be back, so she didn't need to wait up for him. Early in their marriage she would've stayed up waiting for him, but six years in she knew he always came home eventually and that there was no use forcing herself to stay awake. He usually woke her up anyway upon his return anyway.

"Yeah, just Dad. He's okay though. I'll tell you everything in the morning."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Let's sleep."

"Okay. I'll tell you my news in the morning, too."

"Good news?"

"Great news," she assuaged the worry she knew was building up in his thoughts and tightening muscles.

"Okay."

"I love you, James."

"Love you," he answered. He peppered a few kisses on the base of her neck before letting his head settle into the pillow. Sleep quickly overtook the woman cuddled against the chest, but James stayed awake long into the night, trying to stay as still as possible so as to not awake his wife, as thoughts of Wiltshire circled in his synapses.

"So you knew?"

Will sighed heavily, not missing the accusatory tone with which his fiancée spoke. He was seated at the small, circular table in the middle of the kitchen. It was where she had found him five minutes before when Flooed through and marched inside. After two years of dating and six months of living together, he knew the tell-tale signs of Lily Potter's wrath. "Sweetheart," he began slowly, carefully. "It's my job to know—"

"Oh, and it's not your job as my future husband to tell me any news you find out about my father?" She spat back venomously.

Will Fawley was, for the most part, a very calm bloke. Articulate, level-headed, and not easily offended. Those were traits he was particularly proud of himself for honing in on over the couple years of his life, as they were absolutely essential to his success in his line of work. However, for all of the work he did to keep his heart beat steady and his mind untangled from intensity, there were still certain triggers that could set him off in a moment's notice. He was, after all, a twenty-three year old boy. The first was any insult against his mother or sister. And the second...

"No, actually, it's not!" He finally released the building-up anger into the room. The second was his job. "That's not my job at all! And that's not just me saying that! It's your aunt and the whole upper cabinet! Oh, and also the non-disclosure agreement I signed when I took this job a year ago! If it had got out in any way that I shared that information I'd have lost my job in an instant!"

Lily bristled at his uncommon display of emotion. He didn't leave her much time to comment; she didn't take it.

"So yes, I knew. I've known all about these conversations the whole time, but in order to keep my job, there are things that I just cannot share with anyone—not just you. And if I were to tell you, I couldn't even be sure that what I was telling you was accurate. I hear a lot of things, but I'm not in the room where these meetings are taking place. Most of it is all hearsay anyway! I didn't want to get you all worked up when I didn't even know for sure what was happening!" He finished with a huff of exasperation, preparing himself for the rebuttal that was no doubt formulating inside her mind now. Lily Potter was many things, but a quitter was not one of them.

"Okay. I'm sorry," was all the redhead replied. Softly. Acquiescing. Completely against her nature.

Will blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. "That's it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair of me to be mad at you. You're right."

"No threats of castration? No tears?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Their fights always ended in him having to apologize and she finally coming around after a few hours of the silent treatment.

Her grace did not last long. She let out an unamused scoff. "Christ, Will—do you need me to write a bloody apology letter and mail it to you and all your closest relatives?"

"No, no!" he answered, the simple word twice spilling out from his lips rather sloppily. "Sorry, I... Well, in all honesty, I wish I could've recorded that so I could listen to it at a later time and tear up over how much my beautiful fiancée has matured." He now wore a small, boyish smirk on his lips.

"You're an absolute arsehole, Will Fawley, y'know that?"

The smirk grew into a full-fledged grin in seconds. He extended his hand out to the girl standing in front of him. "How could I forget, love? You remind me every day."

Her expression slowly started to mirror his. She accepted the extended hand with her own and allowed herself to be pulled close to him. She settled atop his lap, his arms snaking around her tiny waist as her hands sought comfort against the warm skin on the base of his neck. Her fingers immediately began fiddling with the tips of his short, blonde hair. There were some days that she missed the long hair that he sported when they first started dated (as it was all too fun for her to run her fingers through it, especially when things got more... intense...), but not even she could deny how handsome and mature Will looked with a short haircut. He looked less like the boy she fell in love with and more like the man she couldn't wait to spend the rest of her life with.

"I love you, William Maynard Fawley the Second," she whispered playfully (mockingly) against his lips, before overtaking them with her own in a soft, yet passionate kiss.

"I love you too, Lily Luna Potter," he answered when she pulled away from nearly a minute later, before his lips were captured once more. It wouldn't be for another hour that they'd finally make there way into the bedroom, turn off the lights, and fall asleep, exhausted from a long day of work, an evening of emotions, and a late night of passionate kissing and feeling.

Firewhiskey.

A couple firewhiskeys, maybe.

Do I even have my house key?

Maybe a smoke.

These were the thoughts going through Albus Potter's head as he walked the cobblestoned streets of Horizont Alley. The normally busy avenue looked like a ghost town at two (pushing three) in the morning. His previous thoughts were discarded as he approached an old, stately brick building at the corning of the street. All of the lights of his apartment complex, save for the outside light by the lobby door, were off. He fumbled in the pockets of his robes for a gold ring of three keys as he made his way up the front steps. He struggled in the dim, yellow light to make out the correct key. He made quick use of the lock and hustled inside, up the staircase, to the third level of the four-story apartment building. The light in the hallway, like the one outside, casted a yellow glow over the walls. The old floorboards creaked beneath the weight of his steps. He fingered out the second key as he approached the door at the end of the hallway of the third story labeled with a gold '12' just below the peep hole. The wooden door grated against its frame when he pushed it open and made his way inside.

The flat, boasting a meager two bedroom and one bathroom, smelled faintly of spoiled dairy products and dust. Dark green eyes circled the flat, making quick identification of the culprit responsible for the first, more repulsive smell.

"Shit," Albus muttered, tossing the belongings he held in his hand—his wallet, keys, and a leather-bound journal—onto the couch as he passed through the living into the adjoining kitchen. He fished out his wand from his other pocket and, with a quick flick of his wrist, the gallon of lukewarm milk lifted into the air. Without any physical manipulation, the cap twisted off and dropped to the counter. The gallon floated over to the sink under the careful manipulation of Albus' mind. It tilted over the sink until putrid, rotten milk poured out from the opening and disappeared into the porcelain drained.

When the contents were emptied, Albus' levitated the empty gallon to the trash can then casted a quick refreshing charm to get rid of the smell. After doing the same in the living room and opening a few of the windows to get the air circulating, he began to strip layers of clothes off. His thick, brown combat boots went first, ending up in a stack of other footwear by the front door. Next, his outwear robes—thick enough to ward off the cold of a spring's night, but not so thick as to be useful in the middle of February—were discarded onto the coat rack. His grey, knitted sweater—compliments of his cousin's wife—and black pants eventually ended up in the laundry basket in his bedroom after being replaced with a pair of sleep pants and long-sleeved white pajama shirt.

Though Albus' body ached for sleep, his mind bustled with thoughts. Forgoing the comfort and warmth of his bed, he exited his bedroom and walked down the small hallway, past the only bathroom, and into the second bedroom which he'd repurposed into his home office. A tall, mahogany desk was situated under the large window at the back of the room. To the right of it, a matching bookshelf with volumes after volumes packed together. A circular space rug filled the center of the room; the style, an Aztec pattern in black and white, was not particularly to his tastes, but his mother had demanded he needed something there to 'pull the room together.' It hardly mattered anyway, it turned out. He hardly even noticed it with his back hunched over a pile of parchment at his desk.

Moments later, he assumed that exact position. A box of fine-tipped quills and a silver pot of ink adorned the desktop. At the top of the thick, expensive parchment, he wrote, 'The End of an Era.' He eyed his title for a brief moment, analyzing the result of his unsteady hand on his penmanship.

Nearly three hours later, as the early light of Monday morning began to spill through his office window, Albus finally relinquished his writer's posture and fell back into his chair, dark circles set deep under his eyes and the rest of his body screaming for sleep. He eyed the thick stack of parchment lying in front of him... Twenty-four pages of mind vomit. Of sheer regurgitation. Then, with cramping fingers, Albus silently pulled a Muggle lighter from the depths of the large desk. It took him a few tries before a flame popped out from the end. With the other hand, he lifted the stack into the air. Moments later, paper met flame in a short-lived skirmish. As Albus dropped the stack into the empty, metal waste bin, red and orange overtook white without much resistance. Finally, without another enemy relinquished, the flame retreated into itself, leaving only a pile of black ash in its wake.

Albus rose from his desk. Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, he had drifted into a dreamless sleep in the comfort of his own bed.

Smoke continued to rise out of the ash from the waste bin down the hall for many more minutes as silence overtook the apartment.

Across the wizarding district, in a plush, upscale apartment native to the aesthetics of Carkitt Market, thirty-six-year-old Alethea Spiggott awoke to start her day with the attitude more becoming to a child on Christmas morning. She'd forced herself to stay in bed an hour longer than her body demanded, but it was for the best. It would only take her an hour to prepare for the important day ahead of her, and she didn't need to Floo into the Atrium until 8:30. That would leave her at least an hour and a half of time to kill, puttering around her apartment. The moment her bedside clock struck 7:00, however, she sprung out of bed and into action.

9:00 A.M. simply couldn't come fast enough.

Finalizing her look—'professional yet chic,' as she liked to call it—in the bathroom vanity, Alethea made her way into the marble kitchen and allowed herself to hypothesize as she fished out a teabag from the cupboard.

What ground-breaking information could Harry Potter, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, possibly have to share with the world?

Whatever it was, she would be the first to release the article on it. After her private interview the day before with Celestina Warbeck at the singer's penthouse in Chelsea, Alethea was confident her article would blow all the rest of out the water. Then, finally—hopefully—she'd received a bonus on the next paycheck and be able to afford that beautiful townhome in the French Riviera.

The beach house in Barcelona just wasn't cutting it anymore.

Ginny Potter's eyes shot open with a start, a jolt coursing up her spine in panic. The other half of the bed was not only empty of her husband's sleeping frame, but it also looked untouched. The clock on her nightstand read 7:53 A.M. An string of expletives slipped from her lips as she threw the heavy, quilted blankets off her body and slipped out of bed. She'd slept in. And Harry had never come to bed.

The stairs groaned when she descended them two at a time. Despite her age—she was a grandmother, for Merlin's sake—she'd maintained her athleticism since she retired from the Harpies by walking several miles each morning. Clearly, she'd be skipping her workout today.

"Harry?" she called as she circled the rooms downstairs. The living room, where she bid her husband goodnight nearly nine hours before, was empty. The kitchen looked untouched. After checking both the back and front porches, she headed down the long hallway to far left of the large house. Since his collapse and resultant break from the D.M.L.E., Harry hadn't been spending much time in his office. She knocked lightly on the large pair of oak doors. "Harry?" she tried again, forcing her voice to stay steady.

The distant sound of a low grunt came from the other side of the door. Ginny's heart sunk when she creaked open the doors and saw her husband, an empty bottle of gin on the desk, nearly unconscious in the plush desk chair. His glasses were off, his eyes were closed, and his hair was askew. The smell of stale alcohol sifted through the room, and she noticed something on the ground beside his desk as she drew closer to his side. It was a gold plaque with the words 'FOR TEN YEARS OF FAITHFUL SERVICE' engraved in the center. It was issued to 'HARRY J. POTTER' by the 'BRITISH MINISTRY OF MAGIC.' Ginny sighed; she knew he'd been in there all night, alone and drinking.

We're going to get through this.

The words she'd spoken to her kids in strength and confidence last night now paled in light her husband's drunken stupor.

"Come on, dear," she told him as she stirred him into consciousness and helped him stand. There were many other things she wanted to say to him—rebukes and chastisements—but for now, she'd take him upstairs, help him into the shower, pick out his clothes, and somehow get him to the Ministry by 8:30 so that he could address the throngs of reporters that were no doubt preparing for the biggest story of the year. She'd stand by his side, the ever dutiful and supportive wife, doing all she could to just keep him alive.

Until the very end.

A/N: This first chapter has been a long time coming. With all of this COVID-19 business, I'm hoping to keep up with it now while doing school and work from home. The next chapter will feature a big time jump, and then from then on the story will be fairly chronological with not as big skips. Let me know what you think with a quick review, if it's not too much trouble. Any and all feedback is welcome. Cheers! —KB