Chapter 20

~*~ January 2000 ~*~

Harry looked down at the bag at his feet, wondering at how small it was. He hadn't even used magic to shrink it and yet all he had in the world seemed to fit into the scruffy old rucksack he'd found in a charity shop.

He'd been travelling for a couple of weeks, having apparated from England to France the day before New Year. He'd been hopping trains and staying in hotels for the most part. He'd considered hostels but he had no desire to be around other people and so, for the first time, had decided to dip into his sizeable inheritance to fund his travels.

He had ventured no further than France, as yet, but he hadn't made any plans and really didn't know where, if anywhere, he was travelling to. All he knew was that he needed time and space from everyone and everything if he had any hope of getting his head clear. His mind had been a horrific jumble since he'd woken in his hospital bed and the world seemed to make no sense to him.

He felt the carriage of the train shudder and then a voice said, "C'est le dernier arrêt. Nous sommes au bout du fil." He looked up and saw a smartly-dressed woman looking at him. "Excuse me, sir. This is the train's last stop."

"Oh, right. Thanks," he said, grabbing his bag and getting up, shuffling past her and off the train.

He looked about the platform, not even sure where he was and not really caring either. He walked out into the street, tightening his coat around him, the winter chill bitter, and walked over to the nearest taxi rank. Using a translation spell, he asked, "Are there any hotels nearby?"

"About a twenty-minute drive," the driver replied. "Want me to take you?"

Harry rode in silence, the orange glow of the streetlights illuminating the dark streets, the neon shop signs reflecting in the taxi windows. One city looked very much like another to him and, as he wasn't visiting as a tourist, he found he didn't really care.

The driver took him to a few places, the first of which were still full with guests who were staying for an extended Christmas period, but he eventually found a room in a respectable enough place, paying up front for a couple of nights. He slung his bag down on the bed and moved over to the window, looking out into the darkness of the night, the little side street he was in not lit up as the others were.

It was as serviceable a hotel as any to stay before he moved onto the next place. Perhaps one day he would return to these places as an actual tourist and try to enjoy himself but…for now…all he wanted was to move from one place to another, enjoying the freedom…if enjoying was even the right word.

He sat down at the small table next to the window and rifled about with the hotel-branded items, extracting a few sheafs of paper and staring down at them. He'd meant to write letters home for days now but something had been stopping him.

His goodbyes had been…brief and uncomfortable. Ron hadn't understood how he could leave after everything and kept trying to extract promises from him that he would be back soon. Draco had been more understanding, although he'd sat and talked quietly with him after, urging him to consider if this really was the right thing to do. Somehow the man's quiet gentleness was worse than Ron's bullishness.

Talking to Hermione had been excruciating. He'd avoided almost all contact with her in the hospital, unable to bear the thought of seeing her in her altered state. Eventually he'd sat with her, George sitting sombrely in the chair beside her bed, as he'd told them both of his plans to go away. George had said nothing, neither had Hermione for a while, until eventually she said softly, "If that's what you need to do, Harry then I'll support you."

He'd all but fled from the room after that, unable to bear the sight of her eyes, the white milkiness of her irises sending chills down his spine. Hermione's eyes had always been one of Harry's favourite things about her and he could hardly bring himself to look at her while they spoke.

He had said everything he possibly could to Severus in their previous meeting and so had simply dropped by his room after he'd packed his bag and whispered goodbye while the man slept, his heart clenching painfully as he left.

Now he stared down at the blank sheets of paper in his hands and wondered what he could possibly write. He had no tales to tell, apart from to discuss how efficient the trains had been, and he could hardly write that he was now cured and would be home soon, which is what he imagined they all wanted to hear from him.

He chucked the paper down and ran a hand through his hair, deciding to save the letter writing to another time. Perhaps he would have more to say when he'd seen a bit more, when he'd travelled a little further. Besides, part of him worried that if he sent a letter now he would receive one with news he didn't want to hear – that Neville was still in a coma, that Fred's burns were too extensive to treat properly, that Charlie's death was causing the Weasleys more pain than they could deal with. As selfish as it was, he couldn't bring himself to think of anyone else presently.

Frustrated with himself, he had a quick shower and climbed into bed, sparing a moment to wonder when he had last eaten. He would get breakfast the next morning, he promised himself, and try to keep a closer eye on what he was eating. He fell asleep quickly but his sleep was to be short-lived. His dreams were haunted by scenes from the final battle, by visions of Hermione bleeding from her eyes, by Severus being felled by Lucius' curse, by Draco killing his own father.

He dreamt of Voldemort's final moments, of the way he had ripped the man's very essence from his body and how he had disintegrated in front of Harry's eyes. He woke sweating, his pulse racing and his breathing ragged. He was tangled in the bedsheets and tears were streaming down his face, his fingers sore from where he had clutched the bedding so tightly.

He extracted himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his head in his hands and sobbing, wondering how far he needed to run for the dreams to stop.

~*~ December 2000 ~*~

Dear Harry,

It's been a good few weeks since your last letter and we've all been wondering what your plans are for Christmas. Molly's desperate to know if you'll come and stay at The Burrow (she's beside herself with the need to mother you) but you're welcome to come and stay with Ron and me if you'd prefer a little less…smothering.

The flat isn't much, it's a glorified broom cupboard, truth be told, but we have a spare room and you'd be more than welcome. Ron would love to see you, as would I, and it would be great to hear about your travels. Your last postcard indicated that you were in Italy, are you still there now? When we've scraped some funds together we'll come out and visit you, maybe in the spring when Ron has a couple of weeks' holiday from his studies.

We're all well here, although the anniversary of the battle and, of course, Charlie's death, is weighing heavily on people's minds. We went back and forth over putting Christmas decorations up but decided that it was important to have a little Christmas cheer, even at such a difficult time. The flat looks very festive, even if Ron's decorative choices are somewhat at odds with mine.

We hope very much to see you. It's been such a long time and we miss you very much. Ron's dying to fill you in on everything he's been up to and Molly's very anxious to know whether or not you've been properly looking after yourself. I'm also very much in need of someone to commiserate with – you had to share a dorm with Ron for six years after all, you'll be able to understand my pain.

Looking forward to seeing you.

Yours, Draco.

Hi mate,

Just dropping you a line to see what your Christmas plans are. We're all assuming you'll be coming home, of course, just checking if you'd like to stay with us or with Mum and Dad. Our flat's a bit poky but the spare room's decent enough. We've done it up all Christmasey, after a few rows about whose tastes were better, and you'd be more than welcome. You can tell Draco that my decorations are ten times better than his poncy, old-fashioned tat.

The healing course is bloody tough and I can't wait to have a couple of weeks off. I'm enjoying it though and I know I've made the right choice, I just wish I could skip all these bloody exams. Drake's enjoying his Herbology course and seems to be spending all his spare time with Neville. Mental, right? Who'd have thought those two would end up friends?

Can't wait to see you, it's been too bloody long. Get better at sending letters, eh? The ones we get from you are way too far and few between! I'll get some proper brandy in so we can toast our reunion in style.

Love, Ron.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you're still enjoying your travels. With Christmas fast approaching, I was wondering what your plans might be. There's a bed for you at our house, should you wish to come and stay, and I promise George will be on his best behaviour. We'd love to see you and you'd be more than welcome to stay with us.

Everyone seems to descend on our house these days. Fred is almost a permanent guest and Ron and Draco stop by most weekends. George jokes that I'm a kept woman as he pays all the bills while I attend to my studies but I remind him that it's the least he can do, given all I have to put with. He and Fred use our garden shed to test all sorts of mad inventions and, I kid you not, we've had more than one explosion.

We're all so looking forward to seeing you and hearing about the wonderful places you've been. You must tell me what Venice is like; George and I are considering it for our honeymoon, although he's also taken with the idea of Barcelona – apparently there's an inventor there who does wonders with illusion charms. If I could roll my eyes on paper I would.

Hoping you're well and missing you very much.

All my love, Hermione.

Harry put the letters to one side with a sigh, conflicted and confused. He looked out from the little balcony of his hotel room, an evening chill beginning to set in after a fairly mild day. He'd enjoyed Rome so far and had no plans to move on just yet.

He looked back at the letters and noted, with a pang somewhere around his chest, that he had received no such missive from Severus. Everyone else had written to him asking him if and when he was coming home but Severus hadn't and it hurt him more than he could say.

The man clearly wasn't bothered if he came back to England, he wasn't anxious to see him and hadn't asked him to come back…either to him or the country. His was the one letter he had been desperate to receive, the one invitation home that truly mattered to him, but it seemed it wasn't to be forthcoming and so the thought of returning to England made Harry's stomach drop.

He wanted to see his friends, he truly did, he had missed them terribly and he wanted to catch up with what was happening in their lives but he'd been struggling with the thought of returning home and he simply wasn't ready. The anniversary of the final battle had been creeping up on him like a cancer and the thought of going back, of having to face all those memories, was truly more than he could bear.

It had only been the thought of seeing Severus again that had given him any kind of impetus to go back and it seemed that, for whatever reason, the man was in no great rush to see him again. It stung and Harry's pride was wounded but, more than that, he was terribly hurt to think that Severus didn't care for him the way he cared for the man.

True, Harry hadn't been back to Britain in a year, but he had written to Severus as often as he could and had made sure the man knew how much he missed him. He'd been careful not to mention anything about their relationship, or whatever the hell you could call it, but now he wondered if he'd made a mistake in skirting around the issue so much.

Perhaps Severus hadn't asked him to come home because he felt Harry was no longer interested? Perhaps the man thought that whatever was between them was now over and there was no point in writing to Harry? Whatever the reason, it was making Harry feel wretched and he had no idea how he was supposed to handle it.

Part of him was shouting to make the first move and write to the man, to tell him how desperately he was missing him and how all he wanted was to come back and pick up where they left off. He wanted to tell him that some nights all he could think was being back in Severus' arms, that he would sell his soul for one more kiss, one more moment of being held like he was the most precious thing in the world.

He looked down at the letters on his desk and felt tears prick his eyes. He missed Severus so much sometimes it was a physical ache but he couldn't bear the thought of bearing his heart to the man only to be rejected because Severus had moved on and no longer felt anything for him. He picked up his quill and prepared to write to his friends telling them he wouldn't be home this Christmas.

~*~ April 2001 ~*~

"Honestly, there's no charge. I'm just glad I could help."

"Mr Potter, you must let us pay you something. We've been going mad for the past few months with that damned writing desk."

"Really, you don't owe me anything," Harry insisted again. "I tell you what – if you fancy it, make a donation to your favourite charity, that'll do fine for me."

Frau Weber went to open her mouth again but Harry picked up his rucksack and said with his most charming smile, "I'll see you around. Let me know if you have any more trouble with the desk!"

He made his way down the hallway and let himself out of the front door, half expecting the woman to chase him down and force money into his hand. He'd only extracted a little dark magic, it was nothing to write home about, and he'd come across far worse things in his time. She was his landlord's sister and he was simply doing her a favour; what he'd really been hoping for was a bit of her homemade stollen and perhaps she'd still come good with it.

He walked the short distance back to his flat, enjoying the milder weather now April was properly taking hold. He let himself in, kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket up on the peg behind the door. He sorted himself out a coffee and sank down onto the sofa, letting his head rest against the back, listening to the sounds of the street below that drifted through the window.

He liked the wizarding quarter of Berlin. It was vibrant and lively, and there ware so many things going on Harry found himself distracted for long periods at a time…which seemed to be his primary goal in life these days. If he could just stop his mind from working on overdrive for a few hours at a time then he was able to find a little peace; the trouble was when he was left alone with nothing but his thoughts for company, that was when the demons seemed to creep in.

He was out most nights, sampling the many delights of Berlin's nightlife, both in the wizarding sector and the muggle one. He'd gone home with more blokes than he cared to think about but the relief they'd provided him had been temporary at best. It had been over a year since he'd left Britain to go travelling and he hadn't returned once in that time. Now he was seriously considering it, but he was struggling to find the impetus to go back, to discover a reason good enough to make him face everything that was waiting for him.

A knock at the door drew him from his thoughts. He placed his coffee to one side and pushed himself up from the sofa. As he approached the door, for one mad moment he had the feeling that he would find Severus on the other side of it. It had happened so many times in his dreams that he couldn't stop himself from hoping that one day it would happen in reality.

It wasn't Severus, instead it was a short, thin man who looked to be in his 50s with fair hair and a kind smile. "Mr Potter?" he asked, his accent soft and barely discernible.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Can I help you?"

"Would you mind if I came in for a moment? I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Confused but having no reason to refuse, Harry stepped aside and said, "Of course, come in."

The man stepped into the flat and Harry gestured to the sofa, both of them taking a seat and Harry waiting for the man to say whatever he had come there to say.

"Mr Potter, let me introduce myself. My name is Matthias Krüger, I specialise in Dark Magic. It's come to my attention that in the past few weeks you have been…helping several people with issues regarding such magic."

"Look, if I've been treading on your toes then I'm sorry. I'm not charging people or anything…I just help out if people ask me. I'll stop, I'm not trying to muscle in on anyone's business."

"Mr Potter, you misunderstand me," Matthias said with a smile. "I'm not here to chastise you, I'm here to make you an offer."

"An offer?" Harry echoed, confused.

"I know who you are, your name stretches further than Britain. I also know what you're capable of and I would like to help you realise those talents. I have specialised in the extraction of dark magic for nearly 30 years and I would like to offer to teach you in an…apprenticeship of sorts."

"You're offering me a job?" Harry ventured.

"Indeed," Matthias said with a nod. "Along with further education in the subject."

"I…don't know what to say," Harry said, taken aback. "I mean…thank you, I'm…very flattered. I just…hadn't considered making this into any kind of occupation."

"I understand, and I didn't expect an answer right away. Take some time to think it over then let me know what you decide."

Harry nodded and Matthias stood, his business now apparently taken care of. Harry showed him out, with the promise to send him an owl by the end of the week, then made his way out onto the balcony his flat boasted.

It was true what he'd said; he hadn't given any thought to making his so-called talents where dark magic was concerned into any kind of job, indeed, he hadn't given much thought to a job at all. He'd been living off his considerable inheritance since Hogwarts had been disbanded and had no need for a job, if he was truthful.

He'd always planned on having one though, of course. He hadn't ever planned on being an idle trust-fund brat who never worked a day in his life but he'd never felt strongly enough about anything to make a career out of it. He was good at extracting dark magic, that much was certain, but he had no idea if he wanted to pursue it as a job.

When Voldemort had fallen, Harry had sworn there would be no more dark wizards for him and so had very firmly decided against joining the aurors. He didn't want any more reminders of how evil people could be, of how wicked the world truly was sometimes. Extracting dark magic, though…that could be different, useful. He could help people like Frau Weber, help them reclaim their homes and chase away the shadows that had haunted them. Maybe that kind of work could be quite rewarding, especially if Matthias was able to help him hone his talents.

It was times like this he wished he had someone he could talk to. He wanted Severus there with him so badly it physically hurt. He wanted to be able to talk to the man like he used to, to hear his opinions, to chew things over until they made sense but their letters seemed to be fewer and fewer these days and were often no more than a few cursory sentences to let the other know that all was well.

Harry sighed and made his way back inside, deciding to write to Draco instead. His were the only letters that still came with any frequency and the ones Harry found easiest to reply to. Perhaps the man could help him come to a decision and maybe, if Harry was lucky, his friend would have some news of Severus that would tide him over until the next letter came.

~*~ October 2001 ~*~

Harry looked at his reflection and made sure his hair was as neat as it could be and that his suit was sitting properly on his frame. His stomach was doing somersaults and he hoped he didn't look as pig-sick as he felt. If it were in any way possible to avoid going he would have done so. He was cutting it pretty damn close as it was and, to his shame, was still contemplating ducking out.

"Pull yourself together," he growled at his reflection. "It's just a few hours and you want to see them all, you know you do."

He did want to see everybody, of course he did, but he was terribly apprehensive and, if he was honest with himself, he was worried about what he was going back to. He hadn't returned to England since Voldemort's fall, although he had never intended to stay away for so long, and the longer he stayed away the harder it seemed to go back. He knew, from the many letters he received from his friends, that they were missing him and that they desperately wanted to see him but surely they'd want to know why he hadn't come back to them.

Harry only wished he had an answer for them. When he'd left he'd done so to find some kind of closure, to put things behind him and let himself heal before he could move on with his life. He supposed the fact of the matter was that he hadn't managed to do that, not even slightly, and so going home seemed somehow out of the question.

He refused to think about the other thing that kept him away, which was of course to say he thought about it every hour of every bloody day. Severus crossed his thoughts a hundred times a day and there was barely a moment when he didn't wonder what the man was doing and whether he had spared Harry a passing thought. The man hadn't once written to him to ask him when he was coming back, nor had he ever asked if he might come and visit. Every letter he received from the man killed off a little more hope until he feared one day there would be none of it left.

He gave himself a shake and ran a hand through his hair, messing up his earlier handiwork. He rolled his eyes at himself and glanced up at the clock, realising it was now or never if he was to make it on time. Trying to ignore the horrible rolling of his stomach, he took a deep breath and apparated, arriving outside a pretty little country church.

"Harry!" came a voice to his left and he glanced over to see George waving at him from the porch, Fred standing beside him and both of them grinning.

"Hi," he said, approaching them with a smile. "I'm not late am I?"

"You're here before the bride, that's good enough for me," George replied, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, Fred doing the same immediately after.

"You look very serene for a man about to get married," Harry said, standing back to get a good look at the man.

"He knows he's getting a good deal," Fred piped up. "What man in their right mind wouldn't be ecstatic getting to marry Hermione?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," George said. "This day couldn't come soon enough."

"I'm happy for you," Harry said sincerely. "You both deserve nothing but the best."

"Don't get too soppy, mate," Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder. "This one's already got misty-eyed a fair few times today, the least little thing will set him off."

"I'll duck into the church before I set him off then," Harry said with a wink, steeling himself before he entered the church.

It was full and people were sitting in various pockets, holding animated conversations while they waited for the bride to arrive. He intended to slink into a pew out of sight but fortune wasn't smiling on him and Draco spotted him before he could blend into the shadows. He was beckoned over and he swallowed a couple of times before he walked between the pews, stopping to say hi to people as he went, hoping his smile didn't look as forced as it felt.

"We were almost giving up on you!" Draco said as Harry squeezed himself in next to the man.

"Sorry, got held up…with work."

"And here we were thinking George would be the one who was late," Ron said, an arm slung casually around Draco's shoulders.

"Your mother would kill him," Draco said with a snort.

He was, mercifully, spared the interrogation he'd been dreading as George and Fred came into the church as the organ started up. They made their way up to the front, George exchanging a few words with the vicar while Fred stood beside him proudly. Everyone got to their feet and Harry looked towards the back of the church to see Hermione walking arm-in-arm with her father down the aisle, Ginny and Luna following, the latter in a wheelchair.

She looked absolutely radiant, her dress beautiful, her hair in an intricate style and adorned with small white flowers. Her father guided her gently and it felt like a punch to the gut to remember that Hermione wouldn't be able to see any of this, she would have no idea what her own wedding looked like. She wouldn't be able to see the sea of smiling faces watching her as she walked and she wouldn't be able to see George waiting for her, looking like the proudest man to have ever walked the face of the earth.

George took her hand as she made it to the altar, her father stepping back and taking a seat next to her mother. Harry looked over to the other side to see Molly and Arthur looking up at the couple, beaming with joy, Molly looking as though she was on the verge of tears already. It was a beautiful tableau and Harry wished, with all his heart, that Hermione could see it for herself.

The ceremony was lovely and the sweet little church made for an atmospheric setting. Hermione and George both looked as though they might burst with happiness but, for all Harry was captivated with the happy couple, his attention was drawn to another point entirely. Across the aisle and a couple of pews back, Severus sat in a charcoal grey suit, watching proceedings with a gentle smile.

Harry's entire body ached at the sight of him and he wanted to cross the small distance between them and beg the man to hold him and never let him go. He looked well, very well, in fact, and the muggle formalwear suited him. His hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck and he looked as though he had put on some much-needed weight. Harry smiled, in spite of the pain in his chest, happy to see the man even if it wasn't the reunion he'd dreamt about so many times.

He tried to keep his attention focused on the happy couple but couldn't stop himself from sneaking glances at Severus every few minutes, hoping the man didn't spot him in his less than subtle scrutiny. He watched as vows were exchanged and then the licence was signed and, before he knew it, he was outside while pictures were taken.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're here," Hermione said as she gave him a hug almost as bone-crushing as George's.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said, hugging her back and trying not to think how, an hour ago, he'd been contemplating not coming at all. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you," Hermione said, pulling back, her unfocused eyes making Harry uncomfortable. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, then amended, "I'm great. Busy with work and stuff, you know?"

Hermione nodded with a smile. "I figured you must be busy…as we haven't seen you in over a year."

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. Things have just been…you know…But I promise I'll try and get back more often."

"It wasn't a criticism," Hermione said gently. "We just miss you, that's all."

"I miss you too," Harry said, his voice soft.

Hermione gave his hand a squeeze and said, "I'd better go and greet the other guests. You go and mingle, be sociable."

"I will, I promise," Harry said, forcing a smile.

Hermione seemed to give him a knowing look, although how that was possible Harry didn't know, before she left him to join George. Harry took a deep breath and looked over to the lychgate where Ron and Draco were standing with Severus. It was now or never and he gathered all his courage before he straightened his tie and walked over to them.

"You look absolutely dashing, Harry," Draco said with a smile that soothed Harry's nerves. "There's something to be said for muggle clothing, although I could make anything good, of course."

"Of course," Harry said with a grin, remembering just how much he liked the man. He turned to Severus and extended his hand, trying to keep his voice steady as he said, "Hello, Severus. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, Harry," Severus said, shaking Harry's hand, the contact sending a spark of electricity up Harry's arm.

"So come on, tell us all about this amazing career with one of the world's leading experts in dark magic," Ron said as Draco stepped near to him and slipped an arm around his waist, pulling himself close to Ron's body.

"Oh," Harry said, struck with desperate urge to do the same thing to Severus. "Well…Matthias has taken me on as his apprentice and I'm…learning a lot."

It sounded pathetic, he knew it did, but he was out of practice talking about himself and he'd never felt too comfortable doing so anyway. He was grateful when Draco gave him an encouraging smile and said, "Have you been able to work on many cases?"

Harry returned the smile and said, "Yes, one or two. Matthias is…an excellent teacher and he seems particularly keen to focus my…talents."

"Matthias Krüger is the best in the business," Severus said. "His work is truly unparalleled. It must have been very flattering to be approached by him."

Harry felt his cheeks heat as he said, "Yes, yes it was. It's also quite nice to have something of a purpose again after travelling for so long."

"Mm," Ron said, a slight frown between his brows. "Any idea when you might…stop travelling? Do you have any plans to come home?"

"Well…Matthias is based in Berlin so I'll be staying there for a while, at least until my apprenticeship is complete."

"Right…" Ron said, and Harry felt a pang at the disappointment in the man's face. "Well, maybe you can get some time off to come and stay over here for a bit?"

"Yeah, yeah sure," Harry replied, feeling a surge of affection for his friend and feeling like a heel for not coming back sooner.

More photos were taken and then they all made their way to the quaint little village hall where Hermione and George were having their reception. It was such a simple wedding, so down to earth and without fuss, a true reflection of who they were as a couple. There was so much happiness permeating the atmosphere and Harry tried so hard to drink it all in but he couldn't help but feel that it was all somehow…marred.

He sat at a table with Ron, Draco, Severus, Neville and Luna, wondering how that group of people made more sense together than he did among them. Neville and Draco chattered away like old friends, which was thoroughly bewildering to Harry. He'd understood from Draco's letters that the two men had ended up on the same Herbology course together but he hadn't realised they'd become quite so close.

They spoke about their course and the projects they were working on, gently teasing one another and throwing in the odd insult that went like water off a duck's back. Neville had turned into a confident and capable young man but Harry couldn't take his attention away from the walking stick that rested at his friend's side, a reminder of how much the man had suffered and how far his rehabilitation had yet to go.

Likewise, Luna's wheelchair sent waves of anxiety through him. She seemed entirely unfazed by it, indeed Harry wondered if she even noticed it at all, but he noticed. He remembered how he had avoided her completely in the days before he left, unable to cope with seeing her that way, unable to come to terms with her being robbed of something so important. He felt like a coward then and he felt just the same now as he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the damn chair.

"Look, I'm just saying that it's difficult when you know more than the damn instructor," Harry heard Ron say and he turned his attention to the conversation the man was having with Severus.

"It must be difficult to walk around with such a swollen head," Severus replied, smirking into his wine.

Ron snorted and said, "It's true, you know it's true. I actually had to correct something he was teaching us the other day."

"And you wonder why he hates you?"

"Oh push off," Ron said, giving Severus' shoulder a shove. "Anyway, you're one to talk. I saw that article you wrote in Potions Monthly absolutely ripping that guys to shreds. Care to comment?"

"I was right and he was wrong," Severus said with a shrug and Ron laughed.

"Oh Sev, you kill me," the man said, and Harry's insides twisted painfully.

It was hardly surprising that their friendship, as weird as it was, had continued but, not being presented with it every day, Harry had been able to push it to the back of his mind. He wanted to sit and joke with Severus the way Ron did, he wanted to be able to talk to him without feeling nerves in the pit of his stomach, he wanted so much more than whatever it was they had now.

He knew it was his fault; he'd left after all but part of him had hoped for so long that Severus would ask him to come back. The fact that he never had made Harry think that whatever they had once had was over and forgotten. If he hadn't been in the middle of a wedding he would have apparated the hell out of there as soon as he could.

Instead he plastered on a smile and answered questions that people asked him. He smiled through the speeches, laughed at Fred's delightfully bonkers best man one and tried not to wonder if the burns on his body had healed completely. He tried not to look over at the rest of the family and see the huge, gaping hole where Charlie should have been, tried not to wonder how the hell they were all coping with his death and how Molly and Arthur could face anything while the loss of their son hung over their heads.

That was a dangerous road to go down. It made him feel so inadequate to consider how much people had gone through, how much they had lost, and yet they all seemed able to carry on with their lives while Harry felt like he was desperately kicking water, trying to stay afloat. He felt like a failure, like he had no place among people who were able to cope and thrive while he floundered.

"You're not staying tonight then?" Severus asked while Harry did his best to avoid the dance floor and instead chucked drink after drink down his neck.

"Uh…no. I have work in the morning. I probably shouldn't stay too much longer…Matthias doesn't put up with sloppy work."

Severus nodded, his hands behind his back, then said, "Are you enjoying living in Berlin?"

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to put some conviction behind it. "It's a fun city to be in."

"Have you made friends?"

"I…" Harry said, considering his answer. No, he hadn't made any friends, not really. He spent his evenings either trawling bars or sitting in his flat alone, studying dark magic. He didn't socialise, not in any real sense, and he didn't know if he'd kept people at arm's length deliberately or by accident. "A few," he said eventually.

"And are you…seeing anyone?"

The question was asked so casually that Harry felt his gut twist painfully. Severus didn't care, he didn't care if Harry was in a relationship, he didn't care if Harry had moved on and that thought was more than Harry could bear.

"Um…you know…there are a…couple of people. I guess I'm…keeping my options open."

"I see," Severus said softly.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Harry said, his palms suddenly feeling clammy and his head spinning. Severus gave him a tight smile and Harry walked away, escaping outside.

He leant against the wall of the village hall and took a few deep breaths of air, willing himself not to cry. He had to leave, he had to get away from all these people he was supposed to know and love but who felt like strangers to him.

"Harry? You ok?"

Harry gave himself a shake and turned to see Draco looking around the door at him. "Yes," he forced out. "Um…I have to leave, I…I'm shattered and I have work in the morning."

"What? But the reception's still going. You can't leave yet."

"I have to, I'm sorry."

"Harry – "

"Say goodbye to everyone for me, ok, Drake?"

"Harry, wait!"

"Sorry," Harry said lamely before he apparated away back to his flat.

He grabbed a bottle of whisky from the sideboard in the kitchen and headed straight for the bedroom. He yanked off his clothes, chucking them on the floor before he climbed beneath the covers and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.

~*~ February 2002 ~*~

A knock at the door distracted Harry from the article he was reading and he looked across the room with a frown. He never had visitors, he never encouraged anyone to spend time in his home and certainly none of his…acquaintances knew where he lived.

He placed the paper to one side and got up, stretching his back out as he headed for the door. "Draco?" he said in amazement to find the man standing on the other side. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to invite me in, obviously."

Harry grinned, despite his surprise, and said, "Come in."

He stood aside and Draco entered the apartment, casting an eye over it as he went. "Very nice," he said, taking a seat on the sofa. "Are you going to offer me anything to drink?"

"Sorry," Harry said with a laugh. "Of course, what can I get you?"

"I can tell you're not used to hosting very often," Draco said, swinging one leg casually over the other and Harry actually felt a little giddy to see him again. He'd forgotten just how much he liked the man, how much he enjoyed his pithy one-liners and surprisingly gentle nature.

He made them both coffee and ferreted out a few biscuits that he had stowed away then joined Draco on the sofa, feeling the sudden insane urge to ask for a hug.

"How are you?" he asked as he poured them both coffee.

"How are you is the pertinent question," Draco replied, accepting the cup that Harry proffered.

"I'm fine," Harry said, resorting to his default answer.

"Is that why you didn't come home for the second Christmas in a row?"

"Drake – "

"I'm not here to tell you off…or to ask questions you don't want to answer but I'm worried about you, Harry…and…I miss you."

The last was said quietly but sincerely and Harry's chest hurt at the gentle assertion. He reached for Draco's hand, the demonstrative gesture so unlike him but feeling very much as though he needed some physical contact with the man.

"I miss you too," he said as Draco continued to hold his hand. "And I'm sorry I didn't come back…I was just…very busy. The work I do…it's hard to take holidays and…I guess I'm just very involved in it."

Draco nodded. "I've been reading about your achievements. You're garnering great acclaim."

Harry blushed and reluctantly let go of Draco's hand. "I'm doing alright, I guess. It's…fascinating work."

"Are you enjoying it?" Draco asked, tucking one leg beneath himself and angling his body towards Harry.

"I'm not sure if enjoying is the right word," Harry replied thoughtfully. "I mean…yeah…I enjoy aspects of it but it's tough sometimes. I like being able to help people and I like figuring out problems, finding a solution. I guess it brings out the detective in me."

"It sounds like you've really found your niche."

"I suppose so. What about you? How's the course going?"

"There's light at the end of the tunnel," Draco said with a sigh. "Nev and I want to get our qualifications under our belt and then go into business together."

"Wow, that sounds amazing. You two are still…getting on then?"

"Oh I adore him," Draco said breezily. "He's a genius and not a bad person to spend time with either. He has no head for business of course, which is where I'll be taking the reins, but he's the one with all the capital. Family money and all that, you know? Let's face it, I have no access to the Malfoy funds anymore."

It was said flippantly and with a wry smile but Harry knew the pain it must have caused the man. Draco had chosen his own path, it was true, but that didn't mean he didn't regret the complete alienation from everything he had ever known or that he wasn't haunted by the way his father met his eventual end.

"I'm sure you'll do brilliantly together," Harry said sincerely. "Funny to think of you two as friends."

"I know," Draco replied. "Funny to think of me among a bunch of Gryffindors in general really."

"How's Ron? How are his healer studies going?"

Draco smirked and sipped his coffee, saying, "That great big oaf. He's been fast-tracked, mostly owing to the fact that he continues to show his tutors up with how much more he knows than they do. He's graduating earlier and going into the further studies programme. He'll be specialising in emergency medicine."

"I can't believe it. I mean…I mean I can, obviously…I saw how amazing he was during the war but…it's Ron…you know? I always knew he was smart and that he could be bloody frightening when he put his mind to things but this is…incredible."

"He's a remarkable man," Draco said with a fond a smile. "A remarkable man who misses you," he added with a frown, the admonishment so gentle Harry could almost ignore it.

"I miss him too," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable. "I miss you all, I just…don't…I can't…I'm not ready yet."

Draco nodded as though he had suspected as much and said with a sigh, "No one expects you to come back permanently but…a visit every now and again wouldn't go amiss. Or…an invitation to come and visit you here would be well-received. Anything, Harry."

Harry didn't know what to say and so stared into his coffee, wondering how he could explain things when he couldn't explain them to himself. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment then looked up and said, "How's Severus?"

Draco gave him a look, one that Harry felt himself squirm under, before he said, "He's well, very well. His business is thriving and…he's moved back to the cottage."

"Oh," Harry said, the sound little more than a breath escaping his lungs.

"McGonagall left it to him in her will. He went back and forth about it for a long time but he finally decided to live there. He seems very settled."

All the memories of their time together in that cottage came flooding back and Harry felt as though as hand was around his neck, choking him. How could the man go back and live there? How could he bear it?

"Is he…is there anyone he…"

"He isn't seeing anyone," Draco said bluntly.

"He isn't?"

Draco shook his head. "No, but…there is a colleague that he mentions occasionally. I don't know if it's anything more than professional."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a horrible sense of cold creep up his spine.

"Harry," Draco said with a sigh, looking as though he was about to give Harry a very stern lecture, "why don't you just talk to the man?"

"I can't," Harry said, shaking his head. He got up and moved over to the French doors that led out onto the balcony. He looked out at the street that ran alongside his flat and waited for the pounding of his heart to slow down.

"You need to," Draco insisted, getting up and coming to stand next to him. "All of this could be avoided if you just sat down with him and had an adult conversation."

"Draco, he let me go, ok? He watched me leave and didn't come after me. He's never asked me to come back, not even for Christmas, and he hasn't given me any indication that he wants to…pick things up again. It's in the past, that's where it belongs."

"You don't know that. You don't know how he feels, you can't just give up on him."

"Drake, let it go. It's finished."

"It isn't though, is it? You're still in love with him."

"So? What does that matter? I can't make him love me back."

"He does love you," Draco insisted.

"How do you know that? Has he told you? No, I didn't think so."

"Harry – "

"Drake, it's lovely to see you and I really don't want you to go yet so please, for both our sakes, just drop it."

Draco gave him a sad smile and clapped a hand on his shoulder before he nodded his head in resignation and said, "Come on then. Treat me to lunch, show me around Berlin. I expect a sinfully expensive bottle of wine to wash it all down."

~*~ May 2003 ~*~

Christenings, Harry decided, needed to serve alcohol and it was a damn shame that they didn't. Maybe it was because christenings always took place in the morning and people thought it was unseemly to liquor up their guests or perhaps alcohol and the celebration of the birth of a child didn't mix. Either way, Harry would have appreciated just a little something to grease the wheels and make this whole ordeal less painful.

He had no idea why he'd been made godfather to George and Hermione's daughter. He had absolutely no experience with children to speak of and, if he said so himself, he'd hardly seen much of George and Hermione over the last couple of years. It was a gesture, he understood that, but it made him uncomfortable and he would have rather been able to hide in the background rather than being forefront and centre while he and Severus were sworn in as godparents.

They were in the same little church where George and Hermione had had their wedding and Harry was hoping and praying that no one would ask him to hold the squirming baby the way Severus was. Where on earth had the man learnt to be so bloody comfortable with a six week old anyway? And since when was he so bloody close to either parent that he warranted a position as godfather?

He had to tell himself to stop being so bitter. It was his fault he felt this way, after all. He'd been the one to keep staying away, despite Draco's continued gentle efforts to coax him back and, these days, it was only Draco he saw from the old gang. Of course it meant sense that Severus was godfather…what didn't make sense was him being one.

He plastered a smile on his face for proceedings and managed to duck being given the baby at every opportunity, finding himself back in George and Hermione's garden, listening to everyone else's conversation but not having a clue how to start one of his own.

Severus continued to hold the baby – Elodie, his mind kept reminding himself – and Harry was baffled to see the man so content with the arrangement. It made him feel wholly inadequate; he was certain the second anyone deposited the baby – Elodie – in his arms she would start crying, indeed he had no idea how you were even supposed to hold a baby. Some godfather he was.

Severus looked well, including the sleeping baby in his arms, and Harry felt ashamed at how resentful he was of the fact. Severus clearly wasn't having the kind of sleepless nights he was, wasn't lying awake thinking about all the countless what ifs, wasn't drinking himself into oblivion just to have a few moments of broken sleep. Severus clearly didn't hate every waking moment of his own existence the way Harry did and Harry wondered why that was the case.

Did he not miss him? Did he not consider all those moments they had together in the cottage? How could the man live there day after day and not be driven mad by the past? He was obviously so over it all that it didn't matter to him anymore and Harry's heart ached to think that that was truly the case. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the vial of pain relief potion that seemed to permanently live there these days, taking a sip and making sure no one saw him. He had a headache, he reasoned, and it would do his mood no good if it continued.

He ran a hand through his hair and felt his mouth go dry as he took a deep breath and approached the buffet table where Ron was standing perusing the goods on offer. "Hey," he said, aiming for laidback and casual. "Anything take your liking?"

"You know me," Ron said levelly, "food's food."

"Yeah," Harry said with a pathetic attempt at a laugh. "Still, not bad for a christening, I guess."

Ron nodded and grabbed a piece of quiche, taking a bite before he set it on his plate. "So, been busy?" he asked, turning to look at Harry finally.

"You know how it is with work. I mean, you must be run ragged."

"I am," Ron replied, his blue eyes searching Harry's face, "but as much as I love what I do I still try and make time for other things."

It was gently said but Harry heard the admonishment and he found himself looking down at his shoes, not sure if he could face vilification from the man. "Things are…I'm sorry I haven't been around much."

"Much?" Ron echoed with a derisive edge. "I can't remember the last time I saw you. I doubt anyone here can."

"Ron – "

"Make sure to eat something, Harry. You look like shit."

Ron drifted past him and Harry watched him go, feeling as though a lead weight had settled in his stomach. He glanced around the garden and watched as his friends all held easy conversations, conversations that he was shut out from, that he didn't understand. He didn't know half the people they were talking about and had no notion of the events they spoke about. He may as well have been with a bunch of strangers for all the familiarity he felt.

"I wouldn't take it personally," came a voice to his side and he reluctantly turned to see Severus beside him, mercifully minus the baby.

"That my best mate hates me? Yeah, I'll try not to take that too personally," Harry said, flopping down at the table.

"He doesn't hate you," Severus said, sitting across from him. "He misses you. He has no idea how to deal with that."

"The man with the emotional range of a teaspoon? You do surprise me," Harry said with more bite in his tone than he'd intended.

"You do him a disservice thinking of him in those terms."

"I forgot that the two of you were best buddies," Harry said sourly. "I doubt very much that he misses me with you around. That either of you do."

"Harry – "

"I'd better go and speak to Hermione. I guess I should cement my place as secondary godfather."

"Harry – "

He pushed himself up from the table and made a beeline for Hermione, taking her elbow and hearing the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them as he said, "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I need to leave."

"Now?" Hermione asked, surprised, her blank eyes searching his face even though Harry knew it was impossible. "Harry you promised you'd stay until the evening."

"I know but something's come up and I have to take off."

Hermione's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth, no doubt to offer some kind of remonstration, but she closed it again and took a step back, her expression suddenly horribly neutral. "I see," she said eventually. "I'm sorry to hear that, Harry, really. Will you…come and visit us again soon?"

"I'll…do my best," Harry said, unwilling to make a promise he knew he would inevitably break. "Give the baby a kiss for me. Elodie, give Elodie a kiss for me."

Hermione nodded, her expression sombre and Harry briefly toyed with the idea of saying goodbye to others but decided he was too much of a coward. He walked around the side of the house apparated away, surprised to find that he materialised in front of Grimmauld. He'd had no intention of going there but apparently his mind had made itself up before he realised it.

Sighing in resignation, he made his way up the steps and let himself in, the wards giving way to his touch immediately. The horrible old house had changed in recent years; he'd had a team of decorators and renovators in, the task of tarting the place up made easier by the total absence of dark magic, and now it was a much more inviting place to stay.

It would never be home, that much he was sure of, but at least it didn't make his skin crawl just to be there. He didn't know why he was there now, what had prompted him to return when he could just have easily apparated himself back to his own flat. He toed off his shoes and made his way into the living room, the gentle creams and blues far more welcoming than the foreboding black had previously been.

He sank down into one of the armchairs, one that he must have ordered at some point but that he had no memory of doing so. Indeed, he had no memory of ordering any of the furniture that was dotted around the place, replacing all the ugly old stuff that had been there before. He wondered if perhaps Draco had been in and seen to things. He'd keyed the wards long ago to admit the man, feeling that, as an actual descendent of the Black line, Draco had as much right to have access as he did.

He smiled to think of his friend coming in and furnishing the place and, as he looked around, he realised the room was littered with the man's tastes and touches. It gave him a warm, comforting feeling to think of his friend permeating through the place and he remembered the times he and Draco had sat in this very room together and how nice it had been.

It was odd, or perhaps not so very odd, that, besides Severus, Draco was the one he missed the most. Conversely, Draco was also the one that he saw the most but the times in between he found himself yearning for the man's gentle smiles and his easy conversation. Part of him, a part that he usually refused to acknowledge, had accepted that his friendship with Ron wouldn't ever be the same as it once was but things never felt so hopeless with Draco.

The man was so different from the boy of his youth to be almost unrecognisable. He could still out-swagger the best of them and, when he chose to, he could be a pompous arse, but he was such a thoroughly decent man that Harry loved him completely. He felt soothed in Draco's presence, understood somehow, and part of him considered returning to England simply to spend more time with the man.

He sighed and rested his head against the back of the chair, casting an eye about the place and remembering all that had taken place there in the final few months before the last showdown with Voldemort. He could still remember the horror of people coming back wounded, the monotony of waiting around while everyone else was out on missions and the bliss of having Severus return to him.

So much had happened within these walls, most of it painful and unhappy, and Harry had tried to forget the majority of it. He had done his best to push away the memories of the injured returning and the house turning into a makeshift hospital, Ron desperately working to save everyone. He remembered the people who had died in the next room and the heavy, suffocating burden that he felt pressing down on him the make sure no one else lost their lives because of him.

He growled and pushed himself out of his chair, heading for the kitchen to see if there was any alcohol left over from the last time he'd stayed there. Mid-afternoon really wasn't an acceptable time to start drinking but he cared less and less these days and the sooner he'd drunk himself into a stupor the better.

~*~ September 2004 ~*~

Harry watched and tried to tune out the shouting while Erik moved around the room, stuffing things haphazardly into a rucksack. He resisted the urge to point out that he had never asked for those things to make their way into his flat but Erik was unlikely to either hear or listen given the mood he was in.

"You knew how much this meant to me, how much I wanted you there and still you didn't come," Erik raged as he grabbed a few things from the dresser and threw them in the bag.

"I was – "

"Don't," Erik snapped. "Don't say you were working, you're always bloody working. You could have made an exception just this once."

Harry opened his mouth but closed it again, not really knowing what he could say and realising that there was very little that would help the situation. Erik chucked the bag down on the floor and turned to face him, anger but also a kind of sad resignation etched into his handsome features.

"You know, my friends keep telling me that you're a waste of time, that you're stringing me along, that the fact you can't be bothered to do anything with me shows that you're not invested. You know what? They're right."

"Erik – "

"Tell me they're wrong, Harry," Erik said, his expression hard. "Tell me you want to be with me. Tell me that this…farce we have is actually a relationship."

Harry ran his tongue over his too-dry lips and wished he could argue with the man. He hadn't been fair and he knew it but, selfishly, he'd wanted a little company to banish the long, cold, lonely night and Erik had done that. The trouble was that was all it had ever been, to Harry at least, and he'd been inadvertently cruel to Erik in seeking it.

"That's what I thought," Erik said with a curt nod. "You know, Harry, you're not a bad man…you're just not a very good one."

Well that stung, as it was meant to, and Harry looked up the man, trying to convey how sorry he was as he said, "I never meant to hurt you."

"You never mean to hurt anyone and yet somehow you always do. Face it, Harry, you're messed up. You can't commit to anyone or anything and you know damn well why."

Harry's lips pursed and he damned himself for that one drunken evening when he'd spilt his guts to Erik and confessed everything about Severus. He'd never told anyone that particular bit of history before, mostly because no one had ever stayed more than a night, but he and Erik had managed to last for three months at that point and it had seemed like a good idea to unburden himself.

"It's got nothing to do with him," he said tightly and Erik raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Yes it does. You can't forget him, you can't move on and you don't want anyone else but him. Well you know what? Why don't you just put everyone out of their misery and go and fucking get him!"

"I don't – "

"Grow up, Harry. Until you can figure this out you're going to be a deeply unhappy man. Take my advice and stay away from other people until you do, it's cruel and unfair to drag them into your fucked up world."

He grabbed the bag and left the bedroom, Harry hearing the flat's front door slam moments later. He let out a long sigh and collapsed back on the bed, looking at the empty spaces where Erik's things had been. He wasn't heartbroken, he knew it, but it still didn't feel great. He'd liked Erik, enjoyed his company, felt compatible enough with him in bed but…he'd never loved him.

He'd never loved anyone but Severus. None of the people who'd paraded through his bed in the past few years had ever come close to touching his heart, indeed, he would struggle to remember the names of most of them. They'd all been nothing more than distractions, a momentary relief, and then gone like dust in the wind.

He'd kept everyone at arm's length, deliberately avoiding anything that resembled a relationship because he had nothing left to give anyone. He was living a half-life and he knew it but he hadn't had the bravery to do anything about it. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard on the strands and feeling something that felt like anger boil in his chest.

He flung himself off the bed and headed for his study, sitting down at his desk and extracting a piece of parchment and a quill. He stared at it for a moment, jaw set firm, before he dipped the quill in ink and wrote, 'Dear Severus'. He looked at the ink twinkling wet in the soft light of the study, uncertainty and doubt seeping in as it dried into the parchment.

He swallowed hard and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He couldn't do it, just as he hadn't been able to all the other countless times he'd tried to in the past. He felt tears prick his eyes and he tried to will them away as he grabbed the parchment and chucked it viciously in the bin.

~*~ June 2006 ~*~

Harry looked down at the speech in his hands and cleared his throat before he looked out at the crowd below. His pulse was beating hard against his throat and his palms were uncomfortably clammy. "Good evening everyone," he began, gratified that his voice didn't wobble. Faces smiled up at him and several bulbs flashed as pictures were taken.

"I would like to thank you for this incredible honour and recognition of my work. The field of dark magic and its eradication is one that I'm proud to work in, although it doesn't come without its trials and tribulations. I'd like to thank my friend and mentor, Matthias Krüger, who has continued to guide and teach me over the years and without whom I wouldn't be where I am today."

He paused and gripped his notes tightly, swallowing hard before he said, "I should also like to acknowledge a debt of gratitude to Severus Snape." A few whispers went up around the room but Harry ignored them, tilting his chin as he said, "The man was my first teacher in…many things…and without his knowledge and expertise I would have been truly lost. He was imperative in the fight against Voldemort and…a greater man I've never known."

The whispers died down a little and Harry took a deep breath and said, "Thank you for this award. I love my work and I'm very proud of the things I've managed to achieve. I hope to continue within this field for many years to come and I'm grateful for the support of my peers and colleagues within the discipline."

He gave a small bow and descended the stage as the crowd applauded, feeling relieved that it was over and done with. He clutched the award in his hand, proud despite his discomfort, and went back to sit as his table.

"Nice speech," Luca said with a grin as he slid into his seat.

"Thanks," Harry said, rolling his eyes, his cheeks still feeling hot. "Pass the wine."

Luca did as he was asked and the room was, thankfully, abuzz with conversation again as Harry's award had been the last of the evening. He was wondering when would be an acceptable time to duck out and go home, hating being amongst such a big crowd.

"Game face on, Harry," Luca said with a knowing smile. "You have to stay and spend some time with your adoring public before you slink away."

"Piss off," Harry said good-naturedly. "I'm going to see if they have any decent whisky at the bar, cover for me if anyone comes asking after me."

"They will, you know they will. You're the darling of the hour."

"Luca, that charming smile might work on other people but it does nothing for me."

"That's not what you said last month," Luca said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry snorted and left the table, needing something stronger to get him through the next hour of glad-handing and 'shop-talk'. He approached the bar and was about to signal the bartender when he heard his name and he turned, almost freezing to the spot when he saw who was standing there.

"Severus," he said, the man's name escaping him in a breath of disbelief. "What are you – "

"Draco told me about the award. I wanted to…come and support you."

"Oh," Harry said softly, so touched he didn't think he'd be able to express it. "Thank you, that's…I'm so glad to see you here."

"It's a remarkable achievement, you must be very proud."

"I…yes…I am," Harry said, feeling every inch of his body ache to move closer, to press himself into Severus' arms and stay there forever. It hurt to be this close to him but unable to touch him, to be touched, and it took every last bit of strength he had to deny himself. "How…how are you?" he forced out.

"Well, thank you. My business is thriving and life is…quiet."

Mouth dry, Harry asked, "And the cottage? You're still living there?"

Severus nodded, his expression unreadable, and Harry's chest tightened. That cottage with all its memories was the place Harry escaped to in his mind when things were particularly tough, it was his little haven even though he hadn't set foot in it in years.

"It's really good to see you. I've been meaning to write."

"As have I. I was…hoping we could talk."

A tiny spark of hope fluttered in Harry's chest and a tiny smile curved the corners of his mouth as he said breathily, "Yeah…of course. That'd be great. I just have to say a few goodbyes and we can – "

"Harry, love. You need to come back," came Luca's voice beside him. "The press want a word, Tobias is desperate to lock you into that Cresswell job and I'm feeling terribly neglected."

"Luca – "

"You promised I'd have your full attention."

"Luca, I'm busy," Harry ground out, jerking his head towards Severus.

"Oh hello," Luca said with a broad smile. "Sorry to interrupt but this one's needed. What a terrible burden to be so adored, eh?"

"Indeed," Severus said with a tight smile. "I should let you get on, Harry."

"No, Severus, wait."

"I can see this is a bad time. You have other claims on your time," the man said, casting a look at Luca and clearly misreading the situation.

"It isn't – "

"Congratulations on your award, Harry. You truly deserve it."

Severus inclined his head in a bow and, without giving either Harry or Luca a second look, walked swiftly away, Harry feeling as though his heart had crumpled within his chest.

"Who was that?" Luca asked, oblivious to the tumult of Harry's emotions.

"The love of my life," Harry whispered unhappily, watching Severus' retreating back and feeling every last vestige of hope ebb away from him.

~*~ April 2007 ~*~

The glass shattered against the wall satisfyingly and Harry watched as the last vestiges of his drink dripped down the wall but it didn't make any difference, the pain was still pulsing through his entire body. His muscles ached with each tiny movement and his joints were swollen and painful. His skin felt stretched, his head pounded and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had any proper sleep.

He sank back down into his chair and cradled his head in his hands, trying to stave off the tears. He couldn't think straight, couldn't find any relief, any comfort, and pills and potions had done nothing to alleviate his symptoms. He'd been pouring alcohol down his throat, although that wasn't exactly a great change from his normal routine, and even though it drugged him into sleep sometimes it did little else to help.

It was the curse, it had to be, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He'd seen a couple of healers but they'd been next to useless and he might as well have gone to seek help from the troll that had once bedevilled the girls' lavatory at Hogwarts. It hadn't seemed so bad at first, he'd felt like hell for a couple of days after he'd first been hit but then it had seemed to subside. Now though, he felt as if he was losing his mind.

He'd felt pain in the past, unbearable, twisting, ugly pain but never for this long, never over this sustained period of time with no relief and nothing that could make it better. He felt hollow, felt as if any goodness had been stripped from him and he could focus on nothing but the continued pain he was in. His mind was clouded with it and his days were beginning to blur into nothing but one big mass of suffering.

He couldn't cope with it anymore, he couldn't take another day, another hour, of feeling this way. He knew what he needed to do, but he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to, hoping that it would sort itself out eventually but that hope was now long gone. He stared up at the wall where he'd flung his glass, watching the last few droplets making their slow descent down the paintwork, and knew, with a kind of doomed certainty, that he had to go home.

AN: I don't think I've ever worked so hard on anything as I did on this chapter. I planned it, drafted it, re-drafted it, edited it to within an inch of its life and finally ended up with something that I'm very proud of. If any of you have suffered alienation or separation from loved ones, you'll know that it can often be a gradual, quiet sort of thing, especially when mental health is thrown into the mix. I really wanted to illustrate how a person can become a stranger in their own life and how devastating that really is. I hope you feel I managed to achieve that and I'm really looking forward to hearing your thoughts.