Angst-ridden

All characters from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. This is a work of fiction (its fan fiction, really) and any part of this written work resembles anything in real life is purely coincidental (maybe…)

The typical English rain permeated through his invisibility cloak. Here he was, standing in the rain, water pouring, mixing, mingling with his tears, fogging up his spectacles. He was looking in, not caring if anyone, muggles or otherwise, bumps into him, in fact, a few did. But he didn't care. All he cared was looking in. They say I'm all powerful, but its not true. I'm a failure in disguise. Having been on the job for two days without sleep, he should have been apparating back home, sleeping in his apartment (despite being financially well off, he lives in a small apartment). No, he had to take a chance, just one last time for the night.

There she is, holding that beautiful child with tufts of red hair, caressing with love and care. Herboyfriend smiling, hugging, cooing along with her. How lucky can they be? Do they know what I have lost in order to give this life? Sometimes, he just feels that he not only needs to risk death for the world, but to live it for the world as well. All these years…Not unexpected, but all these years. Some rumours created long ago still circle about, like the fact that he is loves Ginerva The truth is, that died quickly in the beginning of the Hunt. All these years…

The man, known throughout the world since the magical/non-magical mergence, was in hiding. Not because he is in wanted by the authorities, but because it was the only way to shun the hurt since the Wedding. If there is anyone who objects the joining of these two lovers, speak now or forever hold your peace. Naturally, he did. Love may have killed Voldemort, but what is left is an empty shell of a man who knows that all love received is hopeless if he cannot give love in return. Goodnight, my friend. With a small whisper, like a gust of wind, he apparated back into his abode, bringing with him painful memories, and leaving happy times, once again, into the cheery home and roaring fire.

Shedding the cloak and taking a deep shower, he fell immediately to sleep, dreaming of dreams he dreamt every night since the Victory.

Three Years Later

The night was a moonless one. Trees surrounded the both of them. One chasing the other. Branches reached out to the both of them, hoping to snatched either one into its ensnaring arms, tangling one forever. A blast of light from a wand tripped the runner. Down he went and the chaser, a man of raven hair quickly went to the spot of the downed runner. Picking the person up, both disappeared in a pop, leaving the sounds of the night forest to replace any and all foreign noises around the area.

The raven haired man suddenly appeared in a room filled with people, many wearing badges not unlike of those found belonging to the Royal Police Force. "Here he is, sir, Number 47, present and accounted for."

A man returned with short, "Good job, Harry. Bring him to lockup." "All right George," was the reply the man received. The man was around his fifties, but being ex-military in the magical world, he has already tried to push down the growing gut. The stress was also killing him, always finding himself going through at least two cigars per day. Harry was his best man at tracking the remaining DE's (Death Eaters) and he does it exceptionally well. Too well. Wonder if the lad had any slept at all. In fact, the capture of Number 47 was assigned to Harry barely 72 hours ago. This was the 13th case that Harry has done for the past month. Less than a month ago, George Peuric (pronounced Purik under penalty of death) had to force Harry to take two weeks off after taking on 23 cases himself. "No partners. That was the deal, George" and no partner was ever given to the young Captain in Deniables. A walking zombie, that lad is. Returning to the amassing paperwork, George continued to find the plot the location of Number 48. This time, I'll let that new kid, Nick, handle it. As for Harry, he's due for another forced vacation.

Down in "Lock-up" Harry brought Number 47 to a room of pure white. The walls were paid special attention to as pillow charms, anti-apparition spells, cameras, microphones and other ends were increasing well laid upon these walls. A prison with no escape. If Azkaban was torture to the mind, Lock-Up was torture both mind and body. No privacy and only the horrors of reliving past crimes is allowed in this place. As for Harry, he was dead tired. Not having slept for the past three days, he was ready to return to the apartment and sleep the regulatory 12 hours before returning to the Firm. Giving Number 47 to the Lock-Up crew, Harry went straight out to the apparition point and gave a loud pop to his apartment. Shedding off his wet clothes for dry ones, Harry immediately went to sleep, but not before his eyes glance fleetingly with longing of a picture beside his bed. Dreaming of nightmares he cannot fight. Dreaming of the woman in the picture, the baby in her arms, and a herboyfriend wrapping his arms around the woman he, Harry loves.

Author Notes: After reading the 6th book, I was quite surprised with the complete 360 of certain things. Ron excluded (he's just his daft self in the book). Don't know who is reading these A/N's but a WARNING, this will be quite angst ridden, and poorly written because of the late nights I'm writing this and not being betae'd. Oh, before you people hound me for more of this work, a word of CAUTION, this work will come very slowly (school starts in 6 days)