SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to the talented  J.K. Rowling. Only the plot is mine.

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CHAPTER 2

Oh Dear God! screamed his head. A feeling of dread had settled into the pit of his stomach, but outwardly he looked at the two officers and replied, "I'm Jason Green. Can I help you?"

"May we come in?"

"Of course." Harry moved to let the officers in and then closed the door behind them. He did not move further into the flat though. He leaned against the door and eyed the officers expectantly.

"Sir, we are very sorry. Mr. Greg Peterson was involved in an accident this morning. He was the pedestrian victim of a hit and run accident about an hour ago on the corner of..."

Harry wasn't listening anymore. He thought he felt his heart stop. He didn't notice his body slide down the length of the wall and land hard on the floor. A searing pain had broken out into his chest, his head, his throat and his eyes. Briefly he wondered whether Greg had survived the accident, but cool common sense informed him that the officers would not be so sorry about the accident if he had survived and they would be hurrying him into action if Greg was waiting for him in a hospital.

He felt himself being helped up by the officers and being helped to the couch.

"Can we get you anything sir, can we ring anybody to come and sit with you at this time?"

"Wha…uh…no…thank you. Thank you for coming. I just…I need…" Harry couldn't stop the tears.

"We don't quite know how to ask this sir, but we need you to come and identify the body. We don't have to leave this minute if you don't feel you can though."

"No, it's fine. I'll just clean up and get changed. I'll be right back."

*****

Harry could barely breathe as he was driven to the hospital. He could scarcely register his surroundings as he was led into the room where Greg's body was being held. It was a cold room, everything was so harsh and sterile. Greg lay on the table.

"Oh my God."

"Is that Greg Peterson sir?"

"Yes it is." And he promptly fainted.

*****

The next week went by in a haze of fogginess and non-awareness. Greg's parents came down to be with Harry and to organise the funeral which was scheduled for the Saturday of the weekend he and Greg were supposed to be spending in Scotland.

"Damn," muttered Harry. He was presently sitting in his armchair staring into the fire. He had taken leave from work and had spent most of the week moping or drinking. The chair beside his was glaringly empty. It was Greg's chair. They would spent many evenings together staring into the fire. When the weather was too warm for a fire, they would spend many evenings playing board games or sitting in the kitchen which had a big window with a lovely view. They took pleasure in each other's company and words weren't always necessary between them. They were happy to share silent companionship.

"Why did you leave me? I need you Greg. I really do. I love you…so…much. Why did you have to go? I had big plans for us. Then again, it really is just the way my luck swings isn't it? I mean I lost my whole family to the war with Voldemort. Mum, Dad, Sirius. A lot of friends and good people died then. For what? Just about everyone I get close to dies. Why? Don't I deserve a little bit of happiness? Just a little? I'm not asking for a whole lot. I only wanted Greg. Just Greg. Just one little thing. Just one.

"You were always my hero. Always. You saved me from drowning in nightmares. You stopped me from hating myself. For just a little while I forgot I was Harry-bloody-Potter. I forgot I was the boy-who-bloody-well-lived. For a little while I was just Jason Green, London chemist and partner and lover of Greg Peterson. I didn't deserve you. I didn't even give you an explanation. I never even told you. I loved you but I couldn't tell you who I was. I feel like a heel. How can I ask your forgiveness? How can I even dare? Would you have forgiven me? Yes, I think you would. You were all goodness. Would you have understood. No, but you would have tried. Damn it. What am I going to do?"

Harry wiped the tears from his face. Three days on and he was still crying. He thought he would have cried himself dry by now but apparently he hadn't.

He knew he had to move out of his flat though. He couldn't function here. Everywhere he looked he saw and felt Greg. When he sat in the lounge room he could see Greg in his favourite arm chair reading or drinking his favourite champagne, or even just sleeping on the couch. When he went into the kitchen he could see him working at the stove. When he entered the bedroom he could remember how it felt to make love to Greg. He could still feel his soft and skilled hands on his body, running along his back up his neck and tangling themselves in his untidy hair. He could still feel his kisses on his lips, his skin. And he could remember how he felt under his hands. Greg was sensitive to touch. He would arch into Harry's hands at the smallest contact. He remembered that Greg loved to be kissed and licked just below his ear. How it would make him gasp and moan and arch right into him. The first time Harry had discovered that spot, the intensity of his reaction made him stop for a little while. Greg had just taken his head in his hands and said "If you don't finish what you started, I'm going to have to hurt you in ways that a man should never be hurt!" It had sent the both of them off into fits of laughter.

Harry slept in his chair by the fire again that night. He couldn't bear to sleep in their bed. He wasn't even able to sleep unless he took sleeping pills either. Harry knew that it was a bad habit but he simply didn't care right now. He didn't care about anything. He had lost the most important thing in his life and he was right at the end of caring.

Fate had delivered yet another blow to Harry Potter. If anybody had been looking at Harry closely they would have noticed that he had started to wear long sleeves, even though it was the middle of summer. No one noticed. Harry didn't actually expect anyone to care. He had only really seen Greg's parents and the staff at his pharmacy since his lover had died and that had only been three days ago. Harry had taken to injuring himself.

The day after he had identified Greg's body, Harry had seriously considered killing himself. Joining Greg. He could easily have killed himself with magic, but he decided that he wanted something more "real" and more painful. Something he could see. He wanted to be able to see the life drip out of him. He sat down on the floor of the bathroom with a set of knife blades in his hand and lightly skimmed the skin off his wrist where he could see the vein stick up. Just lightly at first. Just enough to break the surface and see the blood bead on the skin. Could he do it? He could. Did he want to? There was a tough one. He didn't want to be here anymore. He knew that much, but something was holding him back. He didn't know what it was, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. For a brief period he thought that maybe he shouldn't kill himself. Considering his past actions, he'd probably be going straight to hell in an express. He may have rid the world of Voldemort but he had killed too many people and caused the deaths of so many more in the process. Could the end really justify the means? Harry thought not. One person's life is not more important than another person's life. Each person who had died during the war was just as important as himself or any other person. The souls of innumerable dead people weighed heavily on the young man.

He couldn't kill himself. But he could definitely hurt himself. Seeing the blood dripping from his arm was fascinating and for a brief period, he wasn't hurting for Greg. He wasn't in anguish and his heart didn't feel like it was going to burst. He had found a release. Something to focus on instead of the vacant hole in his heart. Watching his blood flow was fascinating. He didn't realise that something so mundane could be so relaxing. He ran the blade over his wrist again and again. Feeling the small sting as the blade sliced into his flesh and watching the beading he could forget for a small time. He had control. He had a release. And he was fascinated at how much blood could come from such small wounds.

The sting of the wounds, the sting of the dettol which he applied to his wounds all distracted him from his grief.

"Ah Greg, what will I do without you?"

*****

The funeral was drawing to a close. Harry sat between Greg's parents in a state of numbness. After the service, he couldn't bring himself to view the body in the coffin. He just couldn't. He wanted to remember Greg as he was when he was alive, not laid out in a coffin. He excused himself from the service and went out for some air. Hands in his pockets he found himself walking briskly through a park. He paused at the edge of the small river running through it and tried to clear his head. He couldn't live like this. He needed a plan. He was stronger than this. He was a survivor. After all, he thought dryly, that's what he was born for, right – surviving?

He sat down at lake's edge and pondered his position. He knew he had to move out of his flat, possibly even away from London. He just couldn't stay here. Good work Potter, he thought to himself. Running again. You seem to do that a lot don't you? "Sod off," he snapped at his inner voice. Several people turned to stare at him. Harry blushed.

"Ah, mosquitoes. Can't stand them. Huge buggers too," he mumbled to the onlookers by way of explanation.

Way to go Potter, now everyone thinks you're two sandwiches short of a picnic, you froot loop! He thought to himself. As he got up to leave, a loose page of a newspaper flew into his leg. Harry bent to remove it when he drew back in surprise. The pictures on the page were moving. But the only newspapers with moving pictures were wizard's newspapers. Surely a wizard wouldn't have been so careless as to discard their paper in  muggle park, would they?

Harry bent to pick it up. The paper was advertising various wizarding items such as broom sticks. One page was an employment advertisement page and one particular advertisement caught his eye. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was advertising for someone to fill the post of Professor teaching Defence against the Dark Arts.

"I'll bet that position is still cursed," chuckled Harry. He moved to throw the paper away when he stopped and caught himself. He didn't know why the advertisement had caught his interest the way it did but he found himself folding the page and putting it into his pocket. He walked a bit further so that he was hidden amongst the trees in the park and apparated to his flat in London to think about the advertisement a bit more.

*****

Harry sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper page sitting flat out in front of him. A part of him wanted to take the job. He missed Ron and Hermione. He missed waking up surrounded by magic and living life through magic. On the other hand, a large part of him had washed his hands of the wizarding world forever. In London he was Jason Green, a chemist. In the wizarding world he was a hero, a saviour, the boy-who-lived, a  puppet-head for everybody to look at. No one cared what that entailed and no one cared about the effect it had on him. He had been responsible for countless deaths in pursuit of the one purpose for which he had been born. People associated Harry Potter with Voldemort. They didn't associate Harry Potter with bacon, for instance, which he loved. They didn't associate Harry Potter with coffee, which he also loved.

He loved his life but everything reminded him of Greg. The wizarding world was about as different from anything having to do with his lover as it got. Harry thought that it might be good if he could go back for a year to heal. Away from everything associated with Greg or the life he led with him

'But it would be Hell. Everybody would demand to know where I went. Everybody would want to see me and parade me around like a bloody specimen.' He thought.

"I don't need to be gawked at and I don't need to be pitied. Why can't everyone just leave me alone!" He cried aloud to himself. At the sudden outburst, a bit of magic escaped from Harry and it flicked the t.v. in the lounge room on.

"Shit, I can't do it. I just want to be left alone. I'll never get that if I go back. Shit." Harry said softly to himself. He moved to turn the t.v. off but the programme caught his eye. It was an exclusive interview with the cast and crew of the "Addams Family" movies and it was an in-depth special on the making of the movies. What caught Harry's eye was the fact that they were talking about the make-up required to "create" the various characters, like Cousin It.

The more Harry thought about it, the more he could see that it might work. He might be able to hide in the wizarding world if no body recognised him. He had been taught how to effect complex concealment spells during his rigorous training during the war. He could easily alter his appearance. The only problem was that they wouldn't alter the colour of his eyes. And the colour of Harry's eyes was as well known as Harry's scar. Coloured contact lenses would take care of those.

Harry had the opportunity now, but could he do it. More importantly, did he want to? He was honest enough to be able to admit to himself that he was curious to see the wizarding world again, but that he was also scared of the painful memories it would bring back. He ran to the muggle world as he didn't really have painful memories to associate with it – aside from his life with the Dursleys – but they could be easily avoided. Now he had no where left to run. There was pain on both sides of the line. What could he do? Visiting the wizarding world would be tough but so would setting up a whole new muggle life without Greg.

He decided that he would apply to Albus for the position. If he actually got it, he would worry about what to do then.

He spent the entire evening composing a letter to Albus that would gloss over the fact that he had no references or prior experience and he couldn't admit where he went to school. Jason Green didn't exist anywhere in the wizarding world except at Gringotts where he had an account. He sent the letter off with Hedwig who still lived with him and took some sleeping pills before he fell asleep in the kitchen.

*****

The next day dawned bright. Just bloody typical, thought Harry. Someone died and the morning has to be so happy! he was surprised to wake up and find that Hedwig was standing in front of him with her leg held out before him.

That was fast, he thought.  Albus must be desperate!

He took the letter from Hedwig and read it quickly:

Dear Mr Green,

We acknowledge receipt of your letter of application and would be pleased if you would attend an interview at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this morning at 10:00 am.

Looking forward to meeting you

Yours faithfully,

Albus Dumbledore

"Good grief! It's half past nine. I'm going to have to move fast!"

Harry quickly pulled on some clean clothes and apparated to Hogsmeade and began making his way up the path to the castle, thinking about how he was going to go about keeping his identity a secret from the wily old man that was the headmaster of the school.