Author's note: Ok, well, I have not done this fanfiction thing in quite a while but I though that I might give it another shot since it seems that the faces have changed and I could use a break from writing essays and practicing. I started this story when I was in Germany last summer right after I read the sixth Harry Potter book. The idea was bugging me so I wrote it out to get it out of my head so that I could pay attention in my classes. I am currently trying to write from memory being as what I wrote is somewhere in New Jersey and I am currently in Ohio and do not really feel like waiting for winter break to start this monster.

In addition, I know that I hate it when authors do not update a lot. However, I do not really have the time to update very often but I will try very hard to update REGULARLY. I will try to update with something every other Saturday. It might not be long but I will at least touch base so you know that I am still kicking around.

Disclaimer: This story is not endorsed by JK Rowling, Scholastic books or any other affiliate of Harry Potter. Furthermore, no money is being made from this venture.

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It was a cold November night in a bar in Reykjavik. The music was loud and the patrons were drunk, laughing and dancing and overall having a good time. There were a few British tourists looking for a fight but a group of Icelanders was more than happy to oblige them, which had gotten them kicked out of the bar. All in all, it was a rather typical Friday night in Reykjavik.

Harry Potter sat at the bar hunched over his glass. He looked into it, knowing that he was supposed to do something now that the drink was gone. Was it gone? Yes, yes, it seemed to be. What did he do next?

He continued to stare into his glass when one of the few patrons of the bar who ever bothered to pay him any mind sat in the stool next to him.

"Hey man, how's it goin'?" the young man said jovially.

Harry just kept staring into his glass.

"Hello, Biddi" Harry slurred after a moment, still preferring to make eye contact with his glass rather than with his conversant.

Biddi was a big guy who had a taste for alcohol and a mind to party. He was an extremely loyal friend and had always felt bad for that strange British man who always sat alone at the bar getting sloshed beyond belief. Biddi had even called a cab for Harry once or twice when Harry could no longer walk. Biddi was only a nickname of course; his full name was far too complex for Harry's constantly drunk tongue. Though frankly, Harry wasn't sure if he could pronounce it sober.

"I was just wondering if you knew and guys in London who might be willing to put up an Icelander for a few days. I am taking a trip around England and I'm trying to keep the costs down."

Harry looked up for a moment.

"Everyone I knew has either forgotten me or is dead," Harry said looking back into his glass. What was the next thing to do? He knew this, he had done this many times before, if only he could remember.

"Oh, sorry man, I didn't mean…" Biddi stammered awkwardly.

"No, it's fine. There is a reason why people think I belong in Klepp1, why I act this way," Harry said before he could stop himself. Hm, that was a lot of words, he clearly wasn't drunk enough. Ah yes, order another drink, that is what he would do next.

"Nah, we don't say that. You just like your drink a bit more than most guys," Biddi said easily.

Harry sighed. This bartender probably wouldn't give him another drink, he would have to move on.

"Of course," said Harry, swaying as he stood up. He felt that welcome whooshing feeling of the alcohol taking hold.

Harry staggered into the cold, November night. The alcohol wasn't keeping the cold out, but then, it never did. He kept walking, not entirely sure where he was going having forgotten what his plan had been in the warm bar.

Harry walked for a long time, stopping occasionally to take a swing from his flask. Eventually he found his way to a little town that he had staggered to before in warmer months. It was very far away from Reykjavik by foot but for some reason he seemed to often find himself there. The town was named after the swans that were common there and sometimes even blocked the road. Not that mattered to Harry; he was never sober enough to drive.

Harry finally found his spot. He sat on a rock overlooking the ocean. He pulled a bottle holding an amber liquid out of an inner coat pocket and took a long swing of it, emptying the bottle. He felt the pleasant warming sensation travel through his throat and into his stomach. He hoped it would kick in soon he was not nearly drunk enough.

Throwing the bottle away, Harry fell off his rock, stood up, and walked along the dark sand to the ocean. Even in the summer, the ocean was far too cold to swim in and only the foolish ever attempted to enter the waters. Native Icelanders would only run in as a joke but would run back out as soon as the cold hit their feet. This was where Harry headed though, wading into the icy waters of the north Atlantic.

The water was up to his knees when he heard a voice, which made him start.

"If you are trying to walk to England, Potter, you are going in the wrong direction. If you go that way you will end up in Canada and honestly, who really wants to go there?"

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A/N: 1 Klepp is a psychiatric hospital near Reykjavik. Saying this is the equivalent of saying "that person belongs in Bedlam." For more on Klepp, I highly recommend the book Angels of the Universe. There is a movie too but they only have it for region 2 currently. The book is just wonderful though.

That is it for now. Please review!