Hi everyone!

Chapter 22! I can't believe we're here. In the span of a month I managed to write 22 chapters and 75k words... Thanks to everyone who stuck with this story! I hope you'll stick around for a bit more :)

No smut this chapter, but some interesting development with Philip. I'm interested to see how you all respond to it!

Love,

Flora

Chapter 22: How Harry uncovered Philip's lies.

When Harry and Hermione got home, they decided on their game-plan. First, Harry would call Aunty Penelope and Hermione would call Grandma Eugenia: they'd thank them for their kind gesture and say that they were totally on board but that the both of them did want to talk with Philip and Lydia in advance to know if they were absolutely certain about cancelling. It was sensible, thoughtful, and a good excuse to buy them some time. They figured that after that, they would both visit Philip and Lydia this week – Harry would pay Philip a visit, Hermione would go and see Lydia, and they would both come up with some kind of strategy as to how to get them back together. Although they both loathed the pair, Harry and Hermione did agree that they fitted rather well together, and that there was no other option for Philip to find a new broad to get engaged to in the span of seven months.

They also decided that, while the situation seemed chaotic and insane, they both actually looked forward to this matchmaking ordeal. It felt like they were back at Hogwarts again, figuring a tactic on how to orchestrate yet another insane plan, and it brought back some great memories. Harry had always loved working together with Hermione – she was meticulous, intelligent and fierce in her decision-making, something a lot of his current colleagues lacked, and it made him realize how much he missed being around Hermione in his work field.

They didn't talk about what would happen if their matchmaking failed. Harry didn't want to talk about it, as it would make things too complicated, and Hermione didn't touch the subject either, convincing Harry that the both of them would succeed. Hermione even suggested a memory charm as a back-up plan – something Harry was vehemently against, but didn't voice towards her. The Unspeakable Agreement made him unable to talk about the ambiguity of memory charm usages in their department. Merlin, he needed that promotion.

It did highlight to him how desperate Hermione clearly was to not get married on August 3rd and though Harry would not say it out loud, it did made his heart ache just a tiny bit. He didn't want to get married to Hermione yet, that was true, but the more thought he put into being around her for the rest of his life, the more he thought about her bearing the title of "Mrs. Potter" without irony, the more he thought about how he would be able to wrap his arm around her in public places, declaring that she was his wife, the more he started to… Warm up to the idea? No, it was more intense than that, Harry realized. He had always envisioned Hermione would wed a high placed Ministry official – a man with class, dignity, a good sense of humour and a witty intelligence. He always knew that he would be there to support her, and thinking about that future had always been a normality for him, but the last few days he realized that he really, really didn't want that.

He wanted to be that guy for her.

But it was too quick – they had gotten together 3 weeks ago. Normal couples would be having regular date nights and meetings with parents and other family members for the first time at 3 weeks. Normal couples would be seeing each other two or three days a week at most at that stage. Normal couples would still get to know each other, would still test the waters, would still be very cautious in a number of ways. Living together would be discussed a year or so later, and two or three years after that, maybe marriage would be thing to consider. Harry realized that Hermione and he had skipped past the "regular" couple things a lot faster. He and Hermione basically lived together already and they knew each other better than they knew themselves, sometimes. That was to be expected, after everything they went through together. But marriage… Marriage! That was serious business, not something to be jumped right into, right? It would bind himself to her for the rest of his life. That was no small matter.

An annoying voice in the back of his head, asked whether he wasn't bound to Hermione already.

As he usually did – he ignored that voice. Hermione was clear. Marriage freaked her out, at least for now, and he would respect that.

So, getting that surrogate-Malfoy and his posh princess back together was the only way to dodge this uncomfortable bullet. Harry had been working that morning, preparing for next day's raid, and had decided to sacrifice his lunch to see the muggle version of his arch nemesis. It didn't take long for him to find Philip's address, but it wasn't want he had expected. Because of Philip's high-class friends, and the fact that he was currently working on a doctorate, Harry had the vision of some extravagant Victorian-style house. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Philip lived in a very large, very dirty and very underwhelming flat in a dodgy part of Cambridge. Harry was let in by a guy with long, sticky hair with dreadlocks, that kept a joint between his teeth as he opened the door. He didn't know Philip, but a name plate on the letter boxes pointed Harry to the fifth floor of the large building. The entrance smelled of piss and vomit, the stained concrete floor blurry with substances Harry didn't want to identify. He climbed the stairs, mindful as to not touch the bars, and each floor he reached emitted a different sound of misery – rowing couples, crying children, intoxicated men that roared the lyrics of a long-forgotten song. When Harry reached Philip's apartment door and rang the doorbell with the sleeve of his shirt covering his fingers, he kind of expected to be at the wrong address. Surely, Mister prissy, puritanical "white pigeons and peacocks" Philip didn't actually live here?

'Y-yes…?'

The door was opened just a few inches. Harry could see an unshaven chin, could smell a foul breath that was laced with alcohol. He wanted to back down, call "wrong house", but then he caught an eye peeking through the door. Beautifully brown coloured, with large, fluttering eyelashes, that looked so pretty on the face of his girlfriend. This eye was bloodshot, it's pupil was dilated, but recognizable nonetheless.

'Philip?' Harry asked, trying not to sound too judgy.

'Who are you?'

'It's… Harry. You know, Harry from… The Granger Family.'

Philip shut the door and Harry sighed. That was to be expected. If Philip was in such a bad state, there was a slim chance of him wanting to see the guy that had been present at the humiliation of his lifetime. Harry was about to turn around, but then he heard Philip unlock the key chains on his door.

'Why are you here?' Hermione's cousin's voice sounded.

The door swung open, revealing a very sad Philip. He wore wrinkled pyjama-bottoms, a worn-out shirt that had a least seven different coloured stains on it, and two socks that showed part of his toes. His dark-brown hair was no longer sleek, but looked more like Harry's after he hadn't tried to comb it for a few days.

'I came to check on you,' Harry said, nonchalantly. 'May I come in?'

'You came to gloat,' Philip scoffed, but then he let out a bitter smile. 'Can't say I blame you.'

'I don't,' Harry said. 'I… wanted to see how you're doing. But, by the state of it…'

Philip snickered.

'Yes. Well, if you really must, I guess you're welcome.'

He disappeared into the living room. Harry was shocked. He expected all kinds of scenarios, but he had no idea what he had gotten himself into now. He wished Hermione was with him, she would have known what to do.

The first thing Harry noticed was the litter. There was trash everywhere, it seemed to cover every spot of the floor, of the furniture. Whatever was going on, this was a systematic problem, something that had been going on way before the Stag Do. The smell was hideous. Harry muttered a quick smell blocking spell that he had learned to cast whenever he covered a crime scene with a corpse that had been laying there a bit longer than it should be.

Philip was seated in front of the sofa, the only clear spot of the entire living room. He was playing a football game on a Playstation or something like that – one of those things Dudley had owned as well, years back.

'Beer?' he asked.

'Ehh-…' Harry said, but Philip threw him one either way. Harry kept the can closed as he sat on one of the stained cushions.

'So… You've found me out,' Philip sneered. 'You must be over the moon.'

'I'm not,' Harry said. 'Honestly. I'm not.'

Philip shrugged his shoulders, saved the gamefile and closed it down.

'Well, it says something that you're here, I guess. I'm always very good at keeping friends at bay. No one has ever visited me here. They don't know I live here. How did you find me?'

'Work,' Harry said, honestly. 'I used my contacts.'

'Hmm. Good to know the government knows where I live, at least.'

Philip took a large gulp from his beer and gave a loud burp. Harry frowned.

'I… Sorry, Philip, I'm really confused. Are you the same guy I have met over dinner, a couple of times? The big, expensive suits, the large ego, the well-groomed face: is that you? Or is this who you really are?'

Philip laughed again, but Harry saw pure sadness in his eyes.

'I got kicked off my doctorate a year back,' he said. 'I didn't meet the targets. I had been slacking – I have these episodes where I feel like pure shit, and I don't know what causes them. Can't really explain what it is, but basically, it numbs me, and I'm unable to get out of bed. I hide it. No one knows how I feel most of the time, and I just… Couldn't bear to tell dad or Lydie what happened when I got kicked off… So I kept it silent, told them I was still working on it. Ever since I was forced to quit, I have been a mess. My doctorate covered my expenses, so when it stopped, I was kicked out of my house. Moved in here, but I kept that from Lydie and dad as well. Made up a lot of excuses for why they couldn't come over, et cetera.'

Philip sighed and took another sip.

'For the last year I lived with Lydie, and I came her occasionally if I told her I had to be at "school". She was so supportive, so sweet… And I… I couldn't bear to tell her… She started pressuring me about a marriage proposal and I have no idea why but I… I just obliged. I know she would have been supportive of my situation, but she… She doesn't deserve someone like me… I am a liar, I am a pathetic human being… And now I cheated on her too…'

Harry saw tears building up in Philip's eyes as he downed the rest of his beer, crushed the can and threw it across the room.

'I caused her so, so much pain, just because I wasn't thinking straight – like I never am! I was just so jealous, of you, of the other boys, and I had been drinking so much… I never meant to act like that, I just wanted to show off a bit, but that girl, she was really randy and… I knew she was, I should have backed down, but I am just so tired and so sick of myself, Harry… I keep punishing myself, keep hurting myself, and I'm just so heartbroken that she's gone! Lydie was my honey drop – I know that's cheesy and shit, but I properly loved that girl. I still love her! That's why I drove her away, that's why my subconscious didn't stop me from fucking my life up. Because of her. Because she's worth everything, and I'm… I'm…'

He was downright crying now.

'I am absolute filth, Harry. I don't deserve to live. Maybe it's better like this. She can move on, at least… She deserves someone who actually… Matters in life…'

Philip pulled his knees to his face and curled up like a ball, convulsing under the pressure of his sobs. Harry felt awful. It was hard to face, but somewhere, Harry understood a bit of Philip's pain. He was fortunate to have a good support system – Ginny, Ron, Hermione; they'd kept him off the wrong path, made sure that he saw the right healers at St. Mungo's, forced him to talk about hard things when it was absolutely necessary. He had survived because of them, he knew. And even with their support Harry had been acting reckless because of how he felt sometimes – the sexual contacts he had when he moved on from Ginny were proof of that, as were the scars that he earned from blowing off steam at work.

So, Harry decided to come down to Philip's level, and clumsily patted him on the back a few times, as the tactful guy that he was.

'Have you never talked about this with anyone?' he asked. Philip shook his head, covering his face with his arms.

'Well… That must be really hard. To walk around with a secret like that.'

Philip didn't reply and Harry looked around. The room was an absolute wreck. If muggles had to clean this up, it would take at least a few days, maybe a week or even more. For Harry, it would be less than a few hours on cleaning spells.

'Philip, have you slept well, the last few days?' Harry asked, knowing the answer. And indeed, Philip shook his head.

'Why don't you go to sleep, right now,' Harry said. 'Take a shower first, then take a nap. I'll see how I can help you, alright?'

It took some persuasion, but Philip finally gave in. Harry's well placed Confundus probably helped with that, he had to admit.

With Philip sleeping, and Harry making sure that he would stay asleep for a while at least, he got to work. He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, vanishing garbage of months and months, collecting dirty clothes from the floor, countertops, chairs, magically rinsing and folding them. The kitchen took Harry an entire hour, magically washing what seemed to be three months' worth of dishes. Harry sent a Patronus to his secretary and to Hermione, informing them that he would be out of office for the next couple of hours and would return late to clean up his desk.

When Philip woke up, four hours had passed, and the young man didn't recognize his apartment. It took another Confundus for him to believe Harry managed to sneak in a professional cleaning crew in behind his back, but in the end, Philip was ecstatic. The apartment was clean, smelled amazing and looked actually decent. Harry felt good about himself, but he was quite exhausted.

'And I thought you were a dick!' Philip exclaimed, marvelling at how he could walk around his flat without stepping on trash.

'I kind of am,' Harry said, grinning. 'Don't worry. You just manage to catch me on a good day, I suppose.'

'No, I was totally wrong about you! I must-…'

'Really, safe it,' Harry insisted. 'This is just a minor step compared to what needs to be done for you to win Lydia back. Because that's what you want, right?'

'I… Yes, of course I want that, but… As a better man. Someone who's worthy or her affection.'

'Then you need therapy,' Harry said. 'These episodes you talk about, they aren't normal. We need to consult with a doctor about the possibilities for treatment for you. And then we need to see how we can fix this doctorate problem.'

'I should confess, probably. Come clean about it to Lydia and my father…' Philip said with a thin voice, but Harry shook his head.

'Not yet. Maybe someday, yes, but not yet. I'll speak to your professor about it. What's his name?'

'You… You think you can convince him to take me back?' Philip stammered, wide eyes and open mouth.

'I'm quite sure,' Harry said, patting the wand in his jeans. 'I'll find a proper excuse for your delay and make sure you get back into the program. Being productive will help you back on track.'

'But… How?!' Philip asked, exasperated.

'Working for the government makes you fairly persuasive,' Harry replied, with a mysterious smile. 'I'll pay a visit to him tomorrow. What's his name again?'

'Oliver Humphries. He's a judge, and a college-professor at Cambridge.'

'Good. But now, that doctor of yours. I think it's a good thing if we make an appointment right away…'

It was half past 9 when Harry got back into his office. He had accompanied Philip to his General Practitioner, then Harry bought them both dinner. Philip had hugged Harry when he left: hugged. Philip was a lot less awful when he wasn't overly insecure and he hadn't made one snobbish comment to Harry the entire afternoon. Harry wondered if he maybe would be able to tolerate Philip by the end of this ordeal. He feared that he might.

Polly had been a dear and cleaned out Harry's desk for him. Harry sighed contently, sorting the last files into the accompanying folder. He checked his raid bag, packing extra blood-replenishing potions, when he saw something move in the corner of his eye. Someone was asleep at the chair that sat in the corner of his room.

Harry carefully closed his bag and took a step to see who it was. It didn't take long for him to notice the red hair and the freckles.

'Ron, why in Merlin's name are you asleep in my office?' Harry growled, poking his friend with his wand. Ron yelped, shot up and fell of Harry's chair.

'Harry! Oh thank you, I thought you'd never come… Where were you?'

'Development in the engagement-scheme,' he sighed. 'I'll tell you all about if after you've given me the reason why you're asleep on my chair.'

'It's… It's Nicky,' Ron hesitated. 'We had an extra appointment today. Last scan, the Apprentice Healer weren't sure what they saw, and she was the only one present, so we went again this afternoon to do a double check, and… And…'

'And what?' Harry asked, suddenly concerned. 'Is she sick? Is the baby okay?'

'Yes, Nicky, she's fine, it's just… Blimey, Harry…'

'What?' Harry pressed, agitated. 'What is it?'

'It's not just a baby, Harry. It's bloody twins!'