Disclaimer: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world.

Notes for the convenience of the reader: Harry's children: Margaret, Victoria and James, children of Ginny, Beth, daughter of Luna, and Adrian, son of Harry and raised by Julie and himself. Current wife, Julie.

Chapter 6:

A year later, and Julie and Harry were away, out of touch. They were giving themselves a rest. Julie had became more and more self-conscious about her age, and Harry found his world harder to live in, as so many of his friends died, one by one.

Hermione died in her sleep, while the family were far away. It was as if, even now, she was watching out for Harry, as she'd done for so long. When they returned, she was already buried. It was one funeral he didn't have to go to.

All of his first family, the children of himself and Ginny, were now old. Some of the in-laws resented his continuing youth, but his own descendants never seemed to do so, and it had become a bit of a ritual that new babies had to be taken to Grandfather Harry for inspection, and admiration. He had never lost that feeling of wonder as he studied the face of a tiny baby, and the new mothers loved to watch him as he showed that wonder and pleasure. It helped arm him against the pain of too frequent funerals. The children all called him grandfather, although for most he was the great grandfather, and now, for a few, he was the great, great grandfather. Once they were grown, he became just Harry. It would be ludicrous for adults, often looking older than he did, to go on calling him 'Grandfather.'

**HP**

The years passed. Adrian left school, trained as a security guard, and went to live in America, near Thea.

Harry no longer taught at Hogwarts. He no longer took as much pleasure in it, and now he alternated his time between spell-breaking and long trips away with his wife.

Julie, who had always loved socialising, especially when she could impress, seemed to be unhealthy these days. After a party, or other entertainment, she was ill and tired for days afterward. It was only one day that Harry unexpectedly returned to the bedroom as they prepared for the annual Ministry Ball, that he discovered the reason. Julie was in the process of putting a spell on herself. It was a short-lived spell that made a person look younger for a night, but paid for with several days subsequent mild illness. Harry was devastated. Julie should not do that. She would shorten her life. Julie cried when she confessed, and Harry held her with love, and his own eyes had tears. They didn't go to the Ball.

The following day, he suggested that they leave behind everyone they knew, and live as Medj. And if she didn't want to do that, they could live as wizards, but somewhere where they were not known. He didn't quite know where that might be, but somewhere, he must be unknown, maybe in Asia or Arabia.

Julie was still only in her forties. Harry thought her concern exaggerated, but he didn't know the hurts she endured. Her girlfriends were a shallow lot. Sometimes they would offer false sympathy. Sometimes, they encouraged young and beautiful women to make up to Harry. It annoyed him. How could they think he might want anyone else when he had his Julie? Once, most unfortunate of all, she was with Harry and Adrian at the beach. Harry and Adrian were romping in the shallows, both of them showing the attractive bodies of youth, and a woman, perfectly innocently, said that she must be so proud of her goodlooking sons. Again, she cried long into the night. The following day, Harry called a halt to the spell-breaking trips, and they vanished for three months, as they had begun to do more and more.

Harry's hundredth birthday approached. He had a feeling the family were planning a big celebration. He and Julie vanished for six months that time. The last thing he wanted was a big celebration for his hundredth birthday.

Beth came again for a while, and the comfort she offered, helped. For a little, both Harry and Julie were happier. The Quidditch matches resumed. They had lapsed when their hosts were gone, although Harry had said that they were welcome to use his home for the matches while he was away.

Harry talked a lot with Caradoc Dearborn, who lived on his property, although not as an employee. Caradoc was the only person he knew older than himself. Caradoc was exceptional. When in his twenties, he'd been put under the pumpkin-head curse. Incredibly, he'd kept himself alive and rational for ninety years. Deprived of all sensory input - yet he had not gone mad, and had not died. Harry finally pulled him out of the curse, and although he had then begun to age at a normal rate, yet, chronologically, he was twenty-five years older than Harry. And he hadn't stayed still in those ninety years while his body slept. Caradoc had a large wisdom and an infinite patience. He was married now, a local woman thought to be a bit strange. Her name was Clare. But even Caradoc didn't seem to be able to help much. Caradoc was calm, patient. Harry was seldom patient.

Whenever he was home, Tammy was at his heels. A dog can be as close as any human friend. But when Tammy died, Harry and Julie didn't think of replacing her with another dog. They were spending a lot of time away these days. It was easier for Julie, and it was better for Harry when his wife was not made miserable by those whom she still called friends.

Julie started to visit her parents more. There was a neighbour. She'd known him from the time they were children. He was the same age as herself, widowed now. But it was still her own husband she loved.

One day, she told Harry that he should not come home from his work that week, as he usually did every night. Instead he should stay in Germany without her. She refused to say what she would be doing, and she forbade Harry to worry. Harry worried. But as he was told, he stayed away. The aurors had a difficult time with him that week, as he was irritable and restless. He wanted to be alone, and the aurors felt that he should never be alone.

Once, after he'd slipped his bodyguards, a Death Curse came whizzing at him. But he just hit it to the ground, in another unique ability, confiscated the man's wand, and inflicted him with forty years of boils, more severe than he usually might have done, but he was in a bad mood. He didn't tell the aurors, only sending the wand to Ollivanders' wand shop. The man might find it again one day, in time to be buried with it in his hand, as was important for wizards.

It happened to be a heavy week in Germany, and it was late Friday afternoon before Harry returned, tired. He even travelled in the aeroplane with the rest of the team, rather than apparating as he normally did. No-one else could apparate more than a few hundred miles.

Julie had expected the scars and bruising to be gone by the time he returned. The medj healer said they would be. She had believed him when he said that there would be 'some minor discomfort.' Unfamiliar with the reassuring lies customarily used among Medjkind, she'd not been prepared for day after day of severe pain. There had been a facelift, they'd done something to her lips to make them thicker, and there had been upper thigh liposuction. She was still in pain, she looked terrible, and she was not supposed to cry in case it damaged the scars. Harry was appalled, and Catherine, weary after her week's work, found him on the doorstep demanding that she come instantly and fix his wife. Catherine no longer apparated, but Harry just said that he'd take her, and she sighed and gave in.

Lotions almost immediately cured the bruises and pain of Julie's face and thighs, and gentle healing spells repaired the remaining wounds of cuts and sutures. Julie was fifty-two. She was middle-aged, and all her lotions, and exercise, and whether or not she dyed her hair, or had face-lifts, was not going to change the fact. Catherine was deeply sorry for her. Catherine was eighty, and had been in her forties when she'd first started looking after Harry as the Ministry healer. Harry still looked exactly the same as he'd done then. He was a hundred and eight. Catherine could understand Julie's misery.

After Harry took Catherine home, they held each other close all night. Harry loved his wife with all his heart. He thought she took far too much notice of what other people thought, but she always had. It was not going to change now.

Julie had come to a decision. She didn't tell him yet. Instead, she asked him to organise a month's holiday as soon as possible. Harry went to the next week's work a little happier. Julie seemed more resigned, and had abandoned her rigorous exercise programme, which had always been a labour to her. Maybe they'd work it out together after all. Vernon made no difficulties about his month off, which would be straight after the short three days scheduled for Holland, plus two days in London.

Julie had no particular plans for the holiday. Instead she joined him as he roamed the estate in the warm June weather, admired the new foals with him, and took him shopping, ordering several new sets of dress robes for him. She loved to dress him up. Harry tolerated it. He nearly always did what Julie wanted. She even went horse riding with him, though she hadn't done that for years.

They visited together. Next door lived Bridon Pickering, who'd been married to Cissy. He was now re-married, to the youngest daughter of Melissa and Jason Wiley, who worked for Harry. They had a small son.

The weather stayed warm and sunny, and Harry and Julie found a pleasant and private spot among some trees. There was always something especially nice about love-making in the open air.

They did no socialising among wizarding society, and Harry let it be known that he wanted no visitors, except for Natalie and Daniel Broadfoot, of course, who wanted to show Grandfather Harry their new baby daughter, Claudette. This one was a great, great, grand-daughter. Harry was filled with tenderness and wonder, as he always was. But suddenly a new feeling took him, and he hurriedly returned the baby to the mother, and disappeared. Natalie looked questioningly at Julie, as, for a moment, it seemed that Harry was about to cry.

In a secret bedroom, Harry was crying. He had suddenly had a vision of that tiny baby growing up, ageing and finally dying, as he was left alone. Always the same, always alone, always the freak, a Monster, maybe. And the temptation rose in him again, to make himself die. Would Julie be happier without him?

When Julie found him, still in that secret bedroom an hour later, the Broadfoots had gone. She went to him, and held him a while. Even now, he trembled. She thought he'd be better when he had a new, younger wife. She was going to give him his freedom, and take her own. They'd both be happier. One more week together, being as close and as happy as they could, then she'd leave, and he'd have a week to come to terms with it before the next scheduled spell-breaking trip. It was to be three weeks in America, she knew. That would give him a good long time to adjust to her being gone. Harry held her close. He was frightened, and didn't want to know what she was thinking. In a sudden moment of confusion, he thought that she might want to kill him, as it was time he died. She could do it if she wanted, he thought. It was time he died.

The fancies were gone by the morning. They were going to a horse-show, but they were going in disguise. And they laughed as they adjusted wigs, dressed in clothes they would not normally wear, and Harry disguised his facial scars in a skill learned long ago. Harry suggested he cut his hair, but Julie said 'Absolutely Not,' he could conceal it under a hat. And then she tried to make his false beard look a little more realistic.

Simon Barnes was one of Harry's employees, a son of Chris Barnes, and Chrissy, whom Harry had employed, separately, when they were young. Simon was married to Naomi, the oldest daughter of Jason and Melissa Wiley. Together they looked after his correspondence, his paperwork, and managed his wealth. Harry viewed them as family. Simon and Naomi thought it was quite obviously the duty of the Barnes family to look after Harry as long as he lived. Their son, Archie, was being raised in that belief.

Simon had achieved a big reputation in the showjumping world, although his brother, Beau, had left the area. Adrian's friend, Connor Maguire, was with him, on a big brown mare on long-term loan from Harry. Harry seldom sold his horses, as he wanted them back eventually, to live out their lives in his Old Horses' Paddock. It was his conviction that old horses should be pampered, and only when it was time, should they be put down.

So Julie and Harry, in their slightly outlandish clothing, their wigs, and Harry's false beard, laughed and joked together, and applauded as Simon and Connor came first and second in the Open Showjumping. Neither Simon nor Connor noticed them, but Franz had suspected that he might be there, and had sent several aurors to protect him in case he was. It was several hours, though, before Fred came across them in a passionate embrace behind a pavilion. Harry looked up, beard askew, and winked at Fred, unashamed. He murmured to Julie, who also looked up, then nodded at Harry, and they were gone. Fred hoped they'd gone home. He suspected that the aurors were not the only ones present who'd been looking for Harry.

Julie and Harry discarded their disguises, and frolicked in the indoor swimming pool for a couple of hours, seen there by Chris, as he came to make his daily check of the pool. It had been Chris who had suggested that Harry put in a pool in the first place, and it had been Chris who'd looked after it ever since. He was pleased to see them looking so happy. Harry had been so moody lately, and Julie seemed often frankly depressed.

The fine weather held. Harry's property basked in the sunshine. The extensive gardens, now largely under the control of Lillian, daughter of the cook, had seldom looked so beautiful. Glossy horses grazed on lush grass, and three foals romped in the sunshine. Julie put off telling Harry for another day, then another.

It was only when a day dawned cold and wet that Julie took it as a signal that now was the time. She couldn't find her husband. He was hiding. He didn't want to know.

Out on the moors, leaning against a stone wall, Harry sat on the wet ground, next to his horse. He'd covered the skewbald with a conjured blanket. She was warm enough, although he shivered, maybe with cold. He was occupying his mind with telling off the mare's ancestors, one by one, as he remembered them, all the way back to his original mare, Sheba, whom he had loved. He had leaned his head against the wall, not shielding himself from the cold sleet. He looked very sad, and tears mingled with the raindrops.

Mid-afternoon, suddenly worried, Julie sent out searchers. Maybe he'd been thrown, and was lying somewhere, hurt. Even the best horseman can have an accident.

It was Caradoc and his wife Clare who found him, still sitting in the same spot he'd sat for most of the day. The mare was grazing a little way off. Clare gazed off into the distance. The moors were so misty. Even the mare, quite close, was not clearly visible. And the lone figure leaning against a wall made her sad. Clare was an artist, and this scene would be the inspiration for one of her greatest paintings.

Caradoc slipped off his horse, and suggested to Harry that it was time to go home. Harry quite slowly turned his head up toward him. Without the glasses he always wore, he somehow looked so much younger, so much more vulnerable. He nodded wearily, whistled up his mare, vanished the blanket that had protected her from the cold and the wet, and the three horses turned their heads for home. They were all tall horses, all the descendants of Sheba. They were only walking, as Clare never had learned to ride well.

After a while, Caradoc spoke. "You were thinking of making yourself die, weren't you?"

Harry didn't deny it. "It would have made Julie feel guilty. I couldn't do that to her."

There was a silence, and Caradoc spoke again. "Is she going to leave you?" Harry only looked bleak and didn't answer.

There was another long silence, and then Clare reached out and touched him, pointing. "Look!"

Harry looked. There was an area of bright sky low down on the horizon. Maybe it wouldn't rain forever, and he smiled at Clare. "Thank you."

Three months later, Julie married the widower she'd known all her life. She would always love Harry, but she was a lot happier with Mervyn, who was a man of her own age. Harry had put not the slightest bar in her way. He would always love her, and he'd ensured that she would never want for anything. She'd always been expensive. He was not at the wedding, and no longer was seen in public. Several sets of brand new, and very expensive dress robes went unworn.