July 2002
Later, his friends would refer to the events that follow as "staging an intervention". It was, they would claim, for his own good, due to the fact that his actions were leading him down a path that lead to almost certain self destruction.
While the Auror department were more than happy to overlook the private sexual activities of their golden boy as long as he kept a fairly clean image in public, when that mask started to slip, so did their patience.
The enforced leave of absence from the department reached the pages of the Prophet gossip column with startling speed.
Harry found that actually, he didn't give a fuck. After a month long holiday on the Greek resort of Faliraki (where he met the intimate acquaintance of several local barmen) he returned to London in order to restock on basic essentials. He was considering moving on to Ibiza next. Or maybe Magaluf.
What he absolutely did not expect was to be accosted and restrained at his home by several of his nearest and dearest.
"What the fuck? You do know this is illegal, don't you?"
"Harry, we're worried for you."
"Why the fuck for? I'm having the time of my fucking life."
"Stop swearing at my fucking wife you useless piece of shit."
"Nice, Ron. Very nice."
The upshot of it was that he didn't go to Faliraki.
Or Magaluf.
The threat of St Mungo's Addiction and Recovery unit was dangled over his head until he bowed under the pressure and agreed to stay in London and get help.
And then Charlie arrived.
"I don't want to see you right now."
He stood in old pyjama bottoms, the elastic broken so they sat low on his hipbones. He wore a battered Weird Sisters t-shirt over the top of it and his wand dangled from his fingertips.
"I can't see you right now," he clarified. "This isn't a particularly easy time in my life."
And God, what it cost him to admit that.
Charlie kept his hand on the doorframe, afraid to move it in case Harry took the opportunity to slam the door closed on him. His heavy cloak wasn't enough to keep the chill from his skin and his fingers were turning numb with the cold, but he was not going to leave.
"My mother called me," Charlie said. "She asked me to come here. She's worried for you, Harry. She said we used to be close and could I help you."
He took a deep breath and forced Harry to meet his eyes.
"Can I help you?"
Harry's fingers twitched on the door, desperation and love and self-preservation all warring inside him. And fear.
"I don't know," he said eventually.
"Can I try?"
Taking a deep breath, Harry tried not to throw up on his feet. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. You can try."