CHAPTER 111: Requiem For A Dream (Part 4)

His father came back home that same night. There were no cuts or bruises, his arm wasn't torn off, nor was his face bloody. There was no sign he had been in a fight other than the dust and grime clinging to his robes. It didn't make Harry feel any better. He rolled around and around in bed, unable to quench that uneasiness until it was four in the morning and his body finally gave out. A few hours later, he was rudely woken up for breakfast, because apparently, the Potters didn't believe in lie-ins. He went down to the table, wearing that stupid red and gold robe, his hair spiky and messy and all over his eyes, smelling of sweat and cotton as he sat down beside his parents. They talked, and he ate and grunted here and there, as his mind was already drifting back into Morpheus' realm. If his parents noticed, they didn't say anything. Or maybe they did, and his body didn't register. He was like a zombie, an undead, someone brought back from his well-earned peaceful slumber to live a life he wasn't meant to have.

He'd been feeling like that a lot lately.

At some point, he'd stopped eating altogether, too busy staring vacantly at that spot in front of him. He studied it intently, only broken out of his trance when his mother finally asked something that had been running through his mind all night.

"How did it go, yesterday?"

"Lils-"

"I know," his mother raised her arms. "No shop talk. Never. I get it. But was it really them?"

His father sighed. "Yeah, it was them. I saw Rowle and Carrow, but there was another one there with them."

"I thought they had left the country."

"People like that don't stay away for long, Lils. Not unless we put them away. You know that."

"Why didn't you bring me with you?" Harry suddenly blurted out.

That got both his parents' attention, though he didn't think it was because he was suddenly showing signs of life from his side of the table.

"Take you with me?" There was something almost patronizing about his tone that rubbed Harry off the wrong way.

"I could have helped!"

"You're not an Auror," his mother interjected. "You've barely completed your OWLs."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"What does that-" Now his mother did laugh.

"This isn't a small playground spat that you solve with a few stinging hexes here, Harry," his father said. "This is live combat. More than that, these were Death Eaters. Voldemort's old Inner Circle. I can barely keep up with them, and I'm an Auror."

Harry scoffed. Did his father really think so little of him? Maybe he did. His father didn't know him, really. No one here did. And after everything he heard about his parents - all the stories he heard from Montague and the Order members and even Regulus - hearing his father say he could barely keep up with a few Pantheon members was a little more than disappointing. Harry couldn't help but wonder who thought less of the other.

"I could have helped," he insisted, a little colder than he had before. "You should have let me."

"You're our son," his mother fought back. "We are the ones who make the decisions here."

"Look," his father said before Harry could say a word. "It's fine if you were scared."

"I wasn't scared-"

"It's perfectly normal. Happens a lot with families of Aurors. But you putting yourself in danger isn't the solution. You'll just get yourself killed and then where will be head be at, huh?"

Harry heard the dismissal. He understood that was it for the topic. He was the son and they were the parents. He was always wrong and they were always right. They knew better than him and that was it.

"If I had been there, maybe they wouldn't have got away, yeah?"

He immediately grabbed his plates, threw them at the sink, and went back up to his room. This time, he did hear his parents calling after him. He just chose to ignore it. His friends called him a few hours after that, and he took the first excuse to get out of the house. He quickly showered and got dressed and yelled out a goodbye right as he threw the floo powder on the ground.

As the week went on, he kept going out with them. They did everything just as they used to. They joked and played around. Quidditch practice and muggle consoles and getting drunk here and there. And the more Harry did it, the more he felt as if his soul was being pulled out from his body. The same things. Same talks. Same food. Same places. Same formula. The novelty that it previously had tempered the tediousness of it all, and he found himself missing Pansy and Theo more and more as the days wore on. It wasn't that he needed some pretentious idiot hunting him down or yet another secret society to reveal itself for Harry to enjoy his life, or at least he didn't think so. Maybe if he actually liked some of these people better, he'd enjoy it more. Maybe if he had grown up like Prick Potter, he wouldn't be this fucked up.

His act was beginning to fall off. It happened slowly. A few moments here and there where his friends would look at him oddly, or when he'd be quiet when he knew he was supposed to say something. But he'd pick right back up and continue with it as if it had never fallen off in the first place. Days passed and everything became more and more tedious until Harry felt numb. He forced himself to laugh and it came out wrong. Every smile strained his face. That numbness even began sneaking into his words as he talked.

It was Friday when Longbottom invited everyone over to his manor early in the morning. It was exactly as it had been back in his old life, just as cold and uninviting, and even the presence of everyone else from the group didn't make him feel any better. If he was numb before now he was on edge, and it took a lot of effort not to snap at the others whenever they talked to him. Not more than it did not go up the stairs and snapping that old bitch's neck. She may not be the woman who handed him off to Sirius Black, but if Harry was sure of something, it was that she wasn't any better in this new timeline.

When the owls arrived and Granger began freaking out, Harry realized why Longbottom had brought them all here. He watched as everyone opened their letters and read through their OWL scores, with most of the boys overtly celebrating the four or five OWLs they got, while the girls whined and cried for only getting seven or nine. Granger herself was distraught that she only got an E in Defence Against the Dark Arts. At least Susan seemed alright, smiling brightly at him as she grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

"How did you do?" She asked him.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "Haven't opened mine yet."

"Well, come on then!" Susan practically ripped the letter out of his hands and tore through it.

"Yeah, help yourself, why don't you" he couldn't help but smirk, and she rolled her eyes at him.

Her eyes scanned through the paper. Harry didn't think he'd even seen his own Pansy read something with such engrossment. And then she gave an almost squeal before throwing her arms around him. "We did it! We did it! We did it!" She kept chanting, and Harry didn't really care what they did as he took in the much-needed hug. She gripped her, perhaps a bit too tightly, but she responded just as intensely as he did.

"Oh, this is fantastic!" She told him as she pulled away, though she still clung to his hands. "I mean, nine OWLs, that's amazing! I'd be a bit miffed that you beat me, except you got that Outstanding on Transfiguration that you needed!"

"Needed for… what?"

She rolled her eyes at him, giving him one of those smiles that she held off just for him. "For the Charms mastery, you prat. We need a NEWT for Transfiguration if we want a spot, and you know, McGonagall only takes the ones that got an Outstanding on their OWLs."

"A Charms mastery?" That sounds… fucking boring. "You want to take a Charms Mastery?"

"We, dumbo. We've been wanting this forever!" She suddenly turned apprehensive. "You still want that, right?"

"Of course," Harry responded automatically, that forced smile spreading across his face. "Charms, right! What's not to love?"

What was there to love? Harry had never thought he had such an aversion to charms, but the moment it had been decided for him that the next seven years of his life would be dedicated to one of the most boring subjects of magic out there, he was overcome with his disgust for it. Out of all the things he could be doing with his life, this was it? Not even a mastery of Defence or Potions or something that can lead to a job with at least a bit of thrill to it? No, Prick Potter had to choose a Charms mastery, where the only way you could die was if you tried to create a new spell to vacuum better and somehow blew yourself up by doing so. So either a boring life about creating meaningless spells where no one would even know your name, or dying in the most idiotic way where no one would forget your name.

Once again his thoughts revolved around the risk of death, and once again Harry had to convince himself that he wasn't actually addicted to the feeling or pain or any of that bloody shit.

He tried to avoid Susan that day, but even with everyone else around him, it was hard. And he couldn't let the mask fall with Susan. Any other person, he didn't care. He could put it right back up and they'd forget or ignore it. Susan wouldn't. She stuck to him during their outing, but thankfully she compensated for his grouchiness with her bubbling. She barely noticed his moods, and he was happy about it. By the time he came back home, he was utterly exhausted and even more sullen. He didn't go to dinner that night, it was better to go to sleep with an empty stomach rather than endure more of his parents' concerned looks whenever he wasn't their bubbly, bright son.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten the next day was Saturday. By the time he had woken up, the Boneses were already at the house, and he was pushed into a quick shower by his mother. Susan was still raving about their OWLs. His parents weren't exactly thrilled that they learnt his scores from someone else, but they still cheered him on. Maybe if he had actually been the one to take the exams, he would have felt proud. Right now, after basically skipping half of his fifth year, he wasn't feeling confident his scores would be as bright as Prick Potter's Head-Boy-worthy results. He ate his lunch quickly, and though he wanted to disappear back into his room and away from the pestering adults, he knew he couldn't. So he took the next best thing and dragged Susan out of the house with him before she even finished her food.

The two of them began strolling around the village, the feeling of Susan's hand in his own both comforting and daunting at the same time. For the most part, she was quiet, and Harry was glad for it. But eventually, it had to give, and she once again asked him if he really hadn't changed his mind over the whole Charms mastery thing.

"Why would you think I changed my mind on it?"

"Maybe because every time someone says Charms, you look just a bit greener." Harry scoffed, but he couldn't come up with something to say. "I mean, we talked about this a few months ago, and you were still on board. What happened? Because if you want to do something else, that's fine, you know."

But was it? It wouldn't be, right? He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he didn't think anything he could come up with would be in Susan's life plans. He'd always dreamed of the domestic side he never had. That feeling of having a girlfriend with whom he could finally be himself around, go out with friends who actually like him and aren't secretly using it, or to just be hugged by his parents and be patted on the back by his Godfather. But this wasn't that. He had a girlfriend, but he had to pretend to be someone else just to make sure she didn't freak out on him. He had friends who genuinely cared about him without trying to trick him, but it wasn't he that they cared about. They didn't find him funny or like him, they liked who he was pretending to be. And he didn't like them much to begin with, not more than the people he left behind, at least. His parents did hug him here, but he constantly felt like he found ways to disappoint them when he wasn't being anything but the perfect son. And his Godfather? He could barely look at him without getting that urge to grip his wand tightly and not let him out of sight.

"Talk to me," Susan squeezed his hand. "What do you want for our future?"

"What do you want?" Harry snapped. "Sorry," he instantly amended. "It's just, I don't really know, you know? And I'm stressed about it, and I didn't really sleep much last night. But what about you? What do you want to do after this whole mastery thing?"

"I've told you about this, Harry."

"I know. Just… tell me again. Make me picture it, you know. Bring me into your vision."

Susan laughed but indulged him. "Well, I'd like to open up my own shop. I still don't know where, I don't think I'd be able to make it into a big place like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, but maybe it could be here at Godric's Hollow, or another small, wizarding-only village. I'm still not sure what I want to do, but I know it's something to do with enchanting. Innovating, you know? How like pictures in the wizarding world are muggle pictures but with magic. I want to do that but for other things. Maybe furniture or specific items or the such. And then I'd sell them, or I'd have people bring in their own things, and I'd do my work on it, you know?"

"Yeah," Harry said, that ugly feeling growing inside of him. "That's- well, you could do very well! I'm sure a lot of wizards would love you making their lives easier."

She smacked him on the shoulder before leaning into him. "I'd like to be married too, you know. Preferably before thirty. And our three kids. I don't care about where we get our place or anything else really. Just those things."

"Three kids?" Kids? Did he want kids? He didn't think he'd make a good father. His only example of one was Vernon Dursley, and he was a right bastard. He had his father now, his actual father who wasn't his father, but he still didn't fully think of him as his father, did he? He liked kids. Well, he tolerated Michael and did the things he wanted when he asked him to. But that would be it, wouldn't it? Getting married… having kids… settling down… have a boring job just to get by. Did he really want that out of his life? He'd thought so. Dreamt about it once or twice when he'd imagined his perfect life. Now that the prospect was so real, he wasn't so sure. "Wow, that's…"

"That's the most you're getting out of me, Potter. They'll outnumber us as it is." Susan teased before intertwining her fingers with his. "I'm going to need you by my side there. Always."

Harry laughed, letting go of her hand as he hugged her waist. He told her to paint him his life and bring him into the picture, and she did just that. He could see himself. Going back to Hogwarts, having all his classes with Susan, enjoying those little stolen moments between them. They'd do the mastery together, or maybe they wouldn't, and he'd try to do something on his own. Something that wasn't too out there. Something nice and dull and stable. Something to make him the perfect, acceptable member of society. They'd have their beautiful wedding. Have three little jerks, Harry would love to his very core. He'd go out with his friends every once in a while. Carry half the burden of the kids with Susan. Lose himself in his job and his kids and his friends and pretend so much that he'll never have to pretend again. He'd love a good portion of it. He'd be half-asleep for all of it. A zombie. An undead. Forced to live a life he was never meant to have.

"Always," he said.

Black and Lupin came by the next day for a re-do of last week's cancelled lunch, and Harry was actually thankful for it. Seeing them always brought those feelings of unease, that sense that he needed to be armed. For some reason, he felt that he still needed it to keep himself sharp. And if anything, it was a weird reminder of being back home in his real life. Every day he was growing more dissatisfied with his time here. Every day, he could almost hear Aurora's voice in the back of his mind. "I told you so," she'd say. "You know what you have to do." But he didn't want to leave. Not Susan. Not his parents. This was the life he deserved, the one that was taken from him. Nothing else mattered. He'd force himself to ride through the bad times until he adapted. It shouldn't be hard. It should be the opposite of hard. This was retirement. He'd fought and bled for this shit, what was a bit of boring if it meant he had everyone he loved back?

"But not everyone, yeah?" That voice in the back of his mind would remind him, and Harry would push it back down into the pits of his being.

It was worth it.

He'd make it worth it.

Lunch was rather uneventful for the most part. Beyond all the praising for Prick Potter's OWL scores, it was quiet and subdued. Black and Lupin had barely tried to talk to him directly, though he could see they really wanted to. It brought a bit of tension to the table, but nothing Harry couldn't deal with. The problem arose when the topic of the Death Eaters came back near the end of lunch. His father quickly shut it down, but Harry took the chance to prod at the subject again. Black, eager to just talk to Harry, took him aside as the others were clearing the table and preparing the game of cards they had every weekend.

"They were sighted," he said, somehow sounding both eager and angered at the same time. "Squib girl saw them somewhere in the south of Berwickshire. She tried to alert the Ministry of Magic, but they must have seen us coming."

Harry only gave him a quick nod, and it wasn't until both strangers had left, and his mother had gone upstairs to change into her pyjamas, that he cornered his father.

"They were sighted again?" He demanded, and his father groaned out Sirius' name. "You're just letting them walk about?"

"I'm not letting them do anything. We're working on it, but they're smart. They're hard to track."

"Someone has to be helping them," Harry fought back. "No matter how good they are, they still need food. They still need shelter. They can't risk moving about before being told it's safe. People like that need contacts, and that's how you get to them!"

"What would you have me do?" His father asked.

"Interrogate them. Force them to tell you! Start with those seedy pubs where the lowlifes and small-time thugs hang about. You push hard enough and someone will talk."

"Force them- Son, this isn't a fantasy. I can't just walk into some random pub and start… forcing people just like that. That's called vigilantism-"

"That's called efficiency."

"You don't believe that," the complete disappointment in his father's voice hit Harry hard.

It was just another example of how they would feel if they knew the real him, if he told him all he's done. He wasn't suggesting he do everything Harry did. But just a little bit of fear in someone and the right reputation was more than enough. And if these bastards were still out there, walking about as they pleased - almost flauntingly - while the Aurors moronically scrambled about, then someone had to take charge. And yet, even if he didn't have the trace to give him away immediately, Harry wasn't sure he would be courageous enough to go out there and do it all over again. Not when his parents could so easily catch him in the act.

"Sometimes I do," he said, for a moment deciding to drop any semblance of the act. "Sometimes, I don't get to choose."

His father didn't say anything on the subject, but a few days after that talk, Harry was woken up at seven thirty in the morning by his father - already fully dressed and ready for work. "Come on, you're coming with me to work today," he told him. And before Harry could even come up with the words to protest that he hadn't even showered, his father raised his wand and magically cleaned him up, somewhat combed his hair, and transfigured his pyjamas into presentable robes. They had a quick breakfast with his mum, but Harry was barely able to finish half before he was yanked out of his seat and pushed to the fireplace.

"What am I doing here?" Harry asked as soon as they got to the Ministry. It was almost eerie how identical the building was to the one in his own universe. Everything he'd seen up to this point had felt like some bizarro version of his world. Even Hogwarts felt foreign with how everyone talked to him and the fact that he now slept in the Gryffindor Common Room. But this… besides the lack of chaos and Death Eaters and Dark Lords running about, it was identical to the last time he saw it. If he ignored the presence of his father beside him and focused, he might even feel as if he was back home.

And that thought scared him.

When the elevators opened, and he started walking through the DMLE floor, Harry started spotting some familiar faces. Nameless Aurors he'd seen that night of the London carnage or who had been there when Scrimgeour caught him a few days before that. He couldn't believe it had been well over a month since then for him. It felt like a lifetime ago, and somehow, there were times when he felt like he was still there in the trenches of the battle. His father said his hellos to everyone he walked past, having an occasional bit of small talk with the Aurors as Harry lumbered beside him. He was trying to hear out for that voice again, the one that broke him out of the DMLE during his other time around. Maybe if he could find him, he could find Michael and make sure he was alright. Michael would hate him, all the Slytherins seemed to do so, but it would still be good enough just to know that he was out walking about.

"Good morning, Potter," Harry nearly crashed into his father's back when he heard the voice.

"Scrimgeour," his father nodded tersely. The two men acted distant, a bit cold with each other, but Harry knew Scrimgeour well enough to tell he felt more than just respect for his father. "I'm showing Harry around for today. A quick tour of how we do things here. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Scrimgeour turned to him and actually smiled. The only thing that could make things weirder here was if Snape suddenly showed up and told him he loved him like a son. "Alastor Moody has spoken in high regard of you in the past. Would it be too much to hope you're considering joining us in the future?"

"Moody has…" Prick Potter knew Moody? The real Moody? Junior died fifteen years ago here, so maybe he was never replaced in his fourth year. If so, how the fuck did his idiot of a counterpart gain Moody's fucking approval? "What?"

"Well, he said that you were starting to border on mediocrity. But for Alastor Moody speaking of a fourteen-year-old, that's high praise," Scrimgeour joked.

Bordering on mediocre. Okay, he could live with that. Surely, even his Moody, arrogant bastard that he was, would class him higher than that.

"We'll just have to see how today goes," his father put his hands on Harry's shoulder and squeezed. "We wouldn't want to sway him any which way, would we?"

His father spent the entire day walking him through every intricacy of being an Auror. From morning briefings to investigations and gathering evidence to paperwork, he was even allowed a surface view of some of the lighter cases where he was sometimes asked for input. The interrogations were tedious and rarely led anywhere. The investigations were filled with red tape and bureaucracy, and warrants that the Aurors really couldn't do anything without the expressed approval of three different superiors. And if wasting time gathering and documenting evidence in the slowest, less efficient manner wasn't monotonous enough, there was the paperwork that could rival Binns' endless essays.

Worse of all was that his father seemed to take pleasure in his discomfort. If it was up to Harry, he would have gone back home early in the morning. He had said so himself to his father. "You said you wanted to help," his father told him, and the arsehole actually grinned at him. He was forced to stay. He was forced to help. A meeting came up or something and his father gave him a few forms and told him to fill them in based on the reports of the Aurors who answered to his father. His arguments that he would do a bad job or fuck things up were waved off.

"If you do, I'll know, and I'll fix it tomorrow."

"How?"

"Magic!"

The meeting went long - if there even was a meeting to begin with. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it was all a ruse for his father to go and hang out with the other morons while he was being forced to do the actual job. He was tempted to do nothing. He was tempted to do everything wrong. In the end, he sighed and just did the work until his father came back and told him it was time for lunch.

"So, what did you think?" His father asked him after they ordered from a small muggle Indian place.

"I think you know already," Harry gave a bitter smile, and his father laughed.

"Yeah, well, you have always hated when I've brought you into the office."

So this wasn't the first time he was introduced to the joys of being an Auror? "Then why did you bring me again?"

"You've been asking, haven't you?"

"This wasn't what I meant," Harry answered curtly.

"No, you wanted to go out on the field, right? Guns blazing. Duelling Death Eaters. Go out all John McClane and beat them all single-handedly."

Harry stayed silent, partly because he didn't know who this tosser McClane was, but mostly because he didn't think he could say anything without giving himself away. He wasn't even sure why he was so dead set on fighting those bastards himself.

"What's going on with you?" For once, his voice was serious. Actually, parentally serious in the way his mother's always was. "You've been… different, lately. And I get it, you're a teenager. You change, and you have phases, I went through all of that, it's nothing new. But, Merlin, Harry, sometimes I look at you and I can't help but wonder if I should give you a Purging Potion just to make sure someone isn't polyjuicing as you!"

Harry snorted. He could never blame someone for being a little bit paranoid. God knew he was. "No need. It's me. Harry James Potter himself."

"So what's been up with you? Why are you suddenly all…" He waved his hands, clearly trying to find the right word and failing. "Like this."

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Just been thinking, I guess."

"About what?" His father insisted. "Come on. Help me help you."

Harry sighed and stalled and finally let it out. "Why did you become an Auror?"

His father raised his eyebrows. Just then, the waiter came by with their drinks. His father took a small sip before leaning back in his chair, still staring at Harry curiously. "Well, when I came out of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters were at the height of their power. My parents - your grandparents - they had just passed away a few months before, but they'd always been very active against the whole movement. And I was with your mother, a muggle-born - a very smart muggle-born that pissed off a lot of purebloods. I knew that I wouldn't be able to really start my life unless Voldemort and his Death Eaters were out of the picture, so I joined in on the effort."

"Yeah, I get that. But Voldemort's gone now. The Death Eaters too for the most part. And yet, you stayed."

"And yet I stayed."

"So… why?"

His father smiled and took another sip of his drink. "Because I realised people still needed help. I realised I couldn't live with myself if I wasn't out there doing something to help." Harry scoffed before he could stop himself. "Yeah, I know. It's a bit cheesy. But it's the truth."

"I don't know if I can be like that," Harry confessed.

"No one's asking you to be." His father answered.

They stayed silent for a while, each of them focused on their drinks. He knew his father was waiting for him to continue the conversation, but he was still hesitant. "I just… I can't help but think that there's something more out there, you know? I love this life- my life… but this can't be it, can it? There's got to be something more than just… this, right?"

"And you decided that battling Death Eaters was this something, yeah? A bit of adventure to change things up?" Harry shrugged. "You're a kid. God knows at your age all I wanted was adventure and fun and something new. We chase what excites us, the problem is that nothing excites us for long. And most of the time, it comes with enough baggage that it stifles any joy it brings in the first place. But I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess not. So… we just settle, right? We let it all go and just be thankful for what we were given."

"Well, yes, but it's not settling. You and your mother. Padfoot and Moony. No amount of exciting cases or massive pranks will ever bring me more happiness than just getting the chance to spend time with you. It's not settling if you're with the right people."

"Yeah," Harry smiled. He was right, of course. It's something he had known for a while now. And he was definitely with the right people. He had his mum and dad back. He had Susan back. He had friends-ish, who maybe, one day, could actually become actual friends. He even had a Black and Lupin that weren't actively trying to kill him. This was the life he always wanted. The one he dreamed about for so long.

So why did it feel like he was actually settling?

Reports of the Death Eater sightings were beginning to increase as the week carried on, and though Harry tried not to, he began obsessing over it. They came in the papers, through Black's quick letters he had begun sending Harry once he figured out he was interested in the subject. He heard his parents talking about it when they thought he was out of earshot. He tried escaping it, but even his friends had begun talking about it, creating their conspiracy theories about Voldemort coming back again and an actual war starting. The thought oddly thrilled Harry, but for everyone else, it seemed there was no scarier notion.

But with more news and more talk about it, he was beginning to quickly grow impatient. He tried burying himself in outings with the boys, or hanging out with Susan, or just having quiet nights with his parents where they'd watch a film or have Black and Lupin around and place a few bets on poker night. They would go to restaurants or walk in the park or waste their time in whatever boring, unoriginal way they could think of and instead of it taking Harry's mind off the situation, he became inundated with thoughts of going back out there. He knew he couldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But at this point, anything would be preferable to the drudgery his life had become.

He started avoiding Susan. He made up excuses as he pleased, organized a few too many outings with the guys, and even invited Black and Lupin more often to the house. He didn't want to. Fuck, he just wanted to be with her. Spend time with her. Go back to their normal, how they used to be those first few weeks of holiday. But lately, every one of their conversations kept going back to the big topic, the one he never allowed them to finish. She wanted to know what he was going to do with his life, and what he wanted out of his future. And the more she asked, the more he began thinking: "Anything but this."

It's not like he wanted to shut her out. It's not like he would rather endure fucking Black and Lupin over Susan. It's just that he wanted a few moments of peace and quiet where Aurora's fucking decision wasn't looming over his mind. She wanted to know what type of life he wanted to have after Hogwarts. It was simple for her. A small decision. He just wanted to know if he could even manage to have a life for himself here.

Black and Lupin had become completely unbearable. He started fighting more and more with his parents about whatever he could bring up. His friends acting like the world was going to end, and they were all going to die because three fuckers were still walking about, was just annoying. And he couldn't be with Susan for more than a few hours before that itself soured.

It was three days before his birthday that he lost it and just disapparated. He was still in his pyjamas, sitting in his bed, before he turned on the spot. It felt weird doing that after so long, but he was thankful he still could in this universe. The pub looked just like he remembered it. Why he picked this one out of all of them, he wasn't sure, but he stepped inside anyway. It was the afternoon, happy hour, fairly crowded, and when he asked the bartender for a few shots of Firewhisky, the man didn't make a fuss.

Harry sat there quietly, drinking by himself, hoping and praying and all but silently demanding anyone to come and fuck with him. To just give him a reason. An excuse. Anything that would set a fight off. He just wanted to let off a bit of steam. But no one seemed to let him. A few hours passed before he left, slightly buzzed, but well enough that he managed to apparate away. He walked around Muggle London, strolling through malls and shops as he tried to walk off the alcohol in his system. He started going in and out of shops, perusing through the shirts and jumpers and belts and pants before leaving and going to the next store.

The employees started looking at him oddly, especially those at the posh stores, where everything was just so absurdly overpriced. Maybe it was because he was drunk, or maybe it was that stupid red and gold robe that was just so soft he couldn't not use it. Either way, he ignored them. He lost track of time and only stopped once something black caught his eye. It was a large trench coat, not unlike the one he had been using that night of the siege of London. He stood there, admiring it, his hands gracing through the fabric. It kind of smelt like his, and he liked that. He thought about buying it, but he didn't have any money with him. He thought about stealing it but doubted it would make his parents proud.

He thought about that night and how good it had felt. He'd done the right thing, and he wasn't just talking morally speaking. Yes, that was the night he had found a glimmer of hope in himself, that sign he had always asked for to tell him when he was going down the right path. But it was more than that, wasn't it? He almost enjoyed himself. The thrill. The adrenaline. Running around the city, duelling Death Eaters and saving people, and then moving on to the next. His battle with Dolohov. Outsmarting Elijah. Fighting side by side with his friends. Even that weird alliance he made with Scrimgeour. Taking that leap of faith just for Aurora to appear to him at the last second and save his life. Going into the Ministry. Beating Voldemort and pushing him out of his mind.

No other night had ever made him feel so alive. He'd been beaten down, injured and blasted, and worked to his very bone, and all he could remember was the elation. He'd had a purpose then. He'd done something with himself, something bigger. Something that would make him remembered. Something that he could actually be proud of himself for doing. That night, he had actually mattered. He knew now that every night he went out and beat up all those lowlifes at those pubs, it was just for him. A selfish want to do something with that anger inside. He knew it just now when he went and tried to do that same thing. But this… that night, it was selfish, yeah. He didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart, and yet it felt different. While his memories of every other night outing he had brought him nothing but shame, this one didn't.

He hadn't felt like that ever since he got here. Not even a small glimpse of it. Just the opposite, actually. Here, in this mundane life with all its domesticity and routine and perfectness, he felt stifled. Like he was wasting away, letting his life go by just because this felt safe. He was missing out on so much, and though that other life he had had brought him so much pain, it had also brought him joys unlike anything else because he had earnt them. He didn't feel constantly bored or half-awake. He hadn't gone numb from the dullness of it all. He kept fighting, kept trying to make his life something better than it already was. And maybe he could do that here, but what would happen if he did what he really wanted to do?

His plans for the future didn't fit with Susan's vision. He could barely be in the same room with Black and Lupin, and he knew just how important they were for his parents. He missed Theo and Pansy and Draco and Daphne and Blaise and Michael and Kieran and everyone else in his life. He liked Ron and Dean and Seamus well enough - Longbottom could still go fuck himself for all he cared - but they weren't like his friends. They could never hope to replace them.

Aurora had told him that this wasn't his life any more, and for the first time, he was beginning to concede that maybe she was right. But just because he wanted more than the slog of a life Prick Potter had made for himself, it didn't mean he was willing to let go of the people he loved here.

He apparated straight back to his room that night, and thankfully, his parents didn't bother him. After they went to sleep, he went down for some water and a bit of food before he drifted off. They didn't ask about his disappearance, and Harry hoped they didn't know anything about it. He stayed in that day, and the next one as well. He started ignoring the letters from his friends and Susan as he kept going over his thoughts. His parents tried to cheer him up, proposing more nice family nights and even offering to go out just the three of them to the movies or dinner, but Harry kept insisting he was going to stay in his room.

For the most part, his parents always respected him when he said he didn't want to go out. They didn't push him or keep knocking on his door. Which was why it was so weird his mum wouldn't stop bugging him the day before his birthday.

"Harry!" She pounded on the door. "Harry, open the door!"

"'M comin', 'm comin'," he mumbled. He knew he was a bit stinky, and that he hadn't changed in the past three days, but he didn't care as he opened the door and glared at his mother. "Yes?"

"Susan is here," she told him. "She wants to see you."

Harry sighed, opening the door further and rubbing his eyes as he walked back to his bed. "'M sick. Tell her I'll see her tomorrow, yeah."

"Tell her yourself, young man."

"Mum, please," he was pleading, and he hated himself for it. "Just please do it."

She took pity on him, going downstairs and telling Susan something about dragonpox and how contagious it was and how he'd be fine by tomorrow. Unfortunately, she promised Susan that he would write her a letter, so Harry guessed he now had homework. Great. Harry heard the floo as Susan left, but he was smart enough to not expect the subject to be over just like that. His mother came back up soon after, leaning against his door with an expectant look on her face.

"What?" He asked.

"Everything alright between you and Susan?" Her voice was soft and comforting and, thankfully, it was pitiless.

"Mum, I don't want to talk about this," Harry groaned, curling up in bed and away from his mother.

She was silent for a while, and for a moment, Harry had even thought she had left. "Have I ever told you about Gaius?"

Out of all the things he had been expecting, that wasn't one of them. "Who?"

"Gaius," she repeated, and Harry felt as the bed moved when she sat beside him. "He was two years older than me. Ravenclaw. Handsome boy."

"Ugh, Mum!"

She laughed. "I did have a life before you, you know?"

"Alright, so you dated before you were with Dad. Big woop, yeah. I sort of imagined already."

"I didn't just date before your father, Harry. Gaius was my boyfriend for a little over two years. We started dating when I was finishing up my third year and broke up right after my fifth year."

Harry sat up in his bed, eager to get any insight into his mother's life that he didn't know about already. "What happened?"

"He was my world," she said simply. "I loved him more than I'd ever loved anyone before. Or, at least, I used to think so. Nothing really happened, not like you're thinking. There was no big spat or a massive cheating scandal or anything like that. He just went his way and I went mine. It was a teenage romance, that's all. When you're in one of them, the sky is pink and the breeze smells like honey. Everything's perfect, and you think you're going to be with them forever. When we broke up, I was devastated. I thought I would never find anyone I'd love as much as I loved him. I constantly thought about writing to him and just trying to be there for him. Maybe if I was his friend again, we could get back together again. Eventually. But I didn't, and I'm so glad I didn't. Because the love I felt for him is barely a grain of sand compared to what I feel for your father. And if I had continued to be stuck in my ways, refusing to move on, I would have never had you. Would have never had this life, and that, I wouldn't change for anything."

"But how do you know?" Harry asked. "At one point, you thought this Gaius was the best thing of your life. How is this any different."

His mother smiled at him. "Maybe it's time, I've been with your father for about twenty years now, and I was only with Gaius. Maybe it's the experiences we've had. Maybe it's just the lack of teenage hormones messing about with us. But I just know. Deep down, at my core, I know this is where I'm supposed to be." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and stood up from his bed. "It's okay if teenage romances don't work out. They rarely do. And for what it's worth, I still look back to those years with Gaius fondly. I have no regrets. At the very least, it taught me that I shouldn't just force myself to stick with something because at one point I believed that to be my entire life. You'll miss out on too much if you do."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm TWELVE chapters ahead, and I'm in the middle of writing the first arc of Book 2 of the Pray For The Wicked Saga! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)