Disclaimer: This work contains mature and explicit themes including but not limited to violence, drug and alcohol abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation and many more. Please consider your own triggers prior to reading this work. Please take care of yourself and skip this one if you need to.

"The truth is I was drowning; I have been for a long time and still am. Drowning under the weight of my failures, my guilt and the expectations everyone continues to heap onto me. Drowning under the weight of all the words I should have said and the things I should have done."

December 2000

Harry blinked his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. He reached instinctively for his glasses and knocked over a glass bottle that clattered onto the ground before his fingers finally closed around the thin wire frames he searched for.

He continued to open and close his eyes harshly, trying his best to blink away his grogginess, and after a few minutes of doing so, felt awake enough to actually get himself out of bed. He procured his wand from the bedside table, nearly knocking another empty bottle off of it in the process, and cast a tempus charm.

The wand read that it was nearly one in the afternoon and Harry panicked. What grogginess remained was quickly pushed aside as he sprinted from his room to the bathroom and began his morning ablutions in haste.

He dressed quickly, forgoing breakfast and flooing directly to Greengrass Manor. When he arrived, Daphne was seated in the foyer dressed elegantly, a book lay open on her lap. She looked up, her expression neutral.

"You're late Harry."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to, I just had trouble getting to sleep last night and missed my alarm this morning."

Harry figured half a truth was better than a full lie, because the full truth was that he had gone to sleep a little bit too easily last night.

Daphne's face dropped the neutral expression as her eyes became more sympathetic. "Nightmares?" She asked, standing and enveloping him in a hug.

"Uh, no. Just stress from work I guess," he replied. It was another half-truth. The Ministry had been pushing him hard. He was promoted from a junior auror to a lead a few months ago, and he knew there were plans in place that had him on the fast track to being the head of the DMLE by 25. Kinglsey had made it clear that he was hoping to have Harry as Deputy Minister as quickly as possible, and these were all the prerequisite steps he needed to take.

Yet Harry didn't want it. More importantly he didn't feel like he deserved it. He knew he was a figurehead for this movement, and while he was glad it was happening, he couldn't help but to feel like there were so many more people who were far more qualified than he could ever be. People who genuinely cared and knew what they were talking about. Not some idiot kid who had been forced to fight a Dark Lord and now couldn't sleep without drinking a combination of hard liquor and dreamless sleep draught.

"Maybe it's time for a holiday," Daphne's voice cut in, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Harry coughed to clear his throat and then smiled. "We'll go on our honeymoon in June. I can hang on until then." Despite the light tone of his voice and what his words said, Harry wasn't sure if he could.

Daphne studied him. "At least a smaller break, then. But we can figure that out later. We might have missed our appointment with the photographer, but we can reschedule. We still have the florist and catering scheduled for today.

Harry allowed Daphne to take him by the hand and lead him to the floo. She threw a pinch of floo powder in, and they walked through, emerging in a well-lit shop made of glass. Magical flowers hung from the ceiling and walls and were growing in planters all around the room.

Beautiful roses, lilies, daisies, and other flowers that Harry couldn't begin to name surrounded them in thousands of different colors and shades. Their perfume wafted gently through the air filling the room with a pleasant aroma.

Part of Harry knew he should be enjoying this. That he should be ecstatic to be here picking flowers with Daphne for their wedding, and deep down somewhere inside of himself he was, but at this moment he just felt tired. He craved the sleep that a potion and a half glass of liquor could provide him.

Daphne squeezed his hand and smiled at him. Harry smiled back. The shopkeeper came around the corner beaming at them. She was a portly witch a round face and orange hair that was up in a bun.

"Oh, we're so unbelievably happy to have you here Mr. Potter, Ms. Greengrass," she exclaimed. "My name is Anne; did we already have any types of flowers in mind or are we just feeling out what we like today?"

Harry looked to Daphne who rolled her eyes at him. "We definitely want roses and dahlias, but we're open to other types of flowers as well. I was thinking gardenias for the boutonnieres, but I'm not set on that."

"Ooh, that's a lovely starting point, why don't we start with the roses," she began leading them through the shop to a wall covered in beautiful roses. "We have both magical and muggle varieties. Magical of course providing us with more colors and shades but coming in at a bit of a higher cost. Both varieties are of the highest quality and will be charmed with anti-wilting and brightness charms to ensure they remain as vibrant as they look now."

Harry did his best to feign interest as they discussed the color scheme, which shades would match best, and how many bouquets they needed, but his mind continued to wander back to thoughts of the dreamless sleep he had bottled at home.

He hadn't meant to start using it like he had, but earlier in the year after a particularly frustrating week of work and restless sleep, Harry had been prescribed three nights of the potion by the Auror Staff Healer. By that point he had been self-medicating with booze at night because if he drank himself to sleep the nightmares were less intense.

On that first night he had used it, he had slept for 15 hours and awoke feeling more refreshed and relaxed than he could ever remember. The next night he actually looked forward to sleeping as opposed to dreading it.

After the three days were up, he went back to the healer and requested another dose, but he was promptly denied. Dreamless sleep was highly addictive in nature and detrimental to your health when taken over an extended period of time the healer had informed him.

Harry had pleaded with him, told him he could handle it, but the healer had referred him to a mind healer and said he wouldn't prescribe him any more.

That night he had gone back to booze.

That night the nightmares returned with a vengeance, as if to make up for all the time they had spent apart from him.

In the morning Harry had inquired and discovered that Dreamless Sleep could be bought from home brewers for a hefty sum. The potion was a tricky one to make and without strict testing and regulations it became even more dangerous but that didn't matter. All that mattered to Harry was that he no longer had to suffer from the fear, guilt, anxiety, and self-hatred that he lived with daily.

He bought the potion from a man anonymously and the man had sent it by owl. The potion wasn't as effective as the ministry provided doses, but it had done the trick enough that he could get through the night. When he added alcohol, it worked even better.

He had tried not to use it every night, but as time went on, he found himself craving it. Soon it wasn't the nightmares that drove his need for it, but rather his own body's desire.

"What do you think Harry?" Daphne's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his eyes immediately flew to hers. She was looking at him inquisitively, but he could see concern coloring her features as well.

"I'm sorry, I got lost in my own little world there. What was it you were asking?" he asked sheepishly.

"If we wanted peonies, love." Daphne's concerned look evolved into one of suspicion.

"You love peonies, we should absolutely have them."

Daphne continued to eye him, but suddenly the tension broke as another employee came by with a tray full of champagne flutes. They both reached for a glass, Daphne sipping elegantly while Harry finished his in a large swallow before reaching for another.

At Daphne's look he glanced away. "Thirsty," he muttered.

Thankfully Anne broke back in talking about the different kinds of peonies they had and discounts they could offer.

Harry knew Daphne was becoming wary of his behavior and he began to stress slightly. She had caught him about a month ago and forced him to throw away his entire supply of potion. "Harry, this could kill you. There's a reason for all the warnings," she had told him, her voice rife with worry.

Harry had tried to make her understand, but she refused to hear his reasoning. "I will not let you kill yourself with these potions. Whatever else we can do, we will. We'll see a mind healer. I heard Switzerland has healers experimenting with pensieves."

Harry had agreed noncommittally. Thrown out all the potions he had as she watched. He had told her he loved her and thanked her for caring for him. In that moment, he had even meant it, but over the course of the next week things got very bad, very fast.

His body yearned for the potion. He entered withdrawals and at night the least of his worries were nightmares. He perspired, hot flashes searing his skin and having him feel like he would melt before the cold overtook him and his sweat soaked sheets turned to ice.

Physical pain accompanied him too, as did nausea and anxiety. His performance dipped at work. His relationship with Daphne strained. It was then that he came to the conclusion that if this was life without the potion, he would rather live well for a short period than live a long life that included him feeling like this.

He had bought more that night and had been taking it ever since. He thought Daphne may have figured it out a time or two, but she hadn't mentioned it yet. He hated to lie to her, but he didn't know what else he could do. He didn't know how he could make her understand.

"That's wonderful," his fiancées voice rang out. "Does that all sound okay with you Harry?"

"That sounds perfect. I can't wait to marry you." Daphne smiled at him.

"Wonderful! We'll have you leave a deposit today and we'll be in touch soon." Anne said and Harry smiled at her.

"Thank you," he told her sincerely as she opened his coin purse and followed her to the counter. He paid quickly and they made their way back to the floo. "To the caterer now?" Harry asked.

"Do you mind if we stop by Grimmauld first? I need to use the restroom and could use the opportunity to freshen up."

Harry tempered his excitement. While she freshened up, he could grab a swallow of something that might hold him over until this evening. "Of course, darling."

A moment later they were in the foyer of Grimmauld Place and Daphne was headed up the stairs. Harry rushed into the kitchen where he uncorked a bottle of Ogden's finest and drank directly from the bottle, one swallow, and then another.

He quickly set the bottle back to where it belonged and cast a breath freshening charm. On his way back he took two bottles of water from the refrigerator, one for himself and one for Daphne, and returned to the foyer.

He took a large swallow from his bottle and waited, already dreading the time they would spend picking the food for the wedding. Part of him wished he could just leave this entirely up to Daphne, but he knew that he should help.

Before he could ponder the thought any further, he heard Daphne returning and plastered a smile on his face, but when she finally made it down the stairs, she had hurt in her eyes and two empty bottles in her hands.

"Harry, you said you stopped."

He knew her well enough that he could tell she was trying to keep her voice steady and her demeanor calm, but despite that he could hear the anger in her words and could see the betrayal in her eyes.

Harry knew he should feel guilty. He knew he should be ashamed of lying; repentant for hurting someone he loved. Instead, all he felt was anger.

"You went snooping through my things?" he replied hotly, his voice louder than he had anticipated.

Daphne flinched back at the sudden yelling and again a part of Harry screamed at him that he should be ashamed of making her do so.

"It was hardly snooping; your bedroom smells like a potion brewery mixed with a bar. There were dozens of empty bottles, Harry. Dozens!"

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he stayed quiet.

"Listen. I love you more than anything else on this planet. More than I love myself. You're going to be my husband Harry, and there is nothing I want more than that, but I swear to everything that I cannot and will not sit idly by while you kill yourself."

Her face was flushed red from anger or hurt, he couldn't say. Her blue eyes were bright and glistening with tears that she was too stubborn to let fall. Harry could see that her hands were shaking as she was holding the bottles.

Every fiber of her being showed how much she cared.

All that Harry had ever wanted throughout his childhood and when he was at Hogwarts was for someone to care for him, truly care for him.

And she cared.

"I'm not killing myself," he told her stubbornly.

Her eyes hardened and the tears that she had been holding back began to roll down her cheeks.

Harry saw her expression harden. He felt his own do the same. If she wanted a fight, he would give her one. At least it would get him out of this fucking catering appointment.

But when she spoke it wasn't with a raised voice or harsh words. When she spoke, it was softly and deadly serious.

"It's the potions and the alcohol or me. Pick which of us you truly can't live without."

Harry faltered. Daphne continued to look at him, but the longer he took to answer the more her expression shifted to one of sorrow.

"Daphne it's not like that, they just help me to sleep."

"That's the wrong fucking answer, Harry."

The bottles fell to the ground, clattering against the hardwood as Daphne took off her ring. She threw it at him, and he caught it out of the air, the metal stinging his hand as if he had been burned.

"I will not sit here while you dig your own grave. If you ever figure this out then you can reach back out, and if you do I expect the apology of a fucking lifetime, but until then I refuse."

Harry felt as if he had been punched in the gut. "Daphne wait. We can—"

She strode past him, forgoing the floo for the door to the garden. Harry made to follow, but she slammed it shut and a moment later a crack of apparition sounded like a gunshot.

Harry sank onto the couch. He ran his hand, the one not holding the engagement ring, through his hair and sighed.

He looked at the empty bottle and drew in a deep breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I've royally fucked this," he said to no one in particular.

He knew he should follow her. Apologize and beg her to take him back, but at the moment all he really wanted was a drink. He waved his wand and summoned the bottle he had drunk from earlier, opening the top and taking another swallow.

'One more night,' He thought to himself. 'One more night, and I'll figure this out tomorrow.' His eyes glanced at the calendar, and he realized belatedly tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

"Happy fucking Christmas."