Chapter Text
Prologue: The Betrayal
The lights in the Auror division of the Ministry of Magic were entirely too bright. They left long rays of piercing radiance that seemed to make Harry’s brain tickle and itch with irritation. He closed his eyes to shield them from the razor-sharp illumination only to feel the painful heat of tea tearing at his skin. With a soft curse, he sat the cup down, shaking his hand in efforts to remove the offending liquid from his skin. Small droplets of the russet beverage splattered along the parchment Harry was composing for the Minister, smearing the ink. He used the sleeve of his robes to pat dry the remaining stains and cursed again. The whole day seemed to be balancing on stilts, ready to topple with the slightest shift in weight. There were only brief moments where nothing had gone wrong, but this was not one of them. The report Harry was composing was due in an hour and he’d only just begun it. Now, there was tea covering the majority of the parchment and the tingling in his legs had returned.
He cursed again, more for comfort than anything, hoping that he could somehow salvage the mess in front of him. If only his head would stop hurting and his legs would stop feeling like a legion of Flesh-Eating slugs were slithering beneath his skin. He stood up and took a few steps before everything blurred before him, and he needed to sit down again. Inhaling sharply, he immediately regretted it; various scents around the room assaulted his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe without pain. He could smell remnants of Ginny’s perfume on his robes, the spices from his lunch, and the tea he’d just spilt. With each inhale, the scents grew stronger, making his head throb against his skull.
He closed his eyes, trying to tune out all of the sounds in the small area; everything seemed amplified, as though the witches and wizards around him were using a Sonorus spell. With shaking hands, he opened the drawer of his desk, and fumbled for one of the many potion vials tucked away. The glass clattered together as his fingers brushed against them, tipping them enough to read the labels and moving on. He found the one he was looking for and quickly removed the cork, swallowing its contents as though his life depended on it. He slammed the small container down and watched as it rolled around until it tapped against his quill, coming to a stop. Scribbled on the side of the small vial, in Hermione’s neat scrawl, was Calming Draught.
Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to relax and allow the potion’s effects to soothe his tattered nerves. With slow, rhythmic breaths, he tried to focus on anything but the tickling sensation in his head. The longer he inhaled and exhaled, the better he felt; with a sigh of relief, he picked up his quill and began trying to complete his report. His hands were still shaking slightly, but at least the scratch of the quill against the parchment didn’t rattle his insides like an earthquake.
Scratching the last words on the page, Harry sat back, satisfied with the report.
“Harry Potter?”
Turning to see who had called his name, Harry’s eyes met with the angelic face of the Minister’s new assistant. Her arrival could only mean one thing: Kingsley was on his way to collect the report. He could never remember her name, but that didn’t matter; what mattered was the report still covered in tea and he was sitting with an empty potion vial on his desk. Desperate to avoid any questions, he shuffled the papers and tossed the vial back in his drawer, locking it. Wand at the ready, he copied the report, hoping that the obvious mess wouldn’t transfer to the fresh sheet of parchment.
“Auror Potter, what is the meaning of this?”
Harry turned, startled. “Excuse me, sir?”
Kingsley Shaklebolt, the Minister of Magic, was standing before him with a bright piece of parchment that he recognised as the invitations of the wedding that Ginny had picked out.
“Why didn’t I get this sooner?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t—”
A loud guffaw that irritated Harry’s already fragile state echoed into the room. “Harry, I’m only kidding. I got it months ago. What’s the matter? You look like you’ve been in training all day.”
“Nothing, sir. I’m fine.”
“Have you seen yourself in a mirror, boy? You are whiter than Albus’ tomb!”
“I’m f-fine, sir, really,” Harry replied with a frown. He didn’t like that his symptoms were so obvious. “I’ve finished the report on the Death Eaters in Brighton, sir. Auror Weasley and I have a team set up—”
“Harry,” the Minister interrupted. “You don’t need to be so formal. Go home. You look like you need some rest.”
“But, sir, I’m fine,” Harry insisted.
“No more excuses. Go home and enjoy the evening. I hear the weather’s taken a turn for the better,” Kingsley replied, turning to leave. “Oh, and leave the report with my assistant.”
The dark-skinned man left Harry standing dumbfounded, as his assistant sauntered back into the room with reddened cheeks and a giddy grin. This wasn’t uncommon, but he still hated it; he didn’t like the way people admired him as though he were some idol for them to worship. He’d tried for years to get away from being The-Boy-Who-Lived and just live his life as Harry Potter: Ministry Auror and future husband of Ginevra Weasley, but it wasn’t working. His image would always be the ‘conqueror of the Dark Lord’.
The young woman giggled softly as Harry held out the parchment for her to take. He tried to smile in return, but his head was starting to hurt again already and for once, he felt like he would accept Kingsley’s generosity.
It was still early for a Wednesday, but the lift was full of people as they headed to the main floor of the Ministry building. Harry tried to breathe and stay calm as the slight blurring of his vision returned and his head began to ache. He manoeuvred through the crowds quickly, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, threw it in the grate, and called out, “Hightrees.” The spinning through the Floo network did nothing for his already ailing head. By the time he stepped into his home, he felt completely spent. He just wanted a nice long lie down before attempting to eat anything.
Harry was happy when he landed in the fireplace at his home in Hampton. It was a large, mountainous looking house with white bricks and a black roof. It was a little more opulent than Harry would have liked, but the atmosphere seemed to grow on him and it was now a place he considered home.
He stepped onto the plush, Persian rug in front of the hearth and cast quick spell to clean the Floo powder from his person and floor. It has been a long day, no matter how he tried to deny it. He wanted a nice cup of tea and to sit with Ginny for a while, but as he stepped into the kitchen and saw Neville Longbottom and Ginny talking feverishly, he wondered what was going on. It was a surprise to see his old school mate at his home, especially since they didn’t see one another often.
“Neville, hey, everything alright?” Harry said with as much enthusiasm as his strange ailments would allow.
“H-Harry! Everything’s fine, you?” Neville stammered, his face turning a bright shade of crimson.
“Alright, just a bit tired. How are things at Hogwarts?” Harry asked, still surprised to see his friend at his home.
“F-fine, thanks. The M-ministry?”
“You’re home early,” Ginny spat, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.
“Kingsley sent me home, said I looked like I needed a lie in. What’s going on, Gin?”
“Nothing. Neville and I were just catching up; right, Neville?”
“Y-yeah, a bit,” Neville said and turned toward Ginny, his face pleading with the youngest Weasley. “Tell him, Ginny.”
“No!” Ginny said, turning away from both men.
“Tell me what? What’s going on? Did something happen?” Harry was confused. What would Neville know that Harry didn’t about his fiancé?
“H-Harry, listen, I need to talk to you about something,” Neville stammered, his face still red with embarrassment.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“Neville! Not now!”
“Sorry, Gin, he has to know.”
“What exactly is it that I have to know?” Harry replied incredulously. He didn’t like how this was going; there was a sinking feeling in his gut that he really didn’t want to know the answer to his question, not the way Ginny was standing with her back to both of them. She only turned when she spoke and her fingertips seemed glued to her forehead.
“G-Ginny and I-I,” Neville began, his gaze trained on the tiled floor on the kitchen. “W-we’ve b-been seeing one another, H-Harry.”
“Neville! For Merlin’s sake, couldn’t you have waited?” Ginny began to pace the kitchen, her hair waving in the wake of her movements.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it anymore, Ginny. Harry’s one of my best mates.”
Harry found it odd that Neville didn’t stammer when speaking to Ginny. Part of him felt completely distant from the conversation taking place, but he knew deep down that he was actually standing in his kitchen, hearing one of his best mates tell him that his fiancé was having an affair.
“I’m sorry, Neville, could you say that again. I’m not sure I’ve heard you properly.”
“G-Ginny and I have been s-s-sleeping together.”
The words began to string together, making it hard to think. His thoughts, no matter how cloudy, were swimming of betrayal and anger. He wanted to lash out; he wanted to know why. Why had the woman he loved and cherish done something so Slytherin like? It was like a smack in the face of astronomical proportions; the kind of news that made him wish he wasn’t such a good man. He knew he had flaws, but wanted to know what could have precipitated such an ignoble act on their part.
The only question burning the tip of Harry’s tongue was why. Why did she do it? Why did Neville do it? And just as he was about to call them every foul name his mind could muster, he finally asked, his tone harsh and demanding.
“Why?”
The question reverberated around the room and two plates shattered, their tiny fragments clattering against the tiled floor. Neither Ginny, nor Neville spoke. The silence descended upon the room like a harsh blanket, muting everything but the carefully controlled breaths that Harry exhaled.
“I asked you a question!” Harry yelled. He could no longer control the anger he felt despite the throbbing in his head.
“Calm down, Harry,” Ginny said, as calmly as possible. Her entire demeanour shifted from haughty and sure to one of fear and uncertainty. Neville began to back away slowly, afraid of what Harry might do.
“Why, Ginny? Why did you do it? I give you everything—”
“Everything but you, Harry!” Ginny interrupted, her voice like a hammer against Harry’s head. The shrill cry was desperate, but meaningless to his already incensed mind. “You go to work and come home; you never want to go out and all you care about is work! If you aren’t with Ron, you’re here doing nothing! You ignore me and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“H-Harry, it w-w-was an accident,” Neville stammered, trying to divert Harry’s attention from Ginny. Everyone knew that The-Boy-Who-Lived had a temper like a Hungarian Horntail, but it had been years since any one had been on the receiving end of it.
“Shut it, Neville!”
“See! This is exactly what I mean! You don’t care, Harry; you don’t care about anything! It really was an accident!”
“How long?” Harry managed through gritted teeth. Neither Neville, nor Ginny spoke; instead, they exchanged glances, their faces betraying what Harry already felt. “How long, Neville?”
“T-three months,” Neville replied, trying to distance himself from the quarrelling lovers.
“Is that why you’re here, Neville, to shag my fiancé again?”
“No!” Neville replied vehemently.
“He wanted me to tell you before now,” Ginny cried.
“Oh, come off it, Gin,” Harry said, cringing. His head was beginning to feel like a Quidditch match was going on inside its depths.
“We had too much to drink and it just happened!”
“But you continued?” queried Harry, not truly listening. He wanted to throw Ginny out and demand that she never set foot near him again.
“Neville offered me comfort when I needed it, which is more than I can say for you!” Ginny yelled, as she began to pace the kitchen. “It was an accident, but I wasn’t ready to end it yet. I wanted it, Harry. I wanted the attention that you didn’t give!”
“Harry, I’m s-s-sorry. I—”
“Save it, Neville,” Harry said with a low growl, rubbing his temples as the pain increased, and he felt his legs begin to shake. He couldn’t understand what was going on. Why now? He’d spent so much time trying to please everyone that he didn’t think it was too much to ask for a quiet life. “We’re supposed to get married in three weeks, Ginny. We’re supposed to have dinner at The Burrow tonight… Why?”
There were tears pouring down Ginny’s freckled cheeks; her face was red and puffy. None of that seemed to matter to Harry as he looked on his fiancé and one of his oldest friends with detached interest. He loved Ginny; he was in love with Ginny, and yet her actions proved she didn’t feel the same way. She never said anything about wanting to do more, or expressed any displeasure with their life. He’d always tried to be honest with himself and with Ginny, but it would seem that she didn’t feel the same way.
As his legs weakened, Harry gripped the countertop, trying desperately to hold on to something substantial. The longer he listened to Ginny’s sobs, the more it felt like his head was about to split in two.
“Just get out,” he finally managed, looking at both Ginny and Neville with disdain. “I don’t want to see either of you again. GET OUT!”
“Harry, please, I love you,” Ginny pleaded, walking to where Harry stood, leaning against the counter. “Just listen to me!”
“Go! I don’t want you here! Either of you!” Harry tried not to yell, but it seemed that the words spilled forth before he could stop them. Another plate broke and landed on Ginny’s bare foot. She yelped in surprise before running from the kitchen to the stairs. Harry swore he could hear every step she took along the floorboards of their home. It was the most painful, dull throb he’d ever known outside of the link between himself and Voldemort. Only this time, he was awake to feel every pin prick against the grey matter inside his head; part of him wished that he could cast Engorgio on his skull just so his brain would fit inside it again.
Harry closed his eyes and felt everything swirl. He dug his fingers into the marble tops, trying desperately to get a hold on his body. The thudding became like a drumbeat, rhythmically pounding until each became shorter, then finally stopped. Neville walked away from the kitchen quickly and Harry didn’t even spare a glance as they disappeared in green flames through the Floo. As soon as they were gone, he let out of a frustrated scream that only served to make his head hurt worse. With slow, precise steps, Harry found his way to the sofa, dropping down unceremoniously before exhaling heavily.
Harry felt completely foolish. He’d invested the last five years of his life in his relationship with Ginny. Surely, she was blind if she couldn’t see how much he adored her. He just didn’t understand how everything could have gone so sour so fast. His heart ached as much as the rest of him. He knew he had another Calming Draught somewhere, but couldn’t be arsed to search, not with the way his legs trembled, and his head ached.
Why couldn’t he have something like Hermione and Ron?
Harry finally started to drift off to sleep, his conscious mind giving way to darkness…
Harry crouched behind a grey, stone wall, wiping the sweat that pooled on his brow. His heart raced with anxiety as another burst of magic flew over his head angrily. The colours were exploding all around and he heard a familiar voice yelling his name. He turned to see a blurry figured behind another broken piece of the pitted stone. The words were garbled and incoherent, but there was an urgency to it that made Harry’s heart beg for escape from his chest. A sudden explosion of rock and debris made him jump, his body landing against the cold surface of the wall.
“Harry!” the voice called and then others joined in. The voices were taunting him and to prove a point, Harry transfigured a large piece of rock into a mirror and looked around the edge of the barrier. There were four shadowy figures spreading out as though they controlled the night.
The figure across from Harry rose to their haunches, ready to pounce as the other four drew closer. Harry couldn’t understand a word the person was saying, so instead of listening, he watched as two of the figures disappeared from sight. A flurry of colours flew toward Harry; he tried to dodge, but spells collided with his body from both sides, making his insides lurch. Pain surged through his body and a sensation of numbness spread through his body in sporadic waves. He lifted his wand and cast spells at all of the figures, hoping that he’d hit someone. It was when he heard a loud eruption that it was clear that this was a duel to the death.
The urgency returned and Harry tried desperately to fight the growing pain in his head, but the feeling that something wasn’t right returned.
The Floo ignited and Harry awoke with a start. His legs felt completely numb and there was a sick feeling in his stomach as Ron appeared in the green flames, cursing until he brushed all of the ash from his robes.
Harry’s stomach plummeted as he realised why Ron was standing in his sitting room with a look of pure rage on his face.
To be continued…