Chapter 1: “Am I moving? Maybe.”

June 1st, 2003

“I’m moving,” Harry moaned, burying his head in his hands at the Weasley kitchen table. “I can’t take it anymore! The next reporter to shove a camera in my face is going to land me in Azkaban, I swear.”

The assembled Weasleys, and Hermione who was an honorary Weasley as Harry himself was, gave him sympathetic looks. Molly even slid Harry a stack of what he thought were ‘sympathy bacon and eggs’.

“It can’t be that bad,” Ron said before shrinking under the weight of Harry’s exhausted glare. “Or maybe it is,” he mumbled.

“Ron, the one for Witch Weekly tried to vanish my shirt,” Harry said darkly. “And they all always ask the same stupid questions—”

“Where’s that devastatingly gorgeous girlfriend of yours?” Ginny giggled as she imitated a reporter.

“I heard you broke up, are you single?” Charlie grinned, playing along with his sister.

“Is it true you’re gay?” George said, a glimmer of his former merriment returning as he jumped in the game of mocking Harry’s misery.

“Are the rumors surrounding you and Draco Malfoy true?” Ron chuckled.

Harry scowled at them, everyone was entirely too used to the questions he got, but everyone choked on their laughter as Hermione uncharacteristically joined in.

“I heard you harbored sexual attraction to Severus Snape- care to comment?” she asked primly, holding her wand out to Harry like a microphone.

“Leave Harry alone,” Molly scolded her children, though since she was laughing as well it wasn’t being taken very seriously. “He shouldn’t be harassed in his own home.”

“I’d be happy to set up some new wards for you,” Bill offered. “Unless you seriously want to run away.”

“I might,” Harry grumbled.

“You could go see my seester in France!” Fleur offered with a bright smile. “She would be ‘appy to ‘ost you!”

“Er…” Harry’s stomach twisted uncomfortably with the thought of spending time with Fleur’s all too adoring younger sister. “I don’t speak French,” he said as a lame excuse.

“Go to Africa with Luna,” Ginny offered with a sympathetic look. “She’s working on a book about magical creatures, you might like helping with that.”

Harry hummed noncommittally. Luna was great, but Harry didn’t feel up to forcing his company on others.

Molly wouldn’t let Harry wallow in peaceful isolation though, she kept dragging him to her house and conspiring with Kreacher to ensure he was surrounded by company almost constantly. Harry suspected that she regret it sometimes; like when she popped over to Grimmauld and he was drunk and throwing curses at the walls, his alcohol soaked brain convincing him that he was once more in a battle for his life. Or the many times she’d forced him to stay over at the Burrow, only to be woken by Harry’s never ending night terrors. Once she had quietly held him as he sobbed and screamed- then puked as the booze tore up his system.

Molly did keep him away from the Dreamless Sleep vials stored in her medicine cabinet though. She had placed more locks and wards on it than Harry had any hope of breaking, and he’d be damned if he’d travel out in public to fetch a potion himself.

“Or you could plan on going to Hogwarts with us,” Hermione said, bringing up the same disagreement they’d had multiple times the last two weeks and interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

Hermione didn’t understand. How could she? — why didn’t she? — Harry could never go back to Hogwarts. It would never be home for him again. Not the way it used to be. Even as he briefly thought of Hogwarts, he felt a jolt of fear, of misery, rip through him.

Tonks.

Remus.

Fred.

Snape.

Colin.

Himself.

All struck down. All dead- except for Harry.

Harry who had followed Albus Dumbledore’s quest and reunited the Deathly Hallows; saving his own life and sealing his fate for all of eternity.

Harry never wanted to see Hogwarts again.

“Australia was wicked,” Ron said suddenly around a mouthful of eggs. “You could go there and just start fresh, eh?”

“Yeah… maybe,” Harry agreed absently. He yawned and slumped down in his seat.

“You need to sleep, dear,” Molly said. She gently placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder and everyone politely ignored Harry’s flinch at the contact. “Why don’t you eat your breakfast and then you can go take a kip in Ronnie’s room.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied. “I think I even got two whole hours last night.” He had been trying to make a joke, but as everyone in the room was terribly concerned over his health, both physical and mental, it fell rather flat. “And I’ve got to go meet the goblins today anyway,” he added hastily, desperate to get all their soft and caring eyes off him.

Harry was tired of people caring about him.

The more people that cared about Harry the more people that would die some terribly tragic way.

That was just the way it worked in Harry’s life.

“Yeah, the goblins are pretty pissed with you, mate,” Bill said cheerfully. He waggled a finger at Harry in faux-admonishment. “Thief.”

Harry snorted as his two friends chuckled.

“They can bite me,” Harry muttered.

“Harry did them a favor by freeing that dragon,” Charlie said hotly to his older brother. “Poor baby was miserable there. She was terrified of us and just so skittish by the time my team found her.”

Harry exchanged silent glances with Ron and Hermione at Charlie’s description and they all three bit their lips to keep from responding to that absurd statement.

That dragon would have happily bitten their heads off. ‘Poor baby’, indeed.

“Will the goblins try and hurt Harry?” Molly asked Bill, her brown eyes worried as she watched her all-but-adopted son.

“Nah,” Bill waved off his mother’s concerns. “They won’t kill him or anything. Worst they’ll do is make him switch banks.”

Harry wished they could kill him.

He bet death was peaceful.

“As quick and easy as falling asleep,” Sirius told him.

Harry wondered if Sirius knew how hard it would become for Harry to sleep. Harry also wondered if he’d ever see his godfather again.

“But there aren’t any other wizarding banks in the United Kingdom?” Hermione pointed out logically, snapping Harry out of his spiraling thoughts again.

Bill grinned sharply as he replied, “Exactly.”

Harry let out a short and joyless laugh at that. He didn’t give a damn about the bank he used, he just wanted the howlers from the goblins to stop.

“I’m gonna head out then,” Harry said as he got to his feet. “Thanks for breakfast, Molly.”

Molly sent a worried look at Harry’s untouched plate, his heavily caffeinated coffee being the only thing he’d consumed. But she held her tongue and settled for wrapping him in a hug.

“We love you, dear, come by for dinner?”

“Mm,” Harry evaded answering her as he held carefully still beneath her arms.

“I’ll walk you out, Harry,” Ginny offered brightly. “I’m heading to Angie’s anyway. Bye, Mum, Dad.”

Harry waited impatiently for Ginny as she dutifully hugged her family and followed him to the front door. Whatever she wanted to say, she waited until they were outside alone to say it.

“How bad is it?” Ginny asked softly, her hand on Harry’s arm and her face tilted toward his. Harry let out a sigh as he looked in to her deep brown eyes—

the color of the chocolate Remus loved, his mind unhelpfully whispered.

— and felt a pang of guilt at the worry he must be putting her through. Putting them all through.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “You guys don’t need to worry about me.”

Ginny snorted, beautifully scathing, and Harry wished for the hundredth time that Ginny was meant to be his.

He imagined the life they could have had together. Ginny playing quidditch, Harry fighting dark wizards as an auror. They would have gotten married in the Burrows gardens, as Bill and Fleur did, and eventually had a family. Three kids, a white picket fence, a happy family.

An impossible future.

Because Harry was too broken and Ginny knew it.

Just as they went on a break the day of Dumbledore’s funeral, they ended it the day of Fred’s.

They laid flat on their backs in the garden at Grimmauld, watching the sun set over the London skyline.

“You love me, but not in the right way,” Ginny said sadly, crying silently over everything that was lost in the war. “We’re trying to force something that just isn’t there, Harry.”

And Harry hadn’t fought it. Couldn’t fight it.

What could he offer her when he was just so empty? Broken?

A shell of a man?

“I’ll always love you,” she said.

And Harry, who had never heard that from anyone aside from the ghostly apparitions of his dead parents, felt a tear trail down his cheek.

“Really, Gin, I’ve been enough of a burden to you guys. I’ll be fine,” Harry said as evenly as he could. “I’m gonna go. Tell Angie I said hey.”

Harry apparated away quickly, leaving Ginny watching the spot where he stood sadly.

The problem with Harry, she thought to herself, was he would never understand that he wasn’t a burden to them, but family.

---

“You’re joking,” Harry said flatly, blinking with disbelief at the goblin, ‘Nettles’, that he was meeting with.

“I think not, Mister Potter,” Nettles bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “You are banned from our premises. You should consider yourself lucky that your use of an Unforgivable on my brothers didn’t spark a war.”

“What the hell do I do with all of that?!” Harry demanded, gesturing to the stacks of wooden crates that apparently contained all his gold and artifacts from the Potter and Black vaults.

“Not my problem,” Nettles sneered. “You have one minute to move it before I burn it. Fifty-nine… fifty-eight…”

Harry didn’t waste time gawking at the unfriendly goblin, he was sure that he would do exactly as he threatened. Instead, Harry went to the crates and hesitated, sending an uneasy look at Nettles, before waving his hand and sending them all to Grimmauld.

“You are a powerful wizard Harry Potter,” Nettles said with his sneer still in place. “It is a shame to mark you as an enemy to Goblin Nation.”

“Oh, piss off,” Harry sighed before he turned on the spot and followed his belongings home to Grimmauld Place.

---

“Master! You’re home!” Kreacher greeted Harry at the doorway of the gloomy home they shared. “Master there were boxes! Many boxes! Kreacher is not touching them—”

“I know,” Harry tossed his jumper off and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. “I’m banned from Gringotts. That’s all the stuff from my vaults.”

“The nasty goblins would dare ban my honorable master?!” Kreacher demanded, following behind Harry. “How dare they?! When my Master is a good man. A great man—”

“I imperiod three goblins, destroyed the bank, and stole their dragon,” Harry interrupted flatly. He took a deep drink from the bottle of bourbon, no need to mess about with glasses when he would finish the bottle the same day.

“Oh.” Kreacher stopped singing Harry’s praises at that bit of information. “Yes, well, maybe master earned the nasty goblins punishment.”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed with a snort. “I’m going to the library.”

“Wouldn’t master rather have a tasty lunch Kreacher will prepare?” Kreacher asked quickly, knowing all too well that Harry would end up drunk and either screaming or crying once he went to the library. “Master needs to eat.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, already headed to the dark and comforting room that he had spent countless hours in since the war ended.

“But, Master! What does Master want Kreacher to do with the boxes??”

“Er…” Harry paused while he considered the problem. “Just… just leave the gold in the crates and anything else you can put in my room, okay?”

Kreacher twisted his hands miserably as he watched Harry disappear behind the library doors. He wouldn’t interfere, good elves didn’t fight with their masters, but Kreacher didn’t always like being a good elf. He didn’t like watching Master shrink in size while the weight he carried grew. But Kreacher could not, would not, argue with his master, his friend. So Kreacher went to the crates and unpacked them; following his master’s orders.

And two hours later, while it was still daylight outside and the sun was shining, Kreacher listened as Master Harry screamed in the library. His heartbreaking wails followed by sounds of spells once again destroying the room.

Harry’s heart was racing as he ran from the Death Eaters who chased him.

“Time to die, Itty Bitty Potter,” Bellatrix laughed behind him. “Time to join your familyyyy!”

Harry knew something was wrong with what she was saying, he knew he couldn’t join his family. But he didn’t know if he couldn’t join them yet or ever.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, shooting his spell fire at the approaching witch. “Leave me alone!”

“Are you sure you wish for us to leave you alone?” Lucius Malfoy taunted him, dodging Harry’s bone breaking curse. “I suppose we’ll simply—”

Hermione.

“Help!” she screamed, her body trying to twist free from the hold Malfoy suddenly had on her. “Harry, help us!”

“Do something, mate!” Ron shouted, ropes holding him hostage on the forest floor. “Why won’t you help us?!”

Harry shot off every spell he could, dark, light, grey, illegal… but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t save them.

“Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived—”

Harry gasped and spun around. Voldemort stood there, his soulless eyes gleaming with glee as Bellatrix slit Ron’s throat open. Harry felt rather than saw as Malfoy hit Hermione with a burst of green light. Harry knew if he turned around he’d see the accusing eyes of his best friends as the life fled from their bodies. But he couldn’t turn around, because this was it. This was his chance to die, to save everyone.

All he had to do was die.

“—come to die.”

“HARRY!!”

Harry fell to the ground, disoriented, as his body dripped sweat on the floor.

No.

Not sweat.

Water?

“What?” he croaked, staring at his soaked shirt with bemusement. “Why’m I wet?” he slurred.

“Honestly.”

Harry looked up from his spot on the floor and blinked at a familiar face. Bushy brown hair, pulled back in a messy bun, and soft and sad eyes.

“Mione?” Harry gasped. “You’re alive??”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “And so is Ron. Everyone’s alive. C’mon, let me help you get to bed.”

“No,” Harry moaned pitifully at the thought of laying alone in Sirius’ old room, haunted by the memories of all he lost. “Everyone’s dead,” he said. “Killed ‘em. I killed ‘em all.”

Hermione didn’t argue with him, she simply reached down and lifted him to his stumbling feet. It was an act that shouldn’t have been as easy as it was considering Harry was a seventeen year old boy.

“Bed,” Hermione said firmly. “And tomorrow we’re having a long discussion about everything.”

Harry leaned on Hermione, needing her steadiness to keep himself upright.

“Don’t wanna talk,” Harry slurred, allowing Hermione to guide him to the room he didn’t want to be in either. “Don’t wanna sleep. Or think. Or breathe.”

Hermione’s hand shook as she opened the bedroom door, but her body remained stable for Harry to lean on.

“Don’t ever say that,” she said. “You will keep breathing. More than that, you will keep living. Do you understand me, Harry James Potter?”

“Can’t die anyway,” Harry muttered, crawling beneath his blankets after Hermione basically pushed him on the bed. “Can’t die forever. ‘M never gonna see James. Just…” Harry yawned as his head spun in the drunken way he’d gotten used to. “Just gonna live forever, Mione.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Harry’s sweat plastered curls off his forehead. “You’re going to work through this, I know it,” she swore softly. “Maybe you should go somewhere new, get away from all these memories.”

“Don’t wanna leave you,” Harry whispered. “Don’t leave me either, Mione.”

Hermione smiled down at Harry as he showed a vulnerable side he typically hid.

“I’ll stay here until you wake up, then we can call on Ron and we’ll all get dinner, okay, Harry?”

“Mmm,” Harry sighed. He could feel the blissful peace of a blackout approaching as he listened to Hermione’s calming tone rather than the words themselves.

“Sleep, Harry, we’ll be here when you wake up,” she said softly.

As Harry lay in his bed, his hair being stroked soothingly by one of his best friends, he had one last thought before he accepted the peaceful unconsciousness that the liquor always brought him:

Maybe I should move.

---

“Oh!”

Over 4,000 miles away from where Harry Potter lay in his bed, Alice Cullen gasped as a vision entered her mind.

A boy.

No. A man. A young man.

Too skinny, and too short. With piercing green eyes, messy black hair, and pale skin decorated with scars. Round black glasses that couldn’t hide the dark smudges beneath his eyes, proof of too many sleepless nights. He wore a dark green knitted sweater, torn blue jeans, and red sneakers. His casual clothing couldn’t hide the defensive pose he held; his arms stiff and his eyes wary. He wasn’t a child, she didn’t think he had ever really been a child… he looked like a soldier. One recently returned from a war that broke him apart.

“Harry,” the young man offered his hand to Alice within the vision. “Harry Potter.”

And when Alice shook his hand, his temperature wasn’t the heated one she knew humans had, but more muted. She felt an undercurrent of something dark, something powerful, in his touch.

“Alice Cullen,” vision-Alice said. “Let me introduce you to my siblings.”

The vision ended there, with Harry and Alice shaking hands right in the middle of the Forks High School parking lot.

“Who was that?” Edward asked curiously, the soft piano music he had been composing ending as he watched Alice’s vision.

“I have no idea,” Alice said, her musical voice soft as she replayed the vision over and over. “But I think he’s going to be very important to us.”