Harry Potter and the Narcissistic Viewing Party
Chapter One
The Boy Who Lived…To Be Irrelevant
Harry Potter had an extraordinary childhood. However, the same cannot be said of his adult years. Like some unfortunate youth, Harry peaked at a young age, forcing his life into a downward spiral since the age of seventeen. Years had passed since the Battle at Hogwarts, and with each year Harry Potter dwindled from a household name to that of a meaningless has-been. These losses of fame were equally matched with a loss of happiness throughout Harry’s life. As he lost the adoration of the general public, years of childhood neglect and emotional abuse finally caught up with Harry, proving that he wasn’t the well-adjusted heroic young boy portrayed in the film and novel adaptations of his life. The only stable thing in Harry’s life was Goblets of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, which grew to be an aid in consolation as the world as he knew it disintegrated around him.
A bottle of Ogden’s was the first thought of Harry’s, as he blindly grabbed towards his nightstand, still half-asleep in bed. Suddenly, a crash jolted him fully awake. Worried it was his precious bottle of Ogden’s, Harry quickly peeked his eyes from under the covers. A wave a relief swept over him on the sight of his trusty bottle still set on his bedside table, still containing a half-bottle of liquid happiness.
Peering over his bed, he saw a frame, face up with shards of newly broken glass. Unlike most magical pictures, this one was frozen in time – Harry could no longer afford the two galleon a month fee for photographic animation. The picture in question, was of “she-who-must-not-be-named”, more commonly known as Ginny Weasley. Ginny was Harry’s Hogwarts sweetheart. With Voldemort gone, Ginny’s obsession and adoration towards Harry dwindled, and with that, the romance in their relationship was sucked out like a cold dementor’s kiss.
Just three years ago, their relationship and family was officially torn apart with Ginny’s filing for divorce. In this, she claimed royalties over most of Harry’s small fortunes in alimony and child support. Since then, she has reunited with her Hogwarts boyfriend and Harry’s fair-weather friend and classmate, Dean Thomas. Dean has taken to raising Harry’s three children as his own, in addition to him and Ginny’s beautiful multiethnic children, all with fiery cinnamon hair and luscious caramel skin. The sight of Ginny’s face made him, like most days, entertain a perverse thought. “If only Voldemort was still alive,” he sighed. “My life would be so much better.”
Chapter Two
The Veritaserum of Adulthood
Repairo!” Harry said, pointing his wand to the broken frame. If only that spell worked on what really counted. Not only was Harry’s social life in tatters, but financially he was equally bad, if not worse. Past years of leniency had did him no favors in his adult life. Growing accustomed to the toxic combination of fame and pity over his childhood situation, Harry grew accustomed to privilege that robbed him of the work ethic necessary to maintain even the most basic of jobs. He quickly lost his job as an auror when management changed and, not recognizing his fame, was unwilling to overlook that he had not received a secondary degree.
Like a starving hippogriff grasping its prey, Harry attempted to capitalize off of his fame desperately and voraciously. Like most childhood celebrity has-beens, these attempts utterly failed. He hosted late-night infomercials, delivered motivational speeches, and even tried to self-publish an autobiography. The latter was the most redundant of attempts, given the muggle author J.K. Rowling had already beaten him to the punch by nearly thirty years. Another noteworthy failure was Harry’s short-lived daytime TV show. As most of the wizarding world adhered to 18th century technology, his only demographic were muggle children who more often than not, at school when daytime talk shows aired.
For the past three years, Harry ran a Dumbledore’s Army Academy, a camp for young witches and wizards. This camp served as homage to the late Hogwarts headmaster, and Harry’s childhood mentor, while also symbolizing a key component of the rebellion that lead to Lord Voldemort’s demise. Harry lead instruction for this camp during the summer holidays, its selling point to magical parents was to provide their children the chance to hone their defensive magical skills. Most importantly to Harry, this camp allowed him an annual chance to reenact his glory days.
This camp proved to be a reasonably successful endeavor that momentarily stabilized Potter’s finances, but eventually was discontinued due to lack of interest. I mean come on, the only spells Harry was actually good at was expelliarmus and the patronus charm, and even the most gullible of magical youth could see learning just two things over the course of a summer, EVERY summer, as a scam. In all honesty, this fizzle-out in interests over Harry Potter camp was probably a favor to Harry, as it was technically illegal for these young wizards and wizards to perform magic outside of Hogwarts. His little underground summer camp was an infraction deemed too insignificant and pathetic for the Ministry to waste time and money to properly prosecute him.
This was the first summer Harry had no preconceived source of income. These feelings of dread crept into Harry within moments of sober consciousness. And with that, Harry abruptly took a swig of his bedtime Ogden’s and went back to sleep.
Chapter Three
Owl Post
The next day, Harry awoke to an obnoxious screech as a mail owl scratched at his face. “What the bloody? Get off me!” Harry swatted at the bird with his pillow, forcefully knocking the deliverer to the ground. In a flurry of feathers and envelopes, the owl promptly regained its balance and promptly exited from the window. An aggravated grunt sounded from the far side of the room. Harry’s roommate had awoken from the commotion. Harry’s roommate was Cormac McClaggen, a former classmate and a self-proclaimed lifelong bachelor. He worked as a magician for muggle birthday parties, a profession which is essentially the wizarding equivalent of prostitution. Not even Harry had sunk so low to exploit his powers in this way, but he couldn’t deny he has had desperate moments of consideration. Cormac’s ego was perceived as showmanship that muggles adored and paid generously for. McClaggen even entertained the idea of relocating to the United States to work on the Las Vegas Strip, but even he could not seriously consider so much isolation from the wizarding world.
When his divorce set in, Harry had nowhere to go. He was caught between a rock and a hard place when his two best friends, conveniently Ginny’s brother and sister-in-law, Ron and Hermione, promised to house his ex-wife and kids in their home while they looked for apartments; thus Harry was desperate to find a roommate of some sort. He put an ad in The Daily Prophet, which after six weeks, he found an offer. Harry and Cormac have been living together ever since, and like most days, the arrangement was stressful and awkward. McClaggen still held a flame for Hermione, which prevented Ron and Hermione from ever visiting. Moreover, McClaggen’s frat boy lifestyle of casual sex and drinking encouraged Harry’s subsequent alcohol abuse and created an environment in which he was denied visitation rights to his kids.
For this, Harry harbored a quiet and brewing resentment towards his roommate, which he could not express. Harry was reliant on McClaggen not only for his booze, but for his living arrangements. Together they lived in The Leaky Cauldron, where Cormac had negotiated a reduced monthly rate with his prolonged residence. That and Cormac was already paying nearly the entirety of the full rent and utilities, despite often traveling around Europe for work. Today especially was awkward for Harry, as the mail owl that had so abruptly awoken him bore dreadful news...the monthly room and utilities bill for their flat. Perhaps for sadistic entertainment, Harry fished in the pockets of his robes for coins, and as he expected, he extracted just five bronze knuts from the folds. “Bollocks” Harry sighed.
“Was that the post, Potter?” Cormac sprung from his bed energetically. “Got some galleons for me, m’boy? Pay day!” Harry reluctantly handed the pile of envelopes to Cormac, who then fervently opened up his paycheck. “Twelve hundred galleons to Gringotts for me!” McClaggen threw on his robes and went to the mirror to style his hair. “I’m going to hit the Three Broomsticks Potter, want to come along?”
“Only if you’re buying McClaggen,” Harry said, chirping up himself. He could always go for a goblet of something strong
in the morning...or any time really.
“Not so sure about that, Potter, I’ve got a date with a divorcee, and I can’t have you trailing behind me for change and
cramping my style. I guess I’m flying solo.” Cormac finished with his hair, winked vainly at his reflection, and trailed out of the room. After a few moments, he briefly returned to the doorframe. “Oy, Potter I almost forgot. You got some galleons for me for rent?”
“You know I haven’t a job or money, you ugly git, what are you playin’ at?” Harry said. The lack of booze in his bloodstream
was making him grumpy and irritable.
“Well don’t you remember, I’m moving out next week? I’m a bloody celebrity and its damned well time I start living like it.
I’m moving to the penthouse suite and I can’t afford to take care of your sorry arse anymore. So buck up and get ready to move out if you don’t get the money together by next month.”
Harry had completely forgot about this conversation. Like most of his awaken hours, he was in a drunken stupor when these reminders from Cormac came. And naturally, this triggered a panic in Harry that he washed away with his liquor, his burdens forgotten for another day. But he could no longer procrastinate on this dire task, Harry seriously needed to get his shit together. Not only did he have to find a source of income, and fast, but he had to figure out where he could afford to live.
He grabbed the bundle of post delivered from the mail owl, opening The Daily Prophet and scanning for roommate advertisements. Not surprisingly, Harry found nothing promising nor affordable in the job or flat listings. But something noteworthy did catch his eyes...
Quadranscentennial Class Reunion - Hogwarts Class of 1998
30 April– 6 May 2023
Hogwarts is proud to host the twenty-fifth class reunion for the
graduation class of 1998. In addition to alumni of that year, all are
welcome to commemorate and observe the twenty-fifth anniversary of The
Battle at Hogwarts on the second of May. This day marks the
international Independence Day from Lord Voldemort, a date that
exemplifies freedom and liberty to the whole witchcraft and wizardry
community. Lodging is provided for all attending Hogwarts alumni for
this week-long event.
Catering provided collaboratively by Hogwarts and Honeydukes.
RSVP via owl or floo network.
“Brilliant” Harry smiled. “A perfect opportunity to profit from my heroism.”
Chapter Four
Mo’ Galleons Mo’ Problems
Inspired, Harry jumped to his desk to retrieve a piece of parchment and a quill. “If I’m going to get a good chunk of galleons, I have to be strategic about it.” For hours, he brainstormed, his thoughts unnaturally lucid from the lack of alcoholic fortification. “Shall I charge for photographs with me? Or signature? Better yet, signed photographs? That’ll go for 20 galleons a pop easily.” He continued to scribble fervently. “Hmmm maybe I can sell some copies of my autobiographical erotic novel, Harry Potter: The Boy Who Loved. That will get on well with all the witch alum.”
“And what about for the witch and wizard children of alumni? They won’t know my story...how do I get their indulgent parents to buy Harry Potter merchandise for them?” Stumped, Harry scratched his head, defeated. He could not ignore this demographic if he hoped to exploit this reunion to his fullest potential. “I’ve got it! I’ll get in contact with George Weasley from Zonkos and see if we can whip up some sort of Harry Potter-themed product. And he owes me one, I’m the one that gave him the starting money for his business. Goodness, what a brilliant person I am, it’s a mystery I cannot retain a steady job.”
Grabbing a new piece of parchment, Harry scrawled a note to George:
Hey George,
Remember me, Harry? The guy who gave you your start money for your now very successful business out of the goodness of his heart? Well, how are you? How’s Angelina, the kids? What are their names again? Fred and summit (I forget the girl one’s name). Christina? Joyce? Whatever, doesn’t matter really. With all that out of the way, I’d like to ask you for a small favor. Could I put my name on one of your brands, a really popular one for young witches and wizards? I’d like to make a little pocket-money during the upcoming reunion event. I’m in a little bit of a slump at the moment in my entrepreneurship and hope you can lend a hand. And with the divorce and everything, Ginny is taking me the cleaners. She literally uses my old Firebolt to sweep the floor, it’s a shame really. Anyway, if you mind investing in me, like I invested in you those years ago, I’d be bloody grateful. Think about it, mate. And I never asked you for nothing. Hope to see you at the event (you can buy Fred and Christina/Joyce? a novelty Potter product!) Make them proud of their dad for once!
Harry
Quite pleased with the tone of the letter (a perfect balance between pity and obligation), Harry sealed the envelope and ran it down to the concierge desk to have it sent in. “I’m so inspirational, I’ve really touched so many people’s lives.” Harry thought. “Imagine where George would be had I not believed in him those years ago. Hell, imagine where the WORLD would be had I not slayed Voldemort!”
“I can probably sell some of my DVD editions of my motivational speech and talk show. Those videos really capture the essence of my spirit...at least that’s what the Rolling Stone said.... Oh bloody hell I forgot wizards don’t have television sets. Us wizards seriously don’t know what we’re missing. Imagine all we’ve missed...muggles humiliating themselves on reality televisions, Grey’s Anatomy, and Netflix!” Harry briefly reminisced the days he was part of daytime television society and his world was opened up to the wonders of these mystical muggle screen-changing boxes. “These poor wizards have not seen my muggle movie series. The muggle actor who plays me is on the short side, but it was a wonderful portrayal of what an exceptional wizard I am. It’s honestly a travesty- a crime- that they have not yet seen it.” He sat reminiscing his cinematic octilogy. “Blimey, I’ve got it! A definite way to not only get enough money for rent, but to be set for life! An A-list reunion event. A Harry Potter movie viewing party.”
Chapter Five
The Quadranscentennial
Weeks had passed and the quadranscentennial finally arrived. Within the previous weeks, Harry had slaved tirelessly in harassing and guilt-tripping acquaintances, friends, and foes alike to donate generously to his reunion event. He had exploited his connections at Hogwarts, his old roommate Neville Longbottom, who now served as a professor of herbology. He contacted Neville via floo network and did what he did best, grovel and milk his “sacrifice to the free world” for all it was worth:
“It could’ve been you just as easily as it was me, Neville.” Harry said, stoically. “Remember that prophecy? We are both born at the end of July, mate. But I’m the one who stepped up and did all the work in the end, wasn’t I? And what did that do for me? Divorced, unemployed, no degree. For bloody hell’s sake, I have to live with McClaggen!”
And with that shameless manipulation, Neville advocated for Harry to the Hogwarts headmaster, and Harry was granted permission to rent the Great Hall and all Hogwarts catering and event planning services at no charge. Harry had thus created a venue that far exceeded the magnificence of the Yule Ball. The ceiling, enchanted to show the night sky, was speckled with faintly lit stars that twinked about an awe-inspiring yellow full moon. Below this magnificent ceiling, decorative shining silver orbs that suspended in midair, lazily glided around the ceilings of the Great Hall. Veela were hired to perform a melodic enchanting dance that enchanted all who watched. The tables were lined with deep velvet red tablecloths and set with the finest of silver dishware for the impending pre-party feast. The atmosphere was majestic, and Harry was beside himself with pride.
He also fully utilized the Hogwarts kitchen staff to his greatest potential: Harry had ordered the Hogwarts house-elves to greet guests as the front doors, collecting entry fees for the allegedly free catering services as well as tickets to the viewing party. He similarly stationed these house-elves at the “open bar” to squeeze as many galleons out of his classmates for his personal gains. The rest of the house-elves also were running a novelty Harry Potter memorabilia table where his signed photographs, novels, and other half-assed attempts at quick riches were being sold at inflated rates.
“Brilliant!” Harry beamed as he watched his minions report and fulfill his demands. “I better get smart for the festivities.” Elated, Harry sprinted up the stairs two at a time. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like his old self: confident, strong, powerful, and adored.
He arrived at his old dormitory, his lodging for the reunion week, and opened his trunk to extricate his old dress robes. He briefly choked as a plume of dust and dirt was emitted from their folds. Haphazardly, Harry shook the fabric until the filthiness of the robes were less obvious. Harry put one arm into the sleeve, and realized the robes barely reached his elbow. “Blimey, I forgot I haven’t worn these in nearly thirty years. Bloody puberty, I can’t believe I was ever this small. I’ll look damn stupid wearing these miniature robes.” He thought to himself for a moment. Harry had gotten into the habit of viewing his life in a very deluded way. Every obvious misfortune and sign he needed to change his ways was promptly revamped into an opportunity to get quick money. Case in point, after seeing his extremely small robes, he reasoned, “Eh, perhaps I can play it off as a joke, and auction the robes off the highest bidder at the end of the night. These were the robes I wore the year I became a Triwizard Cup champion! These should sell for a few hundred galleons easy!”
“Potter, you look a goddamn mess!” A familiar voice snarled from the far corner of the room. Harry spun around, and there was his high school nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was leaning cockily on the doorframe, and was jubilantly looking Harry up and down, a grin of cruel pleasure curling on his lips. “Your ex-wife is going to be beside herself about leaving you once she sees you looking like that.”
“Come off it, Malfoy, she isn’t coming, she didn’t graduate our year. She isn’t coming. And why are you in the Gryffindor dormitory?”
“Come off it yourself, YOU didn’t graduate our year either, remember? You’re nothing but a Hogwarts drop out. And you bloody well know that Dean Thomas is going to bring her.”
Shit. Malfoy was absolutely correct. And worse, Harry had completely forgot about the possibility of running into his ex-wife, and now what swept with a sense of panic. He had not seen her since they signed the divorce papers those years ago...well before he started his drinking. His heart palpitated madly and he almost thought his scar singed at the impending presence of his version of Voldemort, “she-who-must-not-be-named.”
“Well, Potter, you better get down there to host your great big viewing party. You’re expected to start in fifteen minutes!” Malfoy sauntered out of the doorway and out of sight. Nervously, Harry attempted to jostle his incessantly untidy hair and acquire a sexy, bedhead hairstyle instead of its current grungy drunk homeless man vibe. He briskly clapped his hands to his robes to try to dispel the tenacious dust and dirt that clung to the fabric. He then quickly rolled up the too-short sleeves to mask the ill-fittingness of his grungy tattered garments.
Heading down the steps towards the Great Hall, he saw the crowd of his classmates queueing up and awaiting entry to the event. He swiftly slipped past the line and entered the room, heading towards the front tables, where he had set up a large projector and screen. And where did a middle-aged wizards come about to possess this muggle technology? Harry had ordered it from the muggle internet website, amazon.com. He spent nearly two thousand galleons he didn’t have to purchase these state-of- the-art entertainment gadgets. Naturally, he kept the shipping boxes and receipts as he fully intended to return these items after the reunion to get his money reimbursed. And he also planned to claim the items were damaged on arrival, so he wouldn’t be charged for the return shipping.
As he was fiddling with the remote batteries, a voice called from a far table. “Harry, is that you?” Annoyed about being interrupted, Harry swiveled on the spot and glared to see who was badgering him. “Some obsessed classmate, no doubt.” Harry thought to himself, pretending to be put out, but secretly overjoyed to be fawned over once again. He turned to see a smiling, middle-aged man that he didn’t really recognize. He had a bit of a gut, and had a deeply receding hairline. But after a moment of consideration, it was too obvious who it was. Harry knew no one else with hair so fiery red.
“Ron!” Harry awkwardly half-jogged towards his estranged best friend and gave him a handshake. “How’s it going, bloke?Where’s Hermione?”
“Oh, I’m grand.” Ron smiled. “Hermione’s here, just making rounds saying hello to folks before the event starts. But yeah, the kids are great. Hermione’s great, she’s looking at a promotion at work. Always working, you know how Hermione is.” Ron scratched his forehead, fishing for more to say to avoid an uncomfortable gap in conversation. “Look Harry, mate, I’m sorry things turned out as they did for you. And I’m sorry me and Hermione couldn’t be of much help to you. I know Ginny leaving has taken a toll on you...”
Harry quickly interrupted, “Mate, I am grand too. My life is great, look at me. Look at this!” Harry boasted, gesturing around the Great Hall. “I planned this whole event, and I’m getting right back on my feet. Don’t worry about me, mate, I am bloody great, fucking brilliant. Higher than a hippogriff, I am...”
He was interrupted when someone at the entrance door caught his eyes. Ginny Weasley-Potter, well now Ginny Weasley-Thomas, with the arm of the tall, dark, and handsome Dean Thomas around her waist. Harry couldn’t lie to himself, she looked beautiful. He was hoping that she had put on some weight after her pregnancies, but alas, she looked better than he even remembered. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and she was positively radiating with Dean at her side. Harry couldn’t lie to himself about Dean either, he was easily the most handsome man in the room. Dean was tall, muscular, and had an extraordinarily warm smile. Harry quickly snapped out of this trance, remembering he was in the middle of telling Ron how “absolutely great” he was. “Bloody hell, mate look at the time, I better get this event started. See you around.
Harry briskly returned to the stage to make his opening speech. “Welcome everyone, to the twenty-fifth reunion of the class of 1998 and also the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Battle at Hogwarts. Clearly, I don’t need any introductions, but I’ll humor you anyway. I am Harry Potter, the hero of the free world, and your master of ceremonies for the night. Tonight is a night of philanthropy, all proceeds going entirely to my personal organization, the Harry Potter Freedom Foundation. So be generous in your donation.
“As you know, my life is a permanent and central part of wizarding history, so tonight, we commemorate me and my selfless sacrifices for your freedom in a viewing event of the muggle cinematic renditions of my time at Hogwarts. It is a phenomenal portrayal, and I highly recommend that you purchase the complete set of these films, as they are inevitably a valuable historical symbol, a noble story that should be preserved and passed through the generations indefinitely.”
Harry smirked indulgently and looked at the crowd of his classmates. Unfortunately, his eyes landed again on Ginny and Dean. Ginny half-smiled at Harry, quickly broke eye contact, and rested her head on Dean’s shoulder. Harry was flustered and was immediately flooded with emotions he was not equipped to deal with. His fingers itched to be clinging to a bottle of his precious Ogden’s. Clasping his fidgeting hands together, he awkwardly and abruptly returned to his speech.
“...Well, and by God, we damn well better make a drinking game out of this! I’ll lay out the rules, and with that, we can begin.”
Chapter Six
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Firewhisky
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
16 November 2001 – Chris Columbus – 152 min
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
15 November 2002 – Chris Columbus – 161 min
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
4 June 2004 – Alfonso Cuarón – 142 min
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
18 November 2005 – Mike Newell – 157 min
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
11 July 2007 – David Yates – 138 min
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
15 July 2009 – David Yates – 153 min
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part I
19 November 2010 – David Yates – 146 min
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part II
15 July 2011 – David Yates – 130 min
Rules of the Game
Sip Butterbeer when...
Harry’s scar hurts
Draco Malfoy acts like an ugly git
When Harry is so charmingly awed by the magical world
Finish Butterbeer when...
Someone tells Harry he looks “just like his father...except for the eyes...”
Shot of Expecto Patrón/Firewhisky when...
Hermione quotes a textbook verbatim
Someone finally says “Voldemort”
Potter privilege occurs
What is Potter privilege? when Harry (and his friends) get off way easier than they should when they break the rules
when someone totally fawns and overreacts when they are around Harry
*Alcoholic Beverages*
Expecto Patrón
Firewhisky
Butterbeer
Mulled Mead
VeritaseRum
Chapter Seven
Mischief Managed
Harry Potter jolted awake. His clothes damp and smelled of cold musky sweat and the faint scent of rancid firewhisky. He brought a hand to his face. His mouth tasted acidic and his throat raw, and he could feel the encrusted, dry vomit on his chin. He promptly rolled on his side, and hurled again. Retrospectively, it was no surprise that a drinking game throughout a twenty-hour movie marathon was a terrible idea. Harry had blacked out. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember if he made it through the third movie. His forehead throbbed intensely, and he knew it wasn’t because Voldemort was near. Harry had woken up a hangover so tremendous, it could rival the pain of a basilisk fang injecting lethal venom into his forehead.
Although originally uncertain to where he was, Harry suddenly realized he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Inarguably, Harry clocked a solid two weeks in here every school year, so he found the location oddly comforting. A cold compress was gingerly placed on his throbbing forehead, and Harry exhaled a great sigh of relief. Barely opening his eyes, he saw who his caretaker was; his other best friend from school, Hermione Granger-Weasley. Ron was at her side.
“Hermione. Ron.” Harry grunted, weakly. “What’re you, how’d the event go? Did I make a lot of money?”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione sighed. “What has happened to you? You won’t believe what happened. You ended up making a pass at Hannah Abbott-Longbottom, no doubt you thought it was Ginny, and Neville knocked you out! I can’t believe it!”
“I can’t either.” Chuckled Ron. “He used to be a damn pansy in school, remember Harry?” Hermione refreshed Harry’s forehead cold compress. “And you won’t believe what happened next, Harry.” She continued. “When we brought you to the hospital wing, we had to get your stomach pumped, and they nearly took out half a liter of hard liquor!”
“Well that’s a damn waste of hard liquor, then.” Harry groaned. “Hermione, who has my earnings from this event?”
“Cormac said that he was going to personally deposit them into the bank for you.” Ron interjected. “He claimed you had a joint account to cover your roommate expenses.”
“That blood ugly git, stole my money!” Harry howled, and struggled to get out of the hospital bed. Standing upright too quickly, Harry immediately felt lightheaded, and flopped back onto the mattress.”
“That damn ugly git is still after my wife to this very day!” Ron growled. “Man he’s lucky I didn’t get a chance, or I would have done worse to him than what you did to Voldemort, let me tell you, Harry.”
“Oh, Ronald.” Hermione sighed, exasperatedly. She then looked back at Harry. “Harry,” Hermione started, softly. “Ronald and I are concerned for you. We think it is best that you stay with us for a while. Now that Ginny’s out of our house, you are more than welcome to stay there now.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He finally hit as good as it could get for him. He could now live with his friends, and mooch off of their earnings with little to no risks of getting kicked out.
“But one thing, Harry.” Ron started. “As a condition of living with us, you must get help. We want you to spend some time in a rehabilitation clinic. We can’t have you around our children, as you are now. And we will help you get back on your feet, and in good shape. Hermione and me can help you get a steady job, and a place on your own someday, but right now, we just need you to work on yourself and get sober.”
At this moment, Harry finally acknowledged that he had hit rock bottom. His life was a mess and he could no longer attempt to charm and exploit his past just to get by. More than anything, he now wanted to earn the respect of his children and his ex-wife back. He turned to Hermione and Ron, and took both of their hands in his. He looked straight up into their eyes with the utmost sincerity.
“I will, Hermione. I will Ron. I will make the Unbreakable Vow if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Hermione beamed, her eyes glistening with tears. She and Ron embraced Harry in a long hug. And with that, an old friend who had struggled and lost his way was finally found again. Harry was on the path to recovery.
All was well.
