Chapter 1: Papers to Sign

Hello all! It's been quite a while since I've published anything! Like, years. Wow. I've recently been reading through my old stories as well as some of my favorite stories by other authors, and I decided to pick up writing Fan Fiction again. For those of you who have read my other stories, do note that I was in high school when I wrote my old stories and now I am in college. Please let me know what you think of the changes in my writing style. I enjoy feedback. Thanks!

Tears fell down Ginny's delicate face, her fiery red hair pulled back, but little thin strands had slipped out in the heat of the argument. Her stress was rising so fast, she could barely breathe. "How can you say things like that? In all the years we've been together."

Harry had let his temper go to his head, and he wasn't about to let up just yet. "I feel strangled, Ginny. I can't live like this anymore. I have to do something."

"Like what? All of our children are in school. The Auror department laid you off. There's nothing left to do, Harry!"

"You don't understand! I can't just sit and do nothing!" Harry tossed his hands into the air. "I need to be out in the world!"

"Doing what? Fighting dark magic? You can't go back to the days when you were The Chosen One! Those days are over. Now you're just normal Harry Potter living a normal life with your normal wife and normal kids. If that's not good enough for you, maybe you don't deserve it all!" Her trembling voice cracked, and her voice had started to become hoarse.

"You know what?! Maybe I don't want it all! Maybe I don't want a normal life, Ginny! I never had a normal life before! What makes you think I want one now?!" Harry stomped over to the front door, pulling it open and then slamming it shut behind him with a huge bang that seemed to make the entire house quake with its echo.

Ginny leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, sobbing quietly into her hands. Her worst fears had been confirmed. Harry had never really been happy with his life being with her. The only reason he had stayed was because of his Auror job. Harry was now 37, soon to be 38, and almost 21 years later, he had finally voiced the little bit of truth he had ever held back from her. Ginny cried on and on; for her husband, her children, her former life that had just been ruined, and most importantly, the heart she had just felt break inside her chest.

All the years they had put into having a family had been undone in only a few months of unemployment.

Honestly, she had confided with Hermione after their first ever fight, right after Harry had lost his job. Hermione had told her to keep a cool head and that their relationship was not over just because they had an argument.

"Ron and I argue all the time," Hermione had said. "Usually it's because Ron feels unconfident in something or other, and sometimes he just needs to yell about something completely unrelated to show me how he feels. We may leave the room in a huff, but we always work it out in the end. Just try encouraging Harry to get another job. Maybe he could be a muggle police officer and fight muggle crime. I'm sure he'd be up for that."

Ginny had tried with much effort to talk to Harry, but every time his unemployment was brought up, he would not say a word about it and just leave. She had just become so frustrated with it, and during another argument, she had yelled at Harry for being so dramatic thinking that the loss of his job was the end of the world. He had yelled back at her that the job had been more than just a job, and how she didn't understand how he felt. That was every argument. Ginny would just never understand how Harry felt because he would never tell her anymore. She longed for that connection, that trust, to come back to them. But alas, it had left for good.

And now she curled up on the floor, knowing that Hermione was wrong about their relationship. It was over. Harry didn't really love her. He might have once, but not anymore. She couldn't stay with him like this. Whoever this man was, it was not the Harry she had fallen in love with, and she could sense, somewhere in her mind, how former Harry, who had been her world once upon a time, would never return. Ginny wept, covering the floor with her tears, staining her sleeves with them, until her eyes could no longer cry, and they burned with dryness.

She stood, knowing she did not want to do this, but that Harry had left her no choice.

A man had been sitting at his desk all day in the Ministry, doing nothing but paperwork. Day in and day out, that was pretty much his job. "Sign here," he would say, "and here. And here. Initial here. Sign here. And here." All day, every day, 365 days a year, for the past 36 and a half years of his life. He didn't need the drama, or the inevitable arguments that always occurred. He hated his job, and he made sure his clients knew it.

The man had been just sitting, bathing in a black storm cloud of his own misery, when a fiery haired woman had approached. Her eyes were red and puffy and she was just generally a mess. Unfortunately for him, this was very usual. The man grumbled to himself and pulled a box of tissues from his desk in case of leakage.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a stiff tone, not bothering to make eye contact.

The woman sniffled and pulled a tissue from the self-refilling box to dab her eyes, though she knew she would cry no more tears. "Yes. I would like a divorce from my husband."

The man sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well, of course. Why else would you be here?" His tone rose, and Ginny felt her own tone rise.

"Well if you know why I'm here, why not just give me what I need?"

The man looked up at Ginny, plastered a smile too sweet to be real, and said, "Ma'am, if you wish your day here to be much easier, I would prefer you not to raise your tone."

"I won't raise my tone," Ginny spoke through her teeth, "if you won't raise yours." Only about a minute had gone by and already she didn't like this man. "I'm already not having the best of days. I would appreciate it if we could just both keep our cool."

With a grumpy nod, the man pulled a thick stack of papers from his desk. "These are the official papers. You will need to sign them in front of the head of this department with your husband present." He pulled yet another stack about half the original's thickness (but still pretty thick) and placed it beside the other. "These are other official papers to work out what, of your things, belongs to whom. You will also sign them in front of the head of this department with your husband present. I would advise bringing a lawyer or sorts." And the tiniest of all the stacks yet. "These are papers to schedule your meeting with the head of this department, and more official papers which you will sign right here with me." All the emotion from his voice was gone when he said, "Let's go through them now, shall we?"

He flipped to the first page, summarizing what the entire packet said, not even bothering to look at any of the pages. "Give me your finger." Ginny held out her finger and he pulled a pointed quill from his drawer and pricked it, drawing blood. Ginny gave a small sound of pain and pulled her finger back. Seeming to not care one bit, he handed her the quill and continued on, "Now sign here. And here."

He flipped to the next page. "And here. And here." And then the next page. "Initial here, stating that you are making a final decision by signing all these papers. Sign here." The date magically appeared on every page, as if maybe it would take more than one day to sign them all. The man went on to the next pages. "Sign here if this was your own decision, with no agreement from your husband, or here if he has actually said something about divorce before. Sign here. And here." His voice just droned on and on, his words losing much of their meaning with his boredom.

"Sign here, and here, and here, and here. Sign here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here." After hearing the dull words repeated so many times, Ginny thought about how they sounded weird, and completely foreign suddenly. "Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Initial here. Sign here. Here. Here. Here…"

She could tell it would be a longer day than she had once thought.

After storming out the door, Harry had not been sure of where to go. If it had been anything other than a fight with Ginny, he would have gone straight to Ron and Hermione's house. They were his best friends after all, and he could tell them anything (and usually he did). However, he knew this was different. Ginny was Ron's little sister. He would stick up for her no matter what, and Hermione was who Ginny confided in, so that probably wouldn't help either. Harry didn't want to be lectured. He wanted someone to talk to who would give him a solution to his bigger problem without caring about details from the more obvious problem. Unfortunately for Harry, that left no one.

He was sure he was the only one who felt this way. Deep inside, he knew how selfish it was that he wanted to relive his glory days, especially since a lot of innocent people were murdered during those times. Everyone had been happy when Voldemort had died, and so had he, but he couldn't help feeling like his whole purpose in life had been to defeat the evil Dark Lord. When he was gone, what was he to do with his life?

For a while, the answer had been to become an Auror and do what he was best at in the form of missions. He would do one after the other, catching rebellious Death Eaters and ridding the Wizarding World of anything related to the Dark Arts. And then the faithful day had come when Harry had been promoted to Head of the Auror office. He had rejoiced, and so had Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. They had thrown a celebration for it and all. He had enjoyed his work, making it his new life cause. For a while, his life purpose had been just to combat Dark Magic wherever it may be. He thought that Voldemort had only been his first task, and now he had so many more. He let himself become so involved, he considered his desk at the office his first home and his house with Ginny and the kids his second. The Aurors all respected him, not because of his past, but because of his persistence, determination, and spirit. They all felt so much more into their job when Harry was there, and they all grew on Harry like a second family. For twelve years, Harry had been happy knowing there was more to himself than just defeating Voldemort. He had a new reason to be alive, to wake up every day and be happy to do something he enjoyed for a living. He had anything he could ever ask for.

And there had been one day, just one day, where he slipped. He wasn't sure what had happened, or how, but it was all over. He could remember going on a mission like normal, knowing the dangers that would await him, and feeling the adrenaline pumping in his veins, ready to purify the world by removing more crime. There were only faint traces of what had happened left in his mind. He had just reached the criminal, having them cornered, wand at the ready. And then he was on the floor, his wand a mile away, it seemed, and there was a crack and a swish of robes, and then the criminal was gone, and an Auror laid dead beside him. He had not known what had happened, but according to everyone, he had let it happen.

All his respect died. He was fired and tossed from his office, replaced almost instantly. Now, all the Aurors respected the new head of office. Now, his second family couldn't stand the sight of him. Now, his life had no more purpose. He had spent one day completely alone in his real house, asking Ginny to spend the day away while he let himself recover from the blow of it all. He knew he was done. He had nothing left to do with his life. Being an Auror was all he could have ever wanted, and without it he was nothing.

He wanted to go back to days before he messed up. Many times he had begged for his job back, and he was rejected. Many times he had offered to be just a regular Auror, and he was rejected. Many times, he offered to be just a secretary for the Auror office, and he was rejected. Harry wanted to fix his mistake, so badly, but they would not let him. They had completely lost their view of who Harry really was. After all it was he who had inspired so many new wizards to join the Auror office, it was he who had time and time again come to meet success in all his missions, it was he who had worked so diligently on every assignment by dedicating a part of himself to the job, and it was he who had defeated the Dark Lord, which had made all of the other things possible. How could anyone ever think of him otherwise?

He had asked himself the question many times, and never achieved a decent answer.

Inside, Harry felt less worthy of his life. Very often since his job loss, Ginny had reminded him that he had a perfectly normal life that he should love, but did he deserve it? He couldn't keep the job of his dreams, the job that he was destined to do. Why would he ever deserve a family if he couldn't put food on the table? Why would he deserve a family if he couldn't bear to talk about the loss of purpose to his wife, whom he had once told everything to? Why would he deserve a family if he couldn't have presents for his children on Christmas, or on their birthdays, or even remember when their birthdays were? Why did he deserve a family if he couldn't do anything he needed to do as a father?

He had thought about it. Day after day. For a few months now. He didn't. That was his answer.

He drew further and further away, turning himself from their lives in a hope that one day he would wake up and be replaced with someone who could do his job better than he could, just like at the office. He figured the day would come when his children would wonder why he was a failure of a father, and move out and produce a better life for themselves, learning from his own mistakes. He feared that day, but knew it would come.

This was not the first time Harry had left after having a fight with Ginny, though he would not be surprised if it was his last. After a short thought as of where to go, Harry apparated to the Grimmauld Place. He always found the dark, and generally uninhabited place free of dust, cobwebs, doxies, and anything else associated with an empty house. He wanted to believe that Kreacher was still cleaning up the house, after so many years, but it had been 21 years since he had seen him, and logic told Harry that probably wasn't so. Never in the few times he had recently visited had he seen or heard anything different with the house that wasn't his doing, though he did spend most of his time upstairs in Siris's old bedroom. In this room, he let himself delve into his past and, most importantly, his godfather's past.

After all these years, the posters and wallpaper were crumbling and peeling from their surface. So desperately, Harry wanted to hold them up, as if doing so would somehow bring back a past he longed to live again. He looked around and sighed, seeing the mess of letters on the floor that he had gone through in his last visit, just reveling in everything his godfather had ever gotten from others, especially others who were now dead, through the consequences of war or age. With these, Harry thought he would miss everyone less and feel closer to them just by reading the words they had written so long ago. But he was wrong. It hurt more.

All those brave people, who fought valiantly, who lost their lives, who lived to tell the tale to the next generation, had just vanished. With each year he aged, Harry attended more funerals than he wished he would ever attend in his life, and not only just after the war. His dear friends had been leaving him. One by one, he counted off, cried tears, and waited until the next. Before, he had something to distract him, something that saved other lives. Yet now, he stared all their deaths in the face, wishing life was not so cruel to him. To them. To everyone.

It was true that he had died once. It was not so bad being there, but he felt the incessant and nagging feeling that the world was counting on him. If he did not have others, he might still be dead. That feeling plagued his mind when others died. Did they not feel the same thing? Sure, the world didn't count on them, but their family, their friends, surely they counted on them. Wouldn't that be enough to want to come back? He wondered if they had been selfish in their choice, or if they really cared for anyone at all.

Harry rubbed at his forehead and let himself slowly down to the ground to sit. Suddenly, he felt tired. All his life he had been tired, it seemed. He needed rest. He needed sleep. He needed to be without dreams. He needed his job back. He needed a wife who understands. He needed friends to talk to. He needed to be Harry Potter again. Was he asking too much? Clearly he must be because he never seemed to get what he asked for.

Laying his body onto the hardwood floor, Harry's hot cheek chilled against its coolness. In his school years, he had been so lucky to get by. He had wanted things, but had never really intended to get them. Back then, he would admit he had been so humble and grateful. Now, he had grown into having expectations. He expected people to recognize him as Harry Potter at first meeting. He expected to always be thanked about what he did back then. He expected to be cut a bit of slack in his everyday life around strangers. He knew he expected a lot, but growing up as a famous person sinks in sometime, and it sure as bloody hell hadn't sunk in while he went to Hogwarts (probably because he had lived with his aunt and uncle back then). He wanted to be able to give up these expectations, but would always find he couldn't. They were drilled into his brain. He wanted to be his old self again, but as selfish as he was, he could not bear himself to want to be back in that time, when the war plagued both muggles and wizards alike. If he was not really his old self, but this new selfish self, then who was he really?

Against his own resistance, he fell asleep, immediately diving deep into a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

:) Thanks for reading! I don't know how often I'll be updating, but please keep reviewing to encourage (or remind me) to keep updating. Or even PM me. Seriously, I need the reminder and motivation.