Disclaimer: This is written purely for the enjoyment of myself and others. No money is being made and no infringements of copyright laws are intended. Anything you recognise is not mine.

A/N:. This story will follow Harry and the dorm boys through the years before and after the war, showing their collapse into the world of drugs. Some parts will be funny, others not. A lot of this story is based on movies like Trainspotting, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Human Traffic and Requiem for a Dream. There will even be some quote in the story direct from the movies.

I intend to make this only about 20-30,000 words long in about 2 chapters. Enjoy and as always, please leave reviews.

Ragin’ Cajun.

I remember it was just before the portkey ride that the drugs started to kick in. At least, some point in time around there. Nothing like a literal whirlwind through some whacked out, removed side of reality to bring you onto the peak of an acid hit, or at least, some form of acid. Venefitricus it was called, magical theory mixed with newly discovered chemicals took a huge leap during the 60’s era. With LSD and other mind-warping, fucked up additions to the already high muggle human society, there were leaks of drugs into the magical world as well.

I’m not entirely sure what we would have been doing before then, probably something really basic, like extended use of the cheering charm perhaps, 5th and 6th year nights in the boys dormitories were often fairly interesting. At our age, we were easily finding new uses for the everyday spell, teenage boy stuff but surprisingly enough it had been shy old Neville who first touched on the subject of drugs with us. Herbology had its uses it seemed.

I remember being fairly sceptic at the time, after all, weren’t kids told drugs were bad? I know for a fact all the muggle kids were, there was a strange sense of beauty growing up in that era. When I was really young it was cocaine and the prescription medicines that had a grip on the muggle world but I didn’t really know about anything like that. However from what I heard years later after a chance run in with my cousin, Vernon Dursley knew all there was to know.

I first touched into the drug scene in the mid nineties so naturally I was edged into the world of weed and ecstasy, with the occasional dabbles in other substances, though my first stop was a quick spin into the world of magical drugs. There was a new drug rolling around in those times, this new discovery in Herbology cross-breeding called Temswip. Like I said, Neville got us into the scene.

He had sent his owl off one day earlier to school, carrying what he liked to call one of the greatest plants in existence, magical or muggle, and so it was that on the first weekend of my oh-so-fateful fifth year, the Gryffindor 5th year boys all took their first breath of the wonder herb. Except Neville of course, from what he told us he’d been smoking Temswip since his muggle mate first gave him a cone and some seeds.

The trip was mediocre for all of us, as we debated Saturday morning our escapades of the earlier night. Neville said that was ok, since the first trip never really got anyone high, just a whole lot of burnt throat but Ron was apparently exempt from that, he and Neville were the only ones truly fucked up in the smoke filled room. Who would’ve thought the tall gangly guy would take so quickly to such an easy drug? Anyway, Neville convinced us to try again that night, after all we had no homework and it was Sunday the next day so we didn’t really have much else to do.

I don’t really remember much of that night, other than that it was the glorious Saturday that would lead me delving as far as I could into the world of drugs. Little snippets of this and that were all I could really remember. Neville, Dean, Seamus sprinting down the corridors to the kitchen, away from Ron, laughing all the way. We thanked every god in the world that Neville knew the way to the kitchens and all I remember about eating was a constant orgasmic pleasure in my mouth.

More flashes of dormitory highs, Seamus putting a sticking charm on his feet so he could lean out the window, Dean and I discussing the scientific problems with magic and Neville convincing Ron that every particle of dust in the world was in fact a sun, and by moving at all he would ‘disturb the cosmic balance’.

It was, in short, a night to remember. Remember it I would of course, and throughout that year Neville supplied us with decent amounts of the herb, just enough for the occasional guy’s night. Throughout the year I discovered that Neville was really a good guy, Dean and Seamus too. I missed out on four years of an excellent couple of friends because all I cared about was Ron and Hermione.

Oh yeah, I guess I should tell you who I am huh? Well in case dear reader hasn’t figured it out yet, I am the one and only Harry Potter. I am the Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, Voldemort’s Vanquisher, the usual hero shit. That’s not the point of this. The point of this is my final documentary of my greatest and worse years, the highs, the deaths and of course, that one final trip.

So like I was saying it was 5th year that I discovered three true friends that had been right under my nose for four years. Drugs brought us together…ultimately it was only fitting they would tear us apart.

5th year ended with the painful and untimely death of my godfather and I’ll admit a lot of any remaining childish innocence I had held on to as a 15 year old. It was that summer that I took my first step into the world of synthetics.

Can’t really remember the date any more, all I know it that it was pretty late and Vernon and Petunia had long since gone to sleep and I myself was lying on my bed thinking, of course, about Sirius. I remember lying there and just wishing the ache in my chest would go away, that I could just have a few hours of enjoyment. I wasn’t really fiending or anything I just really wanted some enjoyment to take my mind off what had happened at the ministry. Then it hit me: Dudley.

I knew Dudley was somewhat of a drug user, from what I gathered he had touched some of the heavier stuff and no doubt he could procure me some kind of weed or something. All I had to do was actually convince him to give me something. Find me a dealer, a cone or something to just give me a break. I had no idea how to go abut it though, odds are he’d run off to Daddy and say I was trying to get him to try heroin or some shit. In the end, I opted to just go for it, knock on his door and see what he could do for me.

In the end it worked out surprisingly well. Dudley didn’t go running to Vernon, nor did he beat me up or fuck me over. He just helped me out and set me up, like most fellow drug users would do. Maybe he saw me as some other kid he could nick free highs and money off, maybe he just wanted me to fuck off. He may even have thought I wasn’t really that weird and I could be a good mate….yeah right. Whatever he thought, he helped me out. He couldn’t get me some weed though; he said it was too hard at this time of night. He took me one step higher though. That Saturday night, Dudley Dursley introduced Harry Potter to the chemical generation.

********************************************************************************

The lights were flashing. Wave after wave of thumping music coursed through me, bringing thick, beautiful joy racing through my blood, every particle in my skin absorbing the shockwaves of the sound, transporting it deep inside of me. I could feel other people all around me, girls grinding against me, even sweaty young me pressed up close but I didn’t care. We were one, we were together. We flowed in unison, all part of the same ideal.

Everything was bliss, all my insecurities had vanished. I was in the clouds, a spaceman looking down at the world and laughing at it all. The world looks beautiful from there. The speeding, bright lights flew across my retinas further increasing the pleasure, the heat of them a pleasant tingling in my eyes reminding me of reality. Staring at them would put me back on Earth, on the dance floor before twisting me away from it into a world of uncontrollability.

My first night on ecstasy was an amazing experience. My dabbles in easier drugs were nothing compared to the intense feeling of absolute pleasure that flowed through me, I felt at one with the world and connected to everyone. It was the first of many experiences and one that I surprisingly owed to my cousin.

After talking to Dudley in his room he told me he was going out and figured he could drag me along if I wanted. ‘Bring some money.’ he said. I owned a decent amount of gold in my vault so every year I felt inclined to exchange some of the Galleons for pounds to make living at the Dursleys a little easier.

Dudley took me along, albeit grudgingly, to a club hidden in the centre of London, it was one of those clubs where you knew you could get a little bit of everything you were looking for. Dudley was meeting up with some mates of his, the only one I recognised being Piers Polkiss. He had sneered at me when he first glimpsed me and it looked like ‘Harry Hunting’ might start up again but thankfully Dudley walked over and spoke with him for a bit, eventually Piers nodding and settling for looking at me cautiously.

As it turns out, Dudley knew someone in the club who could get him in despite his young age, though by the looks of it I had doubted whether anyone cared how old people were, so long as they had the money. Dudley had taken me to a back corner, away from all the hyped-up dancers to a group of shady guys near the end of the bar.

“Danny,” he had said, walking up to a beefy black fellow who was drinking a beer. “This is my cousin Po-Harry.” Danny stood up and looked at me, no doubt sizing me up. Eventually his face took on a look of a bored businessman and he spoke to me calmly, still loud enough to be heard over the pounding music.

“What do you want kid?” he asked, his voice a slow baritone. I glanced at Dudley over Danny’s shoulder and he nodded at me, showing me to just tell him what I was after. “I’m looking for a pill mate,” I said calmly, don’t stress out and they won’t try to rip you off had been Dudley’s word of advice before we’d stepped inside. You don’t want them thinking you don’t know anything. “If you have any E that’d be wicked.” I said, trying to be as nonchalant about the whole thing as I could.

He looked at me again, scrutinising me before deciding I was worth it. “10 quid,” he said. “And that’s a good price for what I’ve got.”

I nodded, reaching into my pocket as he reached into his and we met together in the typical ‘cool’ handshake, the poor disguise for a drug trade in occurrence. I grinned in thanks at him and he winked before leaning in and talking to me a bit softer. “Pop that now mate, have a few beers then get on the floor, you’re in for the night of your life. I’ll get Dud to give you my number, call me when you need some help.” With that he lent back again, giving me a friendly smile before turning back to his mates.

Dudley and I walked over to the bar and I handed him the pill to inspect it. “Green with star,” he said. “You done well Potter.” I took the thing straight away and then Dudley and I went to mingle on the floor. I caught Danny’s eyes and he grinned again, giving me the two-finger salute.

Who said drug dealers were bad people?

********************************************************************************

Over the next few weeks, my cousin would take me on a wild journey through the crazed muggle England drug scene of 1996, guiding me through drug deals, people and of course the drugs themselves. Never before would I have guess Dudley Dursley of all people to ever help me in any way. I think he ended up taking a liking to me though, of course he still hated my freakishness and we often argued about it during stoned discussions but in the end I think he chose to ignore it.

I remember one night, just before we entered a new club that Piers was taking us to that Dudley pulled me inside and looked me dead in the eye. “Look Harry,” he began stuttering a little over the words. “I just wanted to say that you’re not such a bad guy after all and that I umm…I guess I was wrong to treat you as I did when we were younger.” He stuck out his hand, his eyes boring into mine. His pupils were dilated, stretching out over the irises and the whites of his eyes were a criss-crossed pattern of red but I knew he was being sincere.

“It’s all right Dudley,” I said grasping his hand in a firm grip. “I doubt I’ll ever forgive you but I can definitely forget it all.” I said with a wink, the simple action setting off insane feelings in my face, reminding me of the drugs that flowed through my body. We grinned once more at each other, the drugs really starting to kick in before we followed Piers into the club, the music drawing us in like moths to the flame.

That night was incredibly good for me, I had almost made amends with my cousin, found a few good friends, tripped the fuck out and lost my virginity. It was a turning point in my life, I began to realise that it wasn’t all harsh cruel shit playing around with my life, it was that night that I accepted the fact that you need to take the good with the bad.

I’m lucky I learnt it during the summer of 96, because there was about to be a whole lot of bad coming up.

********************************************************************************

As I’m sure you are aware, the second Dark War against Voldemort was hugely devastating for such a short war. I’m also sure you know that I, Harry Potter was the one to finally kill Tom Riddle and end the bastard’s reign of terror at the tender age of 17. I’m not going to take you through a long winded story of the battles because it’s really not worth it, the fights were brutal and the Siege of Hogwarts was a terrible fight.

I began my training to fight and win when I turned 16, Dumbledore had finally decided that the time for fun and games had long since past and if I was ever to have any hope of winning I would need to be prepared. Throughout what should have been my 6th and 7th years at Hogwarts, I was taken away to a secluded location and went through an intense course of battle magic along with other subjects.

I was given a time turner to aid me in my training and I ended up gaining close to 5 or 6 years of brutal, non-stop teaching. From 1996 to 1998 I was transformed from a somewhat normal teenage wizard to a brutal killing machine, trained to kill Voldemort and end the war.

On December 19th, 1998 Voldemort and his army broke through the wards at Hogwarts and began the battle that would decide Wizarding Britain’s future. For 16 hours straight, the two armies of light and dark where deadlocked in a horrible, devastating battle. Voldemort had gathered huge amounts of troops, recruiting astounding numbers of Death Eaters, giants, trolls, werewolves, vampires and other assorted, powerful magical creatures.

I had fought my way through uncountable amounts of Death Eater’s and other things before finally meeting my nemesis in a small secluded spot behind the battle. Of course, the usual banter occurred before we locked into a harsh duel, one that I knew I would have to win quickly if I had any chance of surviving. Eventually, we locked once again in the Priori Incantatum, and the apparitions of many of my friends and other familiar faces came out. I waited until there were close to 30 of them before tearing my wand away, the figures swooping in on Voldemort, a repeat of the graveyard.

I cleared my head before raising my wand once more, aiming at the tall figure through the slowly fading silver figures. ‘Avada Kedavra.’ the whispered words rolled of my tongue, fuelled by the utter loathing and contempt I held for the disgusting wizard.

That was it. I had defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard in a century with two whispered words ad the help of 30 dead figures. It was over.

The losses were terrible though, close to 3500 decent wizards and witches died that day. Men and women from Britain, America, Africa and other nations, people of all ages fighting for freedom. The wizarding world was devastated, families torn apart and everything in shambles but the war was won. Finally we could return to our lives and rebuild what we had lost.

I however, was a different story. With Voldemort dead, my life appeared to have lost most of its meaning. Hermione was dead, along with Remus, Albus, Tonks, Arthur, Bill, half the teachers and students from the school and other people I’d never met, never had the chance to talk to. I became a shell of my former being, going through the award ceremonies and speeches like an especially dead Inferi, doing what I had to do but no emotion in it at all.

Ron, Dean, Seamus, Neville and surprisingly Blaise Zabini were the only ones I spoke to frequently. The war had stuck us all hard. Sadness creeped up on us and we could do nothing but sit at home and waste away the money given to us as heroes of the war. Blaise and I grew close, she became the one good thing in my life despite the 4 boys I had spent 5 years of my life sleeping in the same room with. At least I had her, Ron had lost Hermione and half his family while Neville and the others lost all there remaining relatives save Dean, whose muggle family lived on but had all but disowned him for his acceptance of a wizard during the war.

We knew there was nothing else for it. With depression claiming us all and life seeming boring and dull, we did the one thing we knew would give us happiness. All five Gryffindor boys, meant-to-be graduates of 1998 threw themselves into the world of drugs.

********************************************************************************

Predictably, we went once again for the plants Neville could easily supply us with as he had a relatively large plantation in his greenhouse. For the next few weeks, the five of us took what we told everyone was ‘a well needed vacation to rest and relax’. In truth we spent about a month in Neville’s mansion, flitting in and out of various stages of the high.

There were times where we would force the house elf to make some of the strangest foods imaginable, followed by daring Seamus to jump from a tree into the pool, wrapped up in all our Gryffindor scarfs just to increase his chances of sinkage. Then came the relaxed nights that were 5 boys lying in a semi-comatose state in various positions in the living room, debating broom mechanics and how being black is just a state of mind.

However, the peaceful tranquillity that we lived in was never going to last and we all knew it. The shadows of the war still hung over us, Ron was sinking deeper and deeper into the depression that had claimed him since Hermione had died. My best friend was becoming a mess, towards the later days he simply sat on the floor with a spliff in his hand and a look of defeat on his face, red eyes glazed over in sorrow.

Seamus and Dean had become far more reckless and violent, dealing with the emotion in their own special way, each day doing more outrageous things to take their mind of it all. We had to call the holiday off when Dean came back to the manor one day, bringing a stolen Aston Martin with him.

Neville and I grew a lot closer, sitting together flipping through photo albums and watching movies on his television he had protected from magic (he had told me runes were involved somehow), often just quietly sitting and talking with a butterbeer or firewhiskey in our hands.

On the day Dean brought the car back, we sat down to have a big talk about what we were doing. None of us were satisfied with what was going on at the moment and we decided to go back to what could be considered ‘normal lives’. We went back to whoever we had to try and settle back into our lives, Ron went to his family, Dean and Seamus went to share an apartment with Lavender and Parvati in Diagon Alley. Neville and I stuck together and we headed back to Grimmauld Place to where Dobby had taken my orders to ‘spruce the place up a little’ to an extreme.

Eventually I ended up spending more time with Blaise again, catching up in muggle and magical bars and cafes, just to spend some time together. The war had brought the Slytherin girl and I closer together than I had ever been with any female except for perhaps Hermione. Blaise was gorgeous to me but I knew in some ways she was your average good-looking girl. She had a body to die for that much was true, and long wavy black hair that fell down past her shoulders. Her cheeks were slightly red in comparison to her pale skin and had a slightly hollowed look to them but she had these warm, inviting brown eyes that I often looked at while we sat curled up on a couch, just happy to have someone to be with.

Blaise was soon moving into Grimmauld Place, and Neville had found a relationship with Su Li, a quiet Ravenclaw girl from our year who he said he had met in Flourish and Blott’s one day while I was ‘shopping with Blaise’. For a good few weeks we were living in happiness, I was quickly falling in love with Blaise as we spent more and more time together, little else to do but live a peaceful life, supported by the hundreds of thousands of galleons I now owned.

Eventually though, we once again grew bored, there was just so little to do with our new lives save sex, reading, shopping, television and eating. The kind of life most normal people would kill to have but Neville and I were far from normal people, the beautiful hold of drugs had gripped us far too often, and we too vividly remembered the feelings it could bring. Losing yourself within the euphoric depths was incomparable to anything else in the world.

We knew Ron was dying slowly, killing himself over the hole in his chest that had once belonged to my best female friend. Dean and Seamus would never be able to hold off, their reckless, carefree attitudes lusted continuously for thrills and rushes. About half a year after our month-long submission to weed, Neville, Dean, Ron, Seamus and I made a healthy and informed decision to get heavy…this would be the final choice that would shape what little was left of our lives.

********************************************************************************

It took us 6 hours with a quick phone call to Danny and a floo ride to the Leaky Cauldron to meet up with my old dealer in London. We caught up right outside the underground, Danny had obviously been doing well for himself, and he had some slick new clothes and was looking very well kept. We chatted on for a little with the usual pleasantries that two old, friends I guess is the best word, do.

I had informed Danny when I called him that we were passed the point of weed and pingers, that we wanted to try something a lot heavier, just to get the feel for it all. I wasn’t too sure what to expect really, so it was quite a surprise when he pulled out a small bag of little square bits of paper. Now I’ll be the first to admit that at that time I still wasn’t incredibly well versed in the world of hallucinogens, but even I knew the ever-popular acid tab. I knew instantly that the 5 of us had made the right choice.

“Jeez Danny you’re a fucking legend,” I said, staring in an almost unhealthy fascination at the taxbag my best dealer held in his hand. “I trust these are pure as shite then?” I shot him a totally unnecessary questioning glance, Danny knew his stuff.

“Course mate,” was his reply, the smile I had become well-acquainted with present as always on his face. “You know me Harry, I dress to impress. Where you been though man, people have been asking about’cha?”

I smiled. I knew the people he was talking about, dealers and fellow drug users I’d gotten on incredibly good terms with, good people the lot of them. It had been with people like Danny and his mates, Sarah, Richard, Oliver and a few others that I had truly broken into teenage-hood I guess you could say. They showed me the thrills of life; theft, arson, small-time vandalism, I had learnt a lot in one summer and how to break laws was one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a good person. A multiple felon true, but I’m still a good guy.

“Here and there Danny mate, you know the deal,” I grinned, taking the bag and handing him a 20 pound note. “Dark lords to defeat and all that.” Danny laughed, I had spat out a whole bunch of my stories during a large group stoner session, absolutely mesmerising everyone under the influence of an assortment of drugs as they tripped to my tales. Since then, the ‘Hogwarts Annals’ and I had become popular session discussion material.

“Yeah of course Harry, can’t have that rat-man escaping from you again,” he said his chuckles subsiding. “Anyway mate I gotta bail, Sarah wants me to meet her parents.” He muttered, rolling eyes.

“Oh you and Sarah then eh?” I said, my interest perking at this, it was good to get information about my old friends.

“Yeah mate,” he called over his shoulder as he walked back to his car. “She’s digged me for years man!”

I laughed and waved as he got in his car and drove off, before turning back to my friends a big grin still plastered all over my face. I didn’t really expect to see 4 faces of stunned disbelief staring back at me. “You told them about our world!?” Ron cried.

“Yes I did,” I replied rolling my eyes. Ron was such a twat sometimes. “It doesn’t matter, they didn’t believe me. You know what these are mate?” I said, turning to Dean, the muggleborn wizard might have seen them before.

“Fuck me,” he said, his draw dropping at the sight of the tabs. “That’s LSD right?” I smirked; this was going to be one hell of a day. With Danny supplying I knew we had some quality drugs.

“I’ve heard of that,” said Seamus slowly, looking intensely at the bag. “Kinda like the muggle version of Venefitricus isn’t it Dean?” he asked his black friend who just nodded dumbly. At this Ron and Neville looked at me with shocked looks, their eyes lighting up in expectant joy.

“Ready for the trip of your fucking lives lads?” I asked, nearly salivating at the thought of the night to come. We had stocked up on the perfect munchie foods for a few days, organised the beds and buckets and picked out a wide array of movies perfect for our situation. We were set.

As we apparated back to Longbottom manor which had since become our drug house, it didn’t occur to us what this night would lead to. We had no idea that this step into drugs would be the start of a landslide into addiction, death and despair. We wouldn’t know until it was far too late. We wouldn’t know until a few months before I fell out of the portkey ride, Neville by my side, Venefitricus running through my body. It didn’t matter though. Just then we were just five best mates, brought together again by the thing that fanned the flames of friendship, ready for one more night of intense euphoria.

********************************************************************************

I remember absolutely nothing of that night. I remember knowing that the LSD was beginning to take effect; we were sitting on a couch watching an old muggle movie when there was a knock at the front door. I remember turning and looking at it, only to see a small wooden door that was at the end of a corridor that seemed to stretch for all eternity. I knew what had to be done though.

Struggling out of my seat, I began the perilous trek to see who dared disturb our rest. The others all looked at me, wondering what I was doing but at that point nothing else matter bar opening that door. I made it to the door and froze…it was alive. That was all I could think about. The strange, intricately carved designs on the frame seemed to writhe around and reach out to me, as if to pull me into the dark piece of wood that was their prison.

I pushed these thoughts away, reaching for the snapping gold beast that I vaguely recalled was the key to opening this strange portal. Eventually getting the guts to look, I wrenched the door open to see absolutely nothing.

That was when I lost all coherent thought.

The next thing I could remember after that was waking up inside the living room fireplace of Longbottom manor, wrapped head to toe in toilet paper and my hand stuck into a loaf of bread. What the hell had happened here? This wasn’t the average aftermath of a drug-fuelled party, this was something different, something had gone horribly wrong here.

I fumbled around for my wand, tearing away the layers of feeble white paper that encased me, digging through my strangely slimy pockets. The rest of the morning will always remain a strange blur; stumbling out of the fireplace and finding my friends in various states of rest and undress. Ron was a missing case though, after I had revived Neville and convinced him to come out of the still-running shower and to put something other than an old cauldron which had a large hole in it (no doubt one of his own explosive potions) we had managed to find Dean and Seamus.

Dean was relatively easy to find, if hard to get to. He was hidden within the depths of one of the two pillow and chair forts that took up most of the living room. The large muggle television was strewn across his chest, still playing the sports channel on which Dean had no doubt somehow remembered he liked West Ham and attempted to watch a match. Seamus however took a reasonably long time to locate. After about half an hour of searching we found him under the kitchen table flat on his back, using a bowl of butterbeer as a pillow.

Once we were all reasonably roused and dressed we set about to the nigh impossible task of finding my ginger-haired best mate. We searched the entire house twice before we came to the daunting conclusion that he must be outside somewhere. We eventually found him 5 metres in the air, peacefully snoring. He had somehow found away to have his legs on a branch and his back on a broom and yet still remain in the air.

This was it. Here on in we knew weed would never be enough, acid would probably only hold our interest for so long in fact. This taste of intense drug influence was tantalising and not nearly enough. We had to keep going, trying all things muggle and magical until we found that final peak that would satisfy us.

We sat down and debated what we would do and ended up agreeing on going with what we could. I had Danny as a contact in London which was easy enough to get to so that’s where we would start. We figured it would be easier to work our way through most of the muggle drugs before hitting the magical areas. That wasn’t to say we wouldn’t try out the Wizarding drugs just yet, Merlin no. Seamus in fact informed us that he had a good childhood friend from Ireland who dealt synthetic potions and that he could easily help us out. From here on in, we went fast and heavy.

********************************************************************************

All was good for a year or so. The 5 of us had been meeting up incredibly frequently, most of the time to get smacked out of our skulls and yet sometimes we simply sat back and talked. We were keeping it simple, still heavy users but we tried to keep a normal life. In June 2000, Blaise and I decided to get married. We knew we were young and she knew what I did most of my weekends but somehow it didn’t really matter to us. Ron was my best man of course and Daphne Greengrass acted as Blaise’s maid of honour and we had invited a large collection of our friends who had survived the war. There was no point in excluding anyone at all. In fact, I had ended up inviting half of Hogwarts.

“Congratulations Harry!” Fred had said gruffly, giving me his surprisingly strong one-armed hug. Fred had lost it during a two-on-two battle with Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. He and George had fought the other two brothers for almost a whole hour before they finally managed to kill them. It is still remembered as one of the most intense battles of the war saving mine and Voldemort’s and the clash between Bellatrix Lestrange and Neville. Unfortunately, neither had come of unscathed. Fred ended up losing his left arm and George had taken a horrible curse to the pelvis that now left him slightly paralysed. We considered it a good day if he could walk at all.

Not surprisingly though, the twins had tried to shrug it off and carry on normally and they did quite well. They were running an incredibly popular joke shop and were still constantly coming out with new inventions, despite their disabilities.

“Thanks Fred,” I replied smiling like Seamus during the rush hit. Strange, nowadays everything seemed to have some kind of relevance to my fun night life. “George mate, how’s it going?” Today the other prankster was leaning heavily on a walking stick since he had refused to be in a wheelchair to my wedding. “Fine Harry, fine.” He said patting me on the back. “I’d be a lot better if you could get me pictures of the lovely Mrs Potter during the honeymoon.”

Laughing along with him and passing him a Nissed Pewt (a quite popular Wizarding beer) I glanced over at the snacks table and noticed Ron staring off into the distance, a forlorn look on his face. I sighed, excused myself from the two brothers and headed over to my best man, stopping just behind him and coughing softly.

“Harry!” he said startled as he turned to face me.” Mate I’m really happy for you, Blaise is a great girl and I-”

“Ron, don’t.” I said, cutting across his rambling. “Something’s got you down man, what is it?” His jaw clenched and he looked down at his shoes, his eyes screwing up slightly. “You’re thinking about…Hermione aren’t you?” I asked softly feeling my own stab of pain in my chest.

“We could be married by now Harry,” he choked out, looking up at me with glistening eyes. I sighed, I had a feeling my wedding would drag up the old memories for Ron. So I did what mates do. I put my arm around his shoulder, I consoled him, I told him he would meet a girl soon enough and they’d be happy together. How was I supposed to know it would all be a lie? How was supposed to know that in a few weeks something would happen that would send our rebuilding worlds spiralling back down again?

It happened exactly 3 weeks later in fact. 3 weeks after I married the woman of my dreams my life swapped around once again, all with one flash of fire and screaming metal. I know I’m not personally responsible for what happened, but I always feel as though it can come back to me and in a way it does. I started it all really. I guess I should explain what happened.

After I introduced everyone to Danny, the five of us began to frequently meet up with dealers and other users in clubs and houses all over London. Ron didn’t much like any of them but when I think about it, he was always somewhat lacking a spine and he was certainly judgemental. Anyway, Ron may not have liked them but Seamus certainly did. On quite a few occasions he would bail out on us to go hang with some new friends of his, dealers and the like. I always passed it off as the friendly Irish bloke just getting along with them.

I never suspected he’d actually started dealing.

A few of Danny’s more hardcore mates had managed to convince him to get into the supplying business and I suspect he had been doing quite well. Except Seamus had gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. I still remember it pretty clearly actually, Ron, Neville, Dean and I were heading to a Wizarding bar in Edinburgh when I got a call from Danny.

“Harry,” I remember he sounded breathless and scared, like he’d been running from something. “It’s your Irish mate Seamus.”

“What about him?” I asked, instantly on guard. Something was up and I knew it.

“He’s been shot man, a deal went wrong and someone got pissed, I dunno if he’ll be ok. He’s in the alley behind the A-Bar. Listen Harry I know-” but that was the last words I would hear from Danny for a long time, as I stopped dead, dropping the phone.

I pulled Neville and Ron back to me and told Dean to grab my arm, before apparating to where Danny had said. As soon as I got there and looked down my blood ran cold at the sight before me. There, in a pool of dark blood lay one of my oldest and best friends.

I vaguely remember Dean dropping to his knees behind me, Neville running up to the lifeless body and Ron apparating away. I couldn’t feel anything except the horrible numbness that was running through me.

Seamus Finnegan was dead.

If I thought the war could bring my world crashing down around me, it couldn’t compare at all to the sheer personal devastation that the murder of Seamus would do to what I now considered my family.

After we found Seamus’ body, everything just fell to pieces. Ron disappeared for a week and Dean followed as soon as we had taken the body to a hospital to have it officially confirmed. I remember Ginny bursting through the white hospital doors, tears streaming down her face, her red hair flowing behind her as she ran towards where Neville and I stood, conversing in hushed voices, the familiar heavy feeling of devastation like lead in our stomachs.

She slammed into me, bawling her eyes out as she grabbed me by the collar and looked me right in the eyes. “You fucking bastard!” she yelled out in a hoarse voice, her cheeks wet and dirty from crying. “You killed him, it’s your fault, you were the one who got him into this! It’s your fault Seamus is dead, your fault, how could you do this to us!” She started beating her fists against my chest before Neville pulled her away and took her into his arms where she collapsed against him, wailing in agony.

I looked at Neville questioningly, my heart breaking at the sight of the usually lively woman reduced to a crying mess. Neville looked back at me, stroking Ginny’s heaving back. “They were dating Harry,” he sighed. “I dunno when it started, about a year ago and they’ve been seeing each other fairly frequently. If Seamus wasn’t with Da-Danny, he was usually out with Ginny.” The full realisation of this hit me as I stared at the small, shuddering form of Ginny, she had lost her old boyfriend, Michael Corner, during the Siege of Hogwarts and had been a depressed wreck after that and I thought she hadn’t seen another man since. If she had been dating Seamus then god knows what it would do to her.

It would kill her as it would seem, and quickly too. It wasn’t even a week after we found Seamus that Ginny was found face-down on her bed, wand held loosely in her right hand and the glassy eyes that made the effect of the killing curse all too obvious. It killed the rest of the Weasley family, in fact I only ever spoke to Ron after that and following what was to happen to my best friend, I knew I would never see any of the family of red-heads I had grown to love ever again.

My last memory of them was Fred’s one arm flying out to hit me in the face, George screaming at me from his silvery magical wheelchair. Mrs Weasley was kneeling next to the bed, clutching Ginny’s lifeless body to her chest as she screamed in pure despair, wave after wave of tears soaking her dress and Ginny’s hair. Charlie stood by the door absolutely still except for the occasional shaking of his shoulders, as the good-natured dragon tamer cried shamelessly.

When Ron returned from his mysterious, week-long absence, it was only to find his sister dead. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he stumbled back, as if hit on the face, before sliding down the wall and coming to rest in a fetal position on the floor. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what my mate was feeling. Sure Seamus and Ginny were some of my closest friends, Hermione too. But nothing like they were to Ron. Hermione had been, to put it simply, the only girl Ron had ever fancied at all, quite possibly the love of his life and Ginny was his sister for fuck’s sake.

I remember running over and crouching beside him, hoping to offer him what condolence I could, to try and do something for him but he just looked at me. His eyes looked like those of a dead man and they bore straight into mine and I could literally feel the despair seeping off of him. “Just go.” Was all he managed to say in a sickeningly hoarse voice filled with pain and despair. I didn’t want to leave him for fear he would try to off himself like Ginny, but I knew there was nothing I could do, so I just grasped his hand and nodded, before standing up and apparating away.

I sat holed up in my house with Neville, Blaise and Su for the next month or so, neither Neville nor I felt up to anything at all except for talking and the occasional shag with our respective partners. It occurred to me, as I was shut up in Grimmauld Place, just how much Blaise cared for me. Despite what had happened she still sat by me and still loved me. I felt like a monster inside and I know Neville felt the same. Like all the other periods in our life though, the drug-free wallowing in guilt was not going to last for long. On the 2 month anniversary of Seamus’ death, we were once again fucked over, this time by a loud knock on the door.

I remember jolting out of Blaise’s arms on the couch, staring at the door with a clenched jaw, wand held tight in my hand because, after all, this house was one of the most warded in Britain. In fact, there was only really one person who knew how to get here…

At that thought I leapt over the couch and tore down the hallway with Blaise’s voice ringing in my ears, heading for the door and wrenching it open. There, standing in the pouring rain on the doorstep was the shell of the man I knew to be Ron Weasley.

“Harry…” he croaked swaying on the spot slightly, seemingly disorientated. Grabbing his shoulders and holding him still to get a proper look at him I was slightly sickened by what had happened to him. His vibrant orange hair, which I always thought it was a pretty disgusting colour, not that I would ever tell him, was dishevelled and looked like a family of Nargles had nested there. His robes were unkempt and incredibly dirty, covered in stains and the crusty remains of food, and he was standing slightly lopsided, as if something was wrong with his left arm or side.

“You look like shit man,” I said trying to brighten up but he just stood there dumbly and shook his head slightly, as if he were confused and trying to do something. “Come on in, Blaise can make you a cup of tea and we can grab something to eat mate, you can have a bath too if you want, we could even find you some robes.” I was chatting happily as I led him into the house; Blaise was at the end of the hallway and smiling brightly as we passed, before shooting a look of concern at Ron’s appearance and slight limp as we walked past.

********************************************************************************

I remember the talk we had that night, just Ron, Neville and I sitting in the large living room, a glass of firewhiskey in our hands and a serious expression on our faces.

“Ron mate, what happened? I haven’t seen you since…the Burrow, what have you been doing?” I asked staring at him intently; something had to have happened to him if this was how he showed up at my door. Neville was also staring at Ron over his glass, though his eyes were filled with a strange curiosity and kept flicking to his arm and back which Ron was still neglecting slightly.

“I uh, I don’t really know Harry,” he said, his voice still incredibly hoarse. “It’s been kind of a blur really, you know just this and that.” He was acting very strange about the whole deal and I was just about to ask what was going on before Neville beat me to it.

“Ron, lift your sleeve please.” Neville said a deadly calm in his voice as he looked intently into Ron’s eyes. Ron had frozen and his right hand flew quickly to his left forearm and grasped it, his nails digging slightly in. I looked at him in disbelief, my hand moving slowly to my wand; there was no way, Voldemort was dead and Ron would never…

“It’s not the dark mark Harry, don’t worry.” Neville said softly, still staring right at Ron who was looking sick and guilty, trying to focus on his arm but his eyes kept flicking towards Neville and I, he was clearly unnerved by what Neville had pointed out. “It’s something else isn’t it Ron? Show Harry what you’ve really been up to.” Neville’s voice had become slightly cold as he continued to look at Ron.

Ron looked at me one last time before letting out a deep, long sigh before he swiftly raised his sleeve and thrust out his arm for us to see. Dotted along his arm was a small gathering of little holes, pin pricks that stood out, a few that looked terribly red and swollen. “Merlin, Ron…” I muttered, staring in fascinated disgust at his punctured arm, I now knew exactly what Ron had been doing to get rid of the depression, the needle marks that flecked the heroin junkie’s arm were unmistakeable.

“Harry look, it’s nothing too bad I’ve stopped now and-” he stammered out, a pleading tone in his voice.

“No, Ron.” I said, glancing up and looking him harshly in the eyes. “You’re on the fucking scag man, you’re fucking up you’re arm, I mean, take a look at these fucking holes Ron! They’re going to get out of control if you don’t do something about it!” I stood up then, almost yelling in Ron’s face. How could he have fucking done this, we’d made a pack, not to get hooked on anything at all, and here Ron was, living off fucking smack.

“Where’s Dean huh? Have you gotten him hooked too then, ‘ey? What the fuck made you think you could-”

“Harry, cut it out!” Neville yelled, shoving me back away from Ron.

“No, I fucking won’t Neville!” I roared back at him on the verge of lashing out at both of them. “Ron’s stabbing his fucking arm and Merlin knows where Dean is, he’s fucking disappeared. How do I know Ron hasn’t left him cooped up in some fucking junkie den then?”

“I didn’t.” Ron’s rough voice made me stop halfway through my rant and snap my head back to look at him. “What?” I asked, shocked. “Do you know where he is then?”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” Ron said, finally raising his head and looking at me in the eye. “He tried it with me for a while but it wasn’t enough to cope with Seamus you know? He went harder Harry, and muggle drugs are the easiest to get. The last I saw of him he was meeting up in Glasgow with an ice dealer. You’ve heard of it right?”

Neville blanched, and I could feel the familiar cold rush run through me, If Dean was depressed and taking that, he could be in serious trouble. “You look after Ron, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, alright?” I said, turning quickly to face Neville as I pulled out my wand, getting ready to go after Dean.

“Ron,” I said firmly, grasping him by the shoulders. “Do you know anything else at all that can help me find him? This is getting serious mate.” Ron thought, slowly shaking his head as he considered the possibilities.

“No I don’t have an address or anything but can you trace his magical signature? I brought some of his robes if that helps.”

Soon after that I had a lock on Dean’s signature and was preparing to go out and collect him from Glasgow, hopefully before he got in too much trouble. With one final glance at the guilty-looking Ron and pensive Neville, I kissed Blaise on the cheek, telling her not to worry and to try to have an extra bed set up just in case, before focusing on the magical pull and apparating away.

********************************************************************************

I remember the first thing I noticed when I arrived was the smell, the overpowering stench of sweat, drugs and human excrement. The magical signature had led me to a disgusting suburb in Glasgow; one that I was sure was Possilpark. I remember the suburb rather well unfortunately, after making a small trip with Danny there once. If this was where Dean was living, things couldn’t be good at all.

I stood in front of a battered old door, definitely one that belonged to a shoddy block of flats and I wondered why Dean had given up his perfectly nice home in London for this filth. Splattered across the door was the unmistakeably smeared form of human shit, and judging by the smell and stains it looked like the door had been pissed on more than once.

Sprayed along the wall and the door in red paint were the large words ‘Junkie Scum!’, no doubt done by some self-righteous teenager who hated the people that plagued his hometown. Forcing back the bile in my throat, I whispered “Alohomora” at the door and let it swing open giving me a small look at what was inside.

It was almost pitch black in there, the only light coming from closed yellow curtains that were old and dirty, and let in only a little light from the already cloudy sky outside. I couldn’t see any furniture from where I was, only a kitchen bench which had a cracked bowl on the dirty white surface.

Opening the door had let out another wave of the sickening stench, the disgusting mixture of smells that was unmistakeably a user’s den assaulting my nostrils making me gag once more. I coughed a little before shuddering and stepping over the threshold into the dimly-lit room.

“Dean?” I called out softly, after all this could be a crack-den full of violent dealers so there was no use in putting myself in unnecessary danger. I’d seen first hand what people on a bad high could do when threatened. I still had the scar on my left shoulder from my last trip here to Glasgow.

Taking a few steps further in, I could see small pieces of shattered glass, bits of paper and dirty old spoons. There was a hypodermic needle about 3 feet away from me, filled with a disgusting mustard-coloured liquid, the sharp point dirty and covered in what looked like dried blood. I shuddered at the sights and smells and took a deep reassuring breath, which almost resulted in a spray of projectile vomit, before walking in on something that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Two months ago, when we had discovered Seamus’ body lying in an alleyway, blood pooling all around him, I had prayed and hoped that it would be the last time I would ever see anyone like that. He looked so pathetic in death, nothing more than a jumble of meat and bones. It’s very depressing to think that it’s all you are really; just a bunch of flesh, organs and (in a wizard’s case) magic. All your sense of superiority leaves you, you no longer feel like a king of the world, top of the food chain or anything.

Just knowing that sooner or later, you’ll be nothing more than a cold vessel of dead cells hits you hard. I was a little too depressed about Seamus at the time but I remember what I felt when I looked at the body of the first Death Eater I’d ever killed. I scored a cheap shot on Macnair, downed him with the killing curse of course. After the fight I gazed at him and felt that cold rush of fear claiming me. And I couldn’t help but think, ‘I’ll look just like that one day.’

No matter how many times you see a dead person, that feeling always hits you, harder than a stack of cauldrons.

Walking into the living room of this disgusting place, a den of drug abusers everywhere brought that feeling crashing down on me. Coupled with the oh-too-familiar feeling of distress for a friend’s well-being, life even, it was enough to send me staggering back.

Lying face down on the disgusting yellow carpet covered in bits and pieces of paraphernalia was Dean Thomas. Scattered all around him were the tell-tale signs of a long-time drug abuser. Glass pipes were everywhere and tin foil, ripped up and scrunched littered the floor. There were small bits of shattered glass and metal lying all over the place and the odd needle could be seen every now and then.

He was lying next to a single, dirty mattress which was the only piece of furniture in the whole room, a threadbare and stained blanket was all that covered it, everything else had been sold to fill Dean’s aching urges, his raw need for the scag that had destroyed him. Coming to my senses, I forced myself to quickly cover the few steps to Dean’s body, my shoes crunching every now and then over glass, lighters and tiny white crystals.

Grabbing Dean by the shoulders, I pulled him up so that his torso was slumped pitifully in my lap, his head lolling back grotesquely over my knee. He was wearing a dirty white singlet, covered in vomit and blood stains which looked like it hadn’t been washed since Seamus died. Odds are it hadn’t.

His face was a mess; his black hair had grown quite long and shaggy, reminding me of how Sirius had looked when he had first escaped from Azkaban. It was greasy and tangled, probably from sweat, vomit and drug fumes and it was plastered to his forehead, wet with fevered sweat. His face was strangely pale, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets, as if a small explosion had gone of in his head, popping them outwards. They were bloodshot, the red capillaries criss-crossing across the whites of his eyes and his pupils looked like tiny black dots, glazed over and staring into nothingness. His lips were cracked and bleeding, cold sores covering them, looking like disgusting crusts of mould that had grown over his mouth. Dried vomit covered the edge of his mouth and dribbled down his chin, worming its way through the dirty stubble he had grown.

Just then, I felt a tiny bit of movement in my arms. He was breathing! I could hear the air pass weakly through his dry, rotten lips, wheezing slightly like a beaten animal as it drew it’s last breaths. Glancing down at his chest to look at the shuddering rise and fall of Dean’s laboured breathing, it was then that I noticed his arm.

“Oh Merlin, Dean…” I choked out, staring in horror at his left arm. On his forearm, almost on the elbow joint was a horrible, infected, black puncture wound. The hole was nearly half an inch big, and it seemed to loom out of his arm, a disgusting volcano of infected flesh. There was a tiny trickle of black liquid, most likely a combination of infected blood and pus, oozing out of the hole and onto the skin below. But it didn’t stop there. The infection had spread across most off his arm, turning it into a literal zombie limb, blackened, swollen flesh stretched from his bicep to close to his wrist, spreading the disease along it.

Dean groaned weakly in pain, his fingers twitching slightly as the pain from the infection got to him. The movement sent a little pulse through his arm, making the veins throb up against his skin, the infectious black colour making me gag. The bile reached my throat and I forced it back down, urging myself to look Dean in the face, to turn away from this horrible image.

I looked at him, and he managed to turn his head to look me dead in the eye, the bloody red of his once sparkling brown eyes causing my heart to clench. He opened his mouth a little and I got a glimpse of yellow rotten teeth and a purple, swollen tongue. “Ha…rry.” He wheezed, his pungent breath burning my nostrils but I couldn’t look away.

“Dean, mate it’s gonna be alright we’ll get you fixed up good and proper.” I said this fast, forcing myself to give a weak smile but we both knew I was lying. We both knew how this day was going to end, with me apparating away alone.

Dean shook his head a little, it was more of a spasm than anything, whatever he was on had him gripped tightly and it wasn’t letting go anytime soon. “Harry…please.” He said, his voice hoarse, and barely audible. “Do it….please. I can’t…” he stopped there, his mouth still moving slightly but no noise was coming out.

I was looking at his bloodshot eyes still, they were glazed over and lifeless, there was little of the Dean I knew in there anymore. Nothing more than the pitiful, pleading look I got from him. I nodded my head shakily, tears welling up in my eyes as I gripped him tightly, deliberately avoiding the infected arm.

“You say hey to Seamus for me, right mate?” I sobbed, still holding him tightly; I didn’t want to lose him. Not Dean as well. I could feel him shaking against me, matching my own shuddering body before I pulled away and gently lowered him onto the dirty floor.

He looked up at me, and gave me the faintest of smiles before closing his eyes and going limp. I raised my wand shakily as I stumbled to my feet. Pointing the stick of holly and phoenix feather at his chest, I stared one last time at one of my last living links to a happy childhood. “Dean…” I said softly one last time, tears flowing down my cheeks silently as I stared at his defeated frame.

I saw him nod ever so slightly, that silent gesture asking for his last wish to be fulfilled. I gripped my wand tightly, and with despair clenching at my throat, I choked out the last two words Dean Thomas would ever hear.

“Avada Kedavra.”