Old Friends by Catriona Rhiannon

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/12/2004
Last Updated: 14/03/2005
Status: Paused

AU (post-Hogwarts) - Harry's life is radically different seven years after graduation, after
having to give up his friendships with Ron and Hermione. How did he get to be there? Can he go back
and change things? WARNING: Very controversial. If you like the idea of Harry being a hero after
the Great War, then you probably wouldn't like this. But please do try it. It's a very
interesting plot. If I do say so myself. Hehe.




1. Rich and Happy
-----------------

**TITLE:** Old Friends
**AUTHOR:** Catriona Rhiannon
**RATING:** PG. Ratings may change in any subsequent chapters hereafter.
**CATEGORIES:** Angst and Romance
**SPOILERS:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
**DISCLAIMER:** Standard disclaimers apply. The characters of the Potter-verse belong to JK
Rowling. Deirdree Hopkins, Gregory Littlefield, Ted Devison and the entire plot of this story is
based on… well. I won’t say first until anyone has a guess!
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** Well, I’m finally back again in the Potter-verse. I do hope you like this
little gem that I’ve written, which is shamelessly based off the plot of a favorite show of mine.
Major props to those who can guess what it is based on. Try the title and chapter titles, and any
subsequent chapters hereafter, are pertinent clues to the answer.

Read and review please! I’d love to hear comments, violent reactions and criticisms, though
hopefully constructive ones. I also need a beta, since I don’t have one at the moment. Any takers?
Email me at: cat_maniego@yahoo.com

Hope you enjoy the fanfic, as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Cheerio!

**OLD FRIENDS**

**I. Rich and Happy**

Rich. And happy.

That was Harry. Rich and happy.

Or was he?

He sighed, staring at his new flat. His new, awesomely *expensive* flat. The lush London
suite that he had recently purchased because Deirdree, his bride, felt this was more appropriate
for their lifestyle.

Deirdree had insisted that Harry leave his little house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade because,
she had chirped, it wasn’t the right place for their children to grow up in, surrounded by all
those nosy witches and wizards, who seemed to intrude on their little space.

He sighed and stared up at the wedding portrait of the two of them that she had hung immediately
above the mantle, where anyone who entered the main hall of their place could see it instantly. The
portrait was framed in white-marble, with a golden line gilded in

Deirdree Hopkins was a Muggle, and a very attractive one at that. A famous actress in Britain,
she and Harry had met at a little soiree her then husband and producer Gregory Littlefield had
thrown for her. Harry had been invited because Greg was his former Quidditch manager when he had
played for the Wimbourne Wasps. He and Greg were good friends, and he fully supported Greg’s
decision to leave the Quidditch circuit to pursue his dream of producing Muggle films. Little did
Greg know then that when he introduced his star Quidditch player to the starlet he had just
married, he had brought about the end of his own marriage.

Several years older than Harry’s twenty had been, she was enchanted with his brilliant green
eyes and innocent disposition. He had been flattered with her unending charm and subtle flair, not
to mention that she didn’t know a thing about him. Before he knew it, Deirdree had successfully
coerced him into producing a movie that she believed would bring about the boost she needed in her
career.

The movie was a success, and five years later, here he was.

Deirdree had known that Greg was a wizard, and she soon found out that Harry was as well. She
hadn’t really accepted it, merely brushed it aside and simply chided Harry not to do magic in
public or when guests were present.

Gradually though, she began expressing her dislike for the magical world that Harry had lived in
all his life. She complained that she didn’t like the moving photographs taken of her and Harry
whenever they had to go out. She hated the odd little gadgets that Harry had always kept in his
house, and she detested that, during the time she was having an affair with him, they’d always go
off whenever she and Harry were making love on his bed. Most of all, she didn’t like the way
Harry’s best friends were constantly in his life.

He tried to explain to her that Hermione and Ron were his best friends, that they were as much a
part of him as she was. She would sometimes relent, albeit hesitantly, but it came to a point where
she became horridly jealous of them.

Ron and Hermione, as it was, felt the same way towards Deirdree as she had towards them. Harry
could always tell that there was a chill in the air whenever he had to turn down their invitations
to head down to the Burrow for lunch, or to head into Diagon Alley just for fun, because Deirdree
was dragging him off to a social event here, there and everywhere. Hermione especially detested
Deirdree, owing to the fact that when they had met, she had looked down on her the way Malfoy used
to whenever he called her a Mudblood. Ron was less hostile, but his eyes had always darkened at the
mention of her name.

Finally, Deirdree had had enough, and she coldly declared that if Harry couldn’t choose between
her and his friends, then she would leave him that very moment. She had claimed that she loved him,
left her husband for him, and she believed that if he couldn’t show her the same commitment. Harry
had known even then that it was wrong, but he couldn’t resist her beautiful doe eyes, or her sexy
little pout, or her damn curvaceous body.

He still cursed his eager, horny self whenever he remembered the day he agreed to sever ties
with Hermione and Ron three years ago just to be able to run his hands over that body. However, he
had made that decision, and he had to live with the consequences. Every movie that he had produced
with his hard-earned Galleons were now fuelling Deirdree’s film career. The profits he was
receiving had far outpassed his salary as a member of the Wimbourne Wasps, which he also had to
leave behind at Deirdree’s request.

So there he was. Rich and happy.

Rich, he was. But happy?

Harry took out his wallet, and reached behind his engagement photo with Deirdree, which, taken
with a Muggle camera, didn’t move. He pulled out a photo of Hermione, he and Ron, taken at the
Graduation Feast of Hogwarts their Seventh Year. He was in the middle, with his arms wrapped around
their shoulders, and they weren’t looking at the camera, but instead had their faces turned towards
each other, laughing animatedly. He looked at it sadly, then tucked it back into its sleeve.

No, he wasn’t.

“Harry, honey!” Deirdree burst into the room from the balcony, the French doors wide open as she
paused in the doorway, her body, with the help of exercise and a severe diet, cleverly hiding the
fact that she was already beyond her thirties, still contorted in a dramatic, almost vaudevillian
pose. “Where have you been? The guests are waiting for you!”

She strode in purposely, taking his arm in hers, her slinky white gown enhancing the ditzy
blonde image that she enjoyed depicting. However, nothing was farther from the truth, as that ditzy
blonde image hid a cunning and manipulative mind. Her white-blond hair spilled over her naked
shoulders, and she winked at Harry playfully, promising him a night of endless pleasure if he
behaved tonight.

“After all, they’re here to celebrate the success of our latest movie. Everyone’s waiting to
meet the man of the hour,” she teased, her voice light and jovial. She ran her fingers up his
muscular arm and snuggled up against his shoulder.

The party was at full-blast. The band Deirdree had hired was playing a lively tune that got his
friends in show business laughing and dancing with one another. Everyone each had a champagne flute
in one hand, and was gesticulating wildly with the other. Nearly everyone there was a Muggle, and
they all knew Harry as The Producer. Not as the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn’t know whether to think of
that as comfort or blight.

Deirdree let go of his arm and went to mingle with the other guests, including a well-known
television anchor named Ted Davison. She was using her expert flirting skills, and, Harry
acknowledged with narrowed eyes, he could see that she was very near to acquiring the guest spot on
his show that she had been planning on getting for the past week. He shook his head and allowed his
eyes to wander around the room, a smile pasted onto his face as the guests who streamed by him
raised his glass to him in congratulations. He acknowledged each of them, his mouth frozen in a
perpetually fake grin.

“Well, well, well, Harry. Do I have to raise my glass to congratulate you when I haven’t yet
seen the picture? Not that I ever will, mind you.”

He froze. That voice. She came.

He turned around and saw a young woman with a cynical little smile pasted on her lips, and who
had her flute raised to him in a mock salute.

“Hermione.”



2. II. That Harry
-----------------

**TITLE:** Old Friends
**AUTHOR:** Catriona Rhiannon
**RATING:** PG. Ratings may change in any subsequent chapters hereafter.
**CATEGORIES:** Angst and Romance
**SPOILERS:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
**DISCLAIMER:** Standard disclaimers apply. The characters of the Potter-verse belong to JK
Rowling. Unfamiliar characters and the entire plot of this story is based on “Merrily We Roll
Along”, a musical by Stephen Sondheim, based on a play by George Furth.
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** Well, that’s the answer, just above the author notes. Thanks for the
reviews, everyone! I’m glad that you think that this fanfic is not like every other fanfic. :D I
definitely recommend seeing the above musical; it’s a fan-TAS-tic show.

Read and review, sil vous plait! I’m kinda stuck on the next chapter. Any suggestions?

**OLD FRIENDS**

**II. That Harry**

She looked the same and yet… different. She had gained a few pounds, but her eyes seemed
hollowed-out and bland. Her curly hair had been messily put up in a twist, and her simple, black
dress made her stand out amongst the colorful outfits that his guests considered haute couture. She
had a little smile on her face, but it wasn’t warm or shy. It was disdainful and mocking, something
he had never thought he would associate Hermione with.

“I didn’t think you’d accept,” he said finally, after staring at her wordlessly for nearly a
minute. “Er… thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” she replied, looking back at him over the rim of her glass. “Although
I’m guessing her holiness doesn’t know I’m here, does she?” Seeing the look on Harry’s face, she
let out a small chuckle.

“I thought so.”

God, even her voice was different. Lower and brisker than the panicky squeals he remembered her
for. Nothing was the same. Something tugged at his heart, a powerfully sad something, that caused
him to clench his fists tightly, and made his voice sound like he was several years younger.

“Um… where’s Ron?”

“He’s not coming,” she said shortly. She took a long swig of her champagne, which surprised
Harry, since she had used to refuse to drink anything alcoholic, before answering him. “He’s on his
honeymoon.”

His eyes widened. “Honeymoon? Ron? Did he and Lavender finally tie the knot?”

She simply stared at him before shaking her head. “Well, that confirms my speculations on
whether you’re still getting the Daily Prophet. He and Lav called it quits two-and-a-half years
ago. He married Luna Lovegood last month.”

Now Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Lovegood? Looney Lovegood?! You’re
joking!”

“Don’t you dare call her Looney, Harry Potter,” she snapped. “You don’t know us anymore, so you
don’t have the right to say anything of that sort.”

She started walking towards the bar. “Bartender! Another glass please!”

Harry turned and grabbed her elbow. “Since when did you start drinking this much?”

She faced him, eyes flashing. “Since when did you start to care again?”

His eyes softened and he said, in a low voice, “I’ve always cared. I never stopped.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she spat out, bitter and angry. She wrested her elbow
out of his grip and grabbed the champagne flute from the bewildered bartender. She looked around at
the terrace, where Harry was having the party held, saw all the people laughing and chatting and
dancing, sneered, and drained half the glass in one gulp.

“Look at all this Harry. This is your life. This is what you chose to become,” she said. She
whirled around to face him, eyes indignant and angry. “Harry, I don’t know who you are anymore, and
the sad thing I just realized is that I’m starting not to care.”

“What the hell happened Harry? Weren’t we good enough for you? Was she? Are you happier now?”
She glared at him.

“Hermione, I…” Harry drifted off, unable to say anything that could help the situation.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the familiar tinkling of silver against glass. Harry looked
up and saw that nearly every guest was looking at him, their spoons beating against their champagne
flutes. On their faces were various shades of admiration and awe.

Hermione snorted and turned away.

Harry looked at her, before turning to face his guests and raising his glass to them in return.
He saw a man step forward, and he recognized him as his lawyer, Jacob Farley. The babble from the
guests died down when they saw that Jacob was about to make a speech.

“To Harry Potter, the greatest client any lawyer could ever dream of. Twenty-five years old,
with three hits already under his belt, and a gorgeous, talented wife to boot! Is there anything
you can’t do, Harry?”

The guests tittered and whispered to one another, giggling loudly. Deirdree blew Harry a kiss
from across the room. Harry forced a smile down at Jacob, and took a sip from his champagne
glass.

“Oh, are we making speeches?” called a voice behind Harry.

He froze, and shook his head as his guests’ chatter abruptly ceased, as if someone had suddenly
cast a Silencing Charm. He saw Deirdree from across the room glance behind him and, realizing who
spoke, suddenly shoot him a Look.

Hermione had her glass raised at Harry and a sneer painted on her face. “I guess I should be
making one too, since I’ve know Harry since he was eleven.”

The crowd quieted down, and Harry could feel the sweat at the back of his neck begin to run down
his spine.

“To Harry Potter,” she began, the crease between her eyebrows beginning to furrow, every word
slightly slurred by the alcohol. “The Producer! The man who has everything! Money, love, and
success. What *can’t* you do, *Harry*? Except admit that you aren’t who you really
are?”

The crowd started to look confused and began to buzz amongst themselves.

Deirdree strode forward, and raising her voice to drown out Hermione’s speech, “Would
*anyone* care to come in*side*?” As the crowd continued to stare quizzically at Hermione,
she continued to walk over to Harry’s side, and upon reaching him, glared viciously. “What is
*she* doing here?” she hissed.

“Excuse me!” yelled Hermione, waving her glass around, causing champagne to spill over the top.
“I’m not done yet. Stay where you are! There is something I must say. You listening?”

“This,” she said, gesturing at the wide patio, “Is all junk! But you, Harry Potter, you deserve
all this!” She threw her glass down, causing it to explode into miniscule crystal pieces. The
guests near her screamed in surprise. She turned to glare at them and lost her balance, crashing
into the bar.

“Get out of here, drunk!” Deirdree yelled.

“Deirdree!” Harry said, holding her back.

“Get that drunken trash out of my house!”

Harry’s gaze darkened, and he let go of Deirdree and walked to where Hermione was still trying
to regain her balance. His eyes softened and sadness crept into his face as he helped her up.

Hermione looked at him. “Oh no. Now I won’t be invited back, huh, Harry?”

Harry looked back at her, and told her quietly. “Hermione… I’m so sorry.”

She stared at him for a long time, before telling him, under her breath. “I just wish you’d
prove it, Harry.” She stood up, and grabbed her bag from the nearest table. “Don’t walk me to the
door. I’ll see myself out.”

And as Harry watched her walk out of his patio, and out of his life, he felt the burden of all
his mistakes in the past years weigh down on his shoulders.



3. Interlude
------------

**TITLE:** Old Friends
**AUTHOR:** Catriona Rhiannon
**RATING:** PG. Ratings may change in any subsequent chapters hereafter.
**CATEGORIES:** Angst and Romance
**SPOILERS:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
**DISCLAIMER:** Standard disclaimers apply. The characters of the Potter-verse belong to JK
Rowling. Unfamiliar characters and the entire plot of this story is based on “Merrily We Roll
Along”, a musical by Stephen Sondheim, based on a play by George Furth.
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** Cor, I took quite a long break, didn’t I? Well, I had a bit of writer’s
block, then finally I sat down and plowed my way through this chapter in one go. It’s not really a
chapter per se; no plot development. But I just wanted to answer a few questions: What happened so
many years ago in young adult Harry’s life that altered the way his life went? I just wanted to
show how things ended up the way it did, and I hope the lot of you will be more sympathetic towards
Harry. After all, it’s quite a lot he’s having to go through – falling in love and losing his best
friends in one go. But not to worry! Things will definitely look up. Maybe. If my nefarious muses
decide that Harry needs a good kick up the arse. ^_^

As always: read and review, please!

**OLD FRIENDS**

**INTERLUDE**

“Get rid of her, Harry.”

“Ron,” Harry began, exasperated. He looked into his friend’s face, which seemed to be
uncharacteristically serious. “I… can’t. You know I can’t. I know it’s wrong; I know how much I’ve
hurt Greg because of all of this, and the both of you as well, but I think… I really think I love
her.”

He collapsed into his favorite living room chair, the world suddenly seeming all too suffocating
and too small for him. He wanted to get out. He wanted to see her again. With her, he could just
forget about all the demands they made of the Boy Who Lived and just *be* a boy, a man.

Ron threw up his hands. “How do you know you’re in love? You can’t even *recognize* love,
even when it’s right under your bloody nose!”

He let out a frustrated sigh when Harry didn’t even acknowledge that he nearly told him of his
other best friend’s feelings for him.

“Harry,” he began, a shade gentler. “You know that Hermione and I love you. We’re both bleeding
beside ourselves with worry. You don’t pick up our calls, you don’t attempt to call us, we haven’t
even seen you since you quit—”

He took a deep, unhappy breath. “And you missed New Year’s. Bloody hell, Harry. You’ve never
missed New Year’s supper before.”

“I know Ron. I…” Harry trailed off and let his face fall into his open palms. “I’m sorry.”

Ron sighed. “Harry, something’s wrong.” Harry looked up at him, surprise in his eyes.
“Hermione’s been acting odd. She’s been in a deep funk, and I don’t know why. No one knows why.” He
was lying. He knew why Hermione was depressed, and it had everything to do with Harry’s obsession
with the Hollywood diva.

“Hermione? What’s wrong? Is she alright?”

Suddenly Ron couldn’t take it anymore. “Well you should bloody well know! Just because you have
this woman in your life right now doesn’t mean we’ll just pause our lives and wait for you to get
back to us when you feel like it.”

Harry stood up and held up his hands. “Ron, it’s not like that—”

Ron stepped closer to Harry and shoved him. “What the hell is it then, Harry? Because I don’t
know what’s going on anymore. You don’t even care about Hermione and me! Should I keel over dead
before you notice? Will you even come to the fucking funeral? Or will Miss High-and-Mighty not
allow *that* either?”

“Ron!” Harry yelled, anger igniting behind his lenses. “You’re not letting me explain! You don’t
understand; you never did!”

“What are you going on about?”

Harry shook his head briskly. “Never mind,” he said tightly.

“I asked you a question Harry,” Ron said firmly. “I asked you what you meant by that.”

Harry looked up at him, and all of a sudden, he could see the weariness that this argument was
causing, and for a moment, Ron was nearly sorry.

“Please, Ron. I don’t want to have a row with you. God knows you’re my best mate. But sometimes…
it’s just that you never understand how I feel about being me.”

“Then why don’t you talk to us? To me? Instead of being so bloody thick about it?”

“RON! I’ve been trying to explain to you for the past few minutes why I couldn’t tell you! See?
This is what I meant about you not listening! Even when we were back at Hogwarts, you kept blasting
me about every little thing! You never even tried to understand about how I felt about being the
fucking Boy-Who-Lived. All you cared about was you not getting enough of the attention! But
Deirdree doesn’t know. And she doesn’t *care*. I don’t have to put up any pretenses when I’m
with her! I can be *me*.” Harry’s green eyes were wide and vulnerable under his glasses. He
looked as if he were trying hard not to cry. “Don’t you get it, Ron? I need her.”

“And what about us?” Ron spat back coldly. “Don’t we matter anymore?”

“Of course you do, Ron. I just thought… I thought you would understand is all.”

“Ah,” Ron said simply. “So we should understand that she’s turned our best friend, one of the
greatest wizards of our time, into a pile of blithering… I don’t know. What are you? Who are you? I
don’t know anymore, Harry. I don’t know.”

”You’re not making this any easier on me.”

”Damn right I won’t,” Ron replied sharply. “You know she hates us, and we aren’t lovey-dovey with
her either, for that matter. So that leaves you with two choices, really.”

The angry look on Harry’s face vanished, and fear and panic crept onto it. “Ron, don’t make me
do this. Please… don’t…”

“We can’t be your friends if you don’t allow us to be, Harry. It’s just not possible. I’d rather
cut myself out of this mess with you right now, and remember our friendship as it used to be, than
hang around you for the rest of my life, watching you walk farther and farther away from me. And
from Hermione.”

Ron blinked back the sting from his eyes, and looked down, staring hard at the fabric of his
shirt. “There’s no other way, Harry. If you can come up with a suggestion, I’m all ears. But as of
right now, this is the choice you have to make. I didn’t make it out to end this way. You did.”

Harry didn’t reply, but Ron got his answer.

He heaved an almighty sigh, and a great sadness lodged itself in his heart. He never thought it
would have come to this. He walked to the door, through the door, and only when he heard it click
shut behind him, did he allow the tears to flow.



4. Like It Was
--------------

**TITLE:** Old Friends
**AUTHOR:** Catriona Rhiannon
**RATING:** PG. Ratings may change in any subsequent chapters hereafter.
**CATEGORIES:** Angst and Romance
**SPOILERS:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
**DISCLAIMER:** Standard disclaimers apply. The characters of the Potter-verse belong to JK
Rowling. Unfamiliar characters and the entire plot of this story is based on “Merrily We Roll
Along”, a musical by Stephen Sondheim, based on a play by George Furth.
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** The updates are coming faster and faster! Whee-ness :) Lots of action in
this bit; it’s quite long, as some of my chapters go. Thanks for all the reviews! I’m definitely
glad that there are constructive reviews, save for one, hem-hem. But we are all entitled to our own
opinion, right? Right-o. This chapter features an almighty row, and it speaks quite a lot about
Deirdree. Her character in the musical, Gussie Carnegie, isn’t really as nefarious as my portrayal
of her here. A lot of people may actually sympathize with her. She falls in love with a talented,
younger man, steals him away from his friends, yet fails to keep him because her looks and her
moxie is all she has to keep his attention, and eventually, he falls for another, younger starlet.
Here, however, she’s just a big darn bee. ^_^

Ooh, in case anyone is wondering, I’m naming my titles according to song titles and/or lines
from the musical.

Future chapters hereafter will show more Trio involvement. As always: read and review,
please!

**OLD FRIENDS**

**III. Like It Was**

Harry placed the cigar on his lips and lit it, taking a long drag out of it. He watched the end
of the cigar turn into ash, and he flicked it impatiently away. His eyes were furrowed, and his
hair was disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it many times, which he had. His party
clothes, pressed and ironed to perfection just that morning, were now wrinkled and untidy-looking.
Had Deirdree been there, she would have thrown a fit.

He smiled wryly. It had been a long day.

His wife had thrown a tantrum once all the party guests had left, and she had stormed out,
merely looking at him coldly as she left to go to a nearby pub with her closest friend, Catherine.
He found that he didn’t feel nearly as desperate to be with her as he had three years ago, when he
turned his back on Ron and Hermione. All he felt was relieved that she had left, because it allowed
him the time he needed to sort out his thoughts. He wouldn’t have been able to do it with her
twittering about, glaring at him as if he had murdered her puppy.

So… Ron was married. To Luna Lovegood, for that matter! Gods, he didn’t see that one coming. Was
he happy, he wondered. Were he and Hermione still best friends? Was Hermione married? Merlin, he
didn’t even think of asking her that.

It was true he had cancelled his subscription to the Daily Prophet. After leaving the wizarding
world, a world he loved and grew up in, for the life he was leading now, any bit of news he would
receive from it would only make his heart ache and make him feel more exiled. So he started
ignoring the owl, ignored it even when it pecked his palm ferociously, asking for payment.
Eventually, it stopped coming, and Harry had left the wizarding world for good.

If he had known what his life would become if he stayed with Deirdree – all form and no
substance whatsoever – he wouldn’t have let Ron walk out that door. And even after all that, he
supposed he could have gathered the courage to ring up Ron and Hermione for a talk, just to have
them back in his life, even if nothing was ever going to be the way it was.

But the thing was… he had his pride. It was juvenile and angsty, but the fact of the matter was
that it was all he had left. All his dignity had evaporated the minute he saw Ron’s disappointment
in him all over his face, when he saw the sickened look that Greg had on when Deirdree turned away
from him to run into Harry’s arms. He had no love left in his life; at least, no love that felt
truly meaningful and worthwhile. He hung onto Deirdree because he wanted to stand by the decision
that cost him everything. The sex was still great, but that’s all that Deirdree was to him now. A
pretty face with a tireless body. He didn’t even remember why he found her so utterly fascinating
in the first place.

He looked over at the wall, where Deirdree hung all the posters of the movies she had starred
in, and most of which he produced. Deirdree treated them as if they were their own children; she
took an hour everyday to polish and clean them every afternoon, before she slipped out to have her
daily massage. Ironically enough, all Harry felt at that moment was an intense urge to flick cigar
ash at every single one of them. They were nothing to him. They didn’t mean anything to him at all.
And that was exactly how he felt about his so-called career as a film producer.

If he was being honest, he didn’t really feel like a film producer. Basically, he was just
Deirdree’s moneybag. She was always making all the decisions about the films; the casting and crew
choices, the budget, the shooting schedules… everything was her doing. She just did it in his name.
He really had no interest in movies; initially, all he wanted to was be involved in whatever she
was doing.

Suddenly, he felt so tired. He crushed the remainder of his cigar into an ashtray. Whenever he
closed his eyes, it wasn’t Deirdree on his mind anymore. All he could see was Hermione’s look of
disgust as he whirled around to face her. Oh gods, all he wanted to do then was embrace her,
breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He wanted to feel that she was really there; real, and
not just a figment of his delusional imagination. He wanted to, but what held him back was the fear
that she might recoil from his touch.

And who could blame her, really? He himself wanted to throttle Harry.

The door slammed open, shut, and Harry nearly groaned to himself. She was home.

Deirdree swept into the room and planted herself within his line of sight. “Well?” she snapped,
crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going to explain yourself, Harry?”

He looked at her dully, and turned away.

She threw up her hands in frustration, and begged for the gods to give her strength. God knew
she loved this man, but for crying out loud, he had more emotional baggage than she had had to put
on in all her drama roles combined. “Look Harry,” she said, in the calmest voice she could possibly
muster. “I know you miss them, but can’t you see that they don’t fit in this life? The media will
have a field day if they find out you’re associating with… you know. That kind of people.”

“For your information,” Harry retorted coldly. “Those kind of people are my friends. Were my
friends. God, what was I thinking? I’ve been such a stupid, stupid prat.”

Suddenly, Deirdree felt afraid. Was she losing Harry? Did she not have him in his thrall
anymore? Were her charms not as effective as before? She saw him now, frustrated and lonely. He
didn’t even see her anymore. Clearly, he wasn’t as star-struck with her presence as he used to be.
Before, his eyes automatically sought hers out whenever they were even in the same room. Tonight,
he barely looked at her.

“Harry, dear,” she said softly, in what she hoped was a pacifying tone. “Talk to me, please. I
love you, you know that. I just want what’s best for you. I don’t want the media all over your
back. You know how relentless they are.”

“You don’t seem to think so.”

Anger tightened her chest. “Well, that’s what I’m supposed to do. It wouldn’t be good for my
image if I screamed at them every time they come calling at our door. And that’s beside the point.”
When he refused to talk to her, she lost her temper. “Oh, do stop acting like an immature brat,
Harry! You knew what you were getting into when you married me. Don’t act resentful, it’s
unbecoming, not to mention childish.”

Harry stood up all of a sudden, eyes flashing with a temper she hadn’t seen in quite awhile.
“You want to see childish, Deirdree? I may be younger than you, and I may not be as experienced as
you are when it comes to your business, but don’t you dare patronize me!”

“Well, don’t give me a reason to! You’re behaving as if you’re twelve, instead of twenty-five!
And you’re losing the plot here, Harry! I should be the one screaming at you, instead of you
blasting at me! What the hell were you thinking inviting that-that trash in this house?”

“Don’t you DARE call her that!”

”Didn’t you even see her today? She’s a fat, drunken ghost from your past, who obviously wants to
be let in on the action. All she wants from you in your money!”

“And if she is what you say she is, what makes her any different from you?”

She stopped and stared at him. Harry, who had never raised his voice to her until tonight, who
had never said anything hurtful to her before, was saying these horrid words to her. And that ugly
expression on his face! All of a sudden, she was wracked with shame.

“How can you think that?” she said, her voice tiny. When Harry looked up, he saw the tears
welling in her eyes, and immediately, he felt remorse. “Don’t you think that I really love you?
We’ve been married for almost three months now. We’ve been together for more than four years! And
you think that all I’ve been doing is using you?”

“Deirdree, darling—I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough evening for me.”

“Haven’t I shown you that I loved you? Every night, I’ve shown you that my love has never
wavered. And damn me for thinking that if you’re sleeping with me, that means you must love me
too!”

She was getting hysterical. Tears were moistening her eyes, and she was starting to shake—all
signs of her impending breakdown. All of a sudden, however, before Harry could do anything, she
threw herself into his arms and proceeded to kiss down his neck. She molded her body to his and her
hands located the buckle of his trousers.

Immediately, he could feel a reaction coming from his own body. ‘Damn it all to bloody fucking
hell!’ he swore to himself, and, trying to maintain a modicum of control, firmly pushed her away.
“This isn’t the way to resolve this, Deirdree.”

She stared at him for a moment, then stomped her foot almost childishly. “Oh, blast it! Don’t
you want me anymore, Harry?” The tears that continued to stream down her cheeks, he could see, were
more of frustration than actual despair.

“That’s it! I do! But I can’t help thinking that that’s all I’m reduced to now. All I do is
want. Doesn’t it worry you that all we do is sleep together? We don’t even talk anymore, like we
used to.”

“Well, I’m busy! I would expect you, of all people, to understand that.”

“So is that all I am to you? A great lay, but after it’s all over, out the door to film your
next blockbuster? Gods, Dee, I’m not that shallow! That’s not all I’m about! I thought you knew
that.”

”Dear god, Harry, if I had known you’d be as high-maintenance as Greg would be, I never would have
let you into my pants in the first place!”

He stopped and stared at her. “What did you just say?”

“I said—” she sputtered and her eyes widened. “That’s-that’s not what I meant.”

”Oh?” Harry said coldly. “And what did you mean by that? Because, silly pitiful me thought you let
me into your pants because you *cared* about me.”

“Harry! I was angry and irrational! I didn’t mean what I said! Jesus, Harry, stop jumping to
conclusions to suit your own frame of mind. I’m not the bad guy here!”

“Oh, then who is? Me? For misunderstanding your love as fucking charity? I threw away the most
important things in my life for you and all this time, I was just this little boy you took pity
on.”

She couldn’t believe how close he came to hitting the mark, really. “I love you Harry! For the
boy you were, for the man you’ve become! But don’t you see, Harry? If you had stayed that way, you
wouldn’t have gone on long in this business! Because of me, you’re a powerful man! Don’t deny that
you wanted this! Fame, fortune, recognition! Your life is the life that everyone dreams of
having!”

“Well, I don’t want it for me! I wanted it because you did! I fucking hate this life, to tell
you the truth. All this lack of privacy, this helplessness, this whole bloody business was what I
wanted to escape from in the first place!”

“Oh bollocks Harry! You were just an empty shell when I first met you. I made you out to be
something in this world. Something to be reckoned with! You would have just gone on living that
empty life of yours, had I not intervened!”

“I’m not a bloody piece of clay for someone to mold, especially by the likes of you! Did you
think that after I fell in love with you that you could easily manipulate me to suit your own
needs? A vehicle for your own career-centered mind? And is it just a plus that I’m just filthy
rich?”

She let out a scream of frustration. “I will not be spoken to in this manner! I’m your wife,
dammit! Treat me with that respect!”

“What’s the point? You never gave me that respect as your husband, just as you’ve never given
that respect to Greg!”

She slapped him then, a hard smack to the face that he felt that he might have deserved,
although not for the truth that he had just spoken.

“Don’t insult me, you ungrateful brat. To think I divorced a man who worshipped the ground I
walked on, to marry a pitiful excuse for a man like you. What the hell was I thinking?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m thinking the exact same thing. I don’t want to argue with you all night,
Deirdree. Let’s not talk about this right now. I’m going out for a walk,” Harry said tightly. He
started for the door, but Deirdree grabbed at him, nearly tearing away the buttons from his already
wrinkled shirt.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, Potter!”

“I’ll walk wherever I please!” Harry snarled back. Surprised, she let go of him, and he grabbed
his coat and shrugged it on quickly. She followed him all the way to the foyer, but she stopped
when he turned around abruptly in the doorframe to glare at her.

“Don’t follow me. You owe me that much. Let me get my fucking life back.”

And with a whirl, he turned slammed the door shut. He heard the Ming vase that stood on the
coffee table in the far wall of the foyer crash against the wood behind him, and ironically, he
smiled delightedly.