The Dementor's Kiss

Chapter 1

My name is Harry Potter. I am the boy who lived; the so called Saviour of the world.

There is one person I couldn't save.

We visit him every weekend, every holiday. It's the finest hospital in the country. Used only by the rich with terrible secrets to hide from the press. We enter binding magical contract not to breathe a word to the outside. And we pay extra, just in case. It is not that we are ashamed, no, don't think that. It is to protect him.

My son.

First he was born in secret to keep him safe from Lord Voldemort. Now he is kept secret from the world who can't understand him. We don't want their pity.

I hold Ginny's hand tight when she phones him every night. We listen to his deep breathing and the voice of the nurse, chirpy but tired if it's a good nurse, just plain monotonous is it's an orderly with him. His breathing comforts me as much as it destroys me. To know he is a live, but a shell.

Lupin said they were the foulest creatures to ever walk the earth.

Was my son lucky? Death was what awaited him. He survived in body, I got there before the death eaters killed him completely. I nearly got there, I had a choice, oh God the right choice with the right decision and... I got there, I got there, I got there - I WAS THERE. Fighting Voldemort. Fight to get to my son, my sweet, innocent son and I had a choice, the worst of all choices. I got there...

But not before the dementor kissed him.

It is a fate worse than death.

I constantly want to collapse. I am exhausted. I can't sleep. When I shut my eyes, always, always I see him.

You see I made a choice. Save my son or the world. Kill Lord Voldemort or repel the dementors. I had one chance to do it. One moment to decide. Voldemort would not be so weakened again, he was inch from drinking the potion, and inch from undoing the work Dumbledore had died doing, what I had nearly died doing... the Horcrux's... I saw Dumbledore in that instance and I knew I had to...

No, I can't justify it. I chose being the hero over being a father. It is unbearable.

This sounds so cliché but it's true - if it weren't for Ginny, for Ginny and needing to be strong (strong? Strong? How can I be strong?) I would never get out of bed. All I want to do is lie in my bed of grief and weep. Sam, Sam, Merlin - my son!

It hurts. Not just inside. Outside. All over. Like a dagger in my throat. Like, like a burn. Swollen. Red. Blisteing. Popping. Infected. Swollen. Red. Blisteing. Popping. Infected. Stages of grief on a tape in my brain making me go round and round again.

We walk hand in hand past the rose garden to the ward and ring the doorbell. Same will be ten in a few weeks, I remember. It makes me want to laugh as much as it makes me want to cry and I close my eyes, a flimsy shield against such pain. A nurse answers the door.

"Mr and Mrs Potter," she says, recognising us. It is safe to address us. With the charms and spell work woven round the place, the contract, the money... no one will hear and no one will know. Sam is not the only son of a celebrity here, they all are. Ginny goes to their family therapy group sessions once a week with the other parents. I can't face it. I do not deserve to be called a parent.

Sam sits on the plush blue sofa, staring. Always staring, but never registering anything.

It breaks my heart.

TBC