Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9897173.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, James_Potter, Lily_Evans_Potter, Lucius
      Malfoy, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Neville_Longbottom, Pansy_Parkinson, Remus
      Lupin, Ron_Weasley, Sirius_Black, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Drug_Use, Out_of_Character, Self-Harm,
      Sexual_Content, Spoilers, Angst, Tragedy, Bonding, Romance
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-05-27 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3639
****** Coffee & Cigarettes ******
by BellusPhoenix [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     It wasn't what he'd thought would happen when he completed his
     destiny. Now as he fell into a pit of depression, was there anyone
     that could pull him out again?
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
***** Chapter 1 *****
                    Coffee and Cigarettes by BellusPhoenix
 
A/N: Hey everyone, I found this on my laptop, its one I had started a while ago
but I suppose I had never really been in the mood to work on. I will try to
post more of my other stories soon. I'm working on the next chapter for this
already, and will post it as soon as it is finished. cheers.
 
Chapter_1:
He needed to get away from them. The sensation of being suffocated was coming
on stronger than ever. He doubted he’d be able to really explain why he’d
accepted the invitation, but he had a feeling it had to do with the fact that
it was normal, its what anyone would do. He craved normal, whether to be able
to pretend for a moment that he was just like all the others or in the smallest
way take a bit of pleasure in knowing he was just like all the rest when doing
something: such as putting his pants on one leg at a time. This boy wasn’t like
all the rest though, he was far from normal, and he had been singled out as
different from birth. If it wasn’t his shockingly stunning emerald eyes, it was
his perpetually messy black hair. At the age of 15 months he received another
reason to be recognized in a crowd, he was cursed with a small lightning bolt
scar on his forehead and the death of his parents all in one night.
The boy in question was now 17 years old, and he could hardly hear himself
think with all of the commotion going on around him. With tired eyes he looked
around the large room at all of the happy faces, the ones that supposedly he’d
brought about. For he was at a celebration of sorts, the exuberance shown by
everyone was only there because he’d managed to deliver the final blown to one
Lord Voldemort a few days previously. He couldn’t help but notice that he
could’ve been the size of his half-giant friend Hagrid and dancing in a pink
tutu and no one in the room would’ve noticed him there. He’d done what was
asked of him and really, he wasn’t any good to them now. Now Harry James Potter
was free to be alone, ignored, and unwanted. Oh how his fate had turned.
____
 
Harry saw his red haired best friend dancing with his other bushy brown haired
best friend as they probably whispered words of undying love to each other. As
much as he knew he was happy for them it just bothered him that as soon as the
adventure was over they focused on each other and it seemed as though their
friendship with him hadn’t even existed. He’d never admit this hurt him out
loud, solely because he had no one to admit that to. Sure he had other friends,
he was Famous Harry Potter after all, but Ron and Hermione had always been his
2 best friends the ones he figured he’d have forever. Well he’d been wrong, we
all are at some point and he wasn’t going to let this set him back at all. He
only had one more mandatory year at Hogwarts, until he turned 17, then he could
just go somewhere and be whom ever he wanted to be.
After surveying the crowd once more he snuck over to the bar and waited until
the bartender wasn’t paying attention before snatching a bottle of scotch from
the shelf. He figured if he’d had to save the Wizarding World they could spare
one bottle of scotch for him. He took it out to the front of the building,
stashed discretely in his midnight blue dress robes. He waved at the security
guards that didn’t even see him and just started walking, surprised that it’d
been so easy to just leave. After so many years of intense protection the shock
that no one noticed his disappearance was a bit unnerving and, though he’d
never admit it out loud, heart breaking.
He had his broom shrunken in his pocket but he didn’t want to fly for once, it
wouldn’t help him. Not even the freedom of flight could cure the melancholy
that was slowly taking over his heart. As he walked flashes of happy people
flew before his eyes, the happy people he’d once thought of as a family. He
knew now though, that depending on someone else for happiness would only leave
you worse off then where you started. He broke the seal of the bottle and took
a long draught, trying to hold back a shudder at the burning sensation flowing
through his veins. He realized now, as the burning dimmed, that he’d left his
winter cloak at the party, and he only wore his robes to fend off the December
winds. His luck had turned once he’d defeated Lord Voldemort, and sometimes he
couldn’t help but long for the days when he could get into the tightest of
situations and get out of them even stronger than before. He thought it was
perpetually hilarious that he had been happier with a Dark Lord out for his
blood than he was now. He’d done his bit, and he was sure that he’d be
remembered in history books for his supposed great deeds. He just couldn’t stop
himself from wishing he’d be remembered now. Not as a hero, he had always hated
it when people fawned over him. He just wanted to be able to be himself, a boy
without the endless adventures, and have people that still wanted him
nevertheless.
He took another long drink from the bottle, the warmth from the alcohol staving
off the chill that surrounded him. White flakes started to fall down around him
and he cursed each one as he made his way to his own home. The wards had been
changed by himself earlier that day, but that hardly made him feel remotely at
home in the depressingly dark building. He stopped finally in front of 12
Grimmauld Place and couldn’t stop his resentment for the residence from showing
on his face. Trudging up the walk through almost knee deep snow, he finally
made it inside, sanctuary from the suddenly unbearable weather. He walked up to
the library and lit a fire in the large grate, placing the near empty bottle on
the mantle. He unfastened his robes and laid them over the couch to dry out,
picking up the track pants he’d left on the massive desk and tugging them on.
He grabbed his shirt and hoodie as well and quickly slipped into them before he
picked up the bottle again and sat behind the desk. His glassy eyes were
trained on the slowly growing flames, and without a thought he closed the floo
network to the whole house. If anyone wanted to talk to him they could owl, not
that anyone would know his connection had been closed. No they would all wait
until the start of January to see him again, as though he’d merely been a
classmate, an acquaintance.
He made quick work of the rest of the bottle before setting it down and trying
to reign in control over the alcohol. When he felt surer of himself he looked
down at a stack of books next to his chair and picked up the top one. He picked
up a fresh stack of small white cards, a sheet of parchment that was half
filled, and a quill and ink. His eyes swam as he tried to read the title of the
first book and he groaned before taking a sobriety potion he’d stashed away in
a desk drawer. He was mad that all effects of the drink were out of his system
but he merely told himself he had the rest of the winter break to lie around
drunk if he finished the work he’d given himself quickly.
And so he started again making his way through the Black family library,
centuries of books on every topic fathomable. If the book was something too
dark he added it to the list he had going, and the book was packed into a box
that he was giving to the ministry archives. The rest of them he was writing
the details on the individual cards, so that the massive room could have some
sort of organization. If anything he wanted to know what he had so when he was
able to find a home for himself that was far from here he would know how big a
library to have built, and nothing would be misplaced.
With each book he packed or sorted the feelings he’d been harbouring all
evening grew. It killed him to know he wasn’t worth a smile or even a glance
from any of the people that had claimed to love him all of these years. The
final fight between himself and Voldemort had happened when Harry had been
Christmas shopping with Remus Lupin, a shop clerk having given them both change
from their purchase that had been made into portkeys. They both landed hard on
icy ground, in a field that had no protection from the blistering cold. When
they looked up they were in the middle of a rather larger Death Eater
gathering, with one Lord Voldemort standing right in front of them. He’d killed
Remus almost as quickly as he’d had Cedric Diggory killed on the day of his
rebirth. So Harry had stood alone and trying to focus, trying not to just let
the pain of loss overwhelm him and allow this menace to just end his life as
well. The love and pain that was coursing through him with every beat of his
heart was the reigning force behind his power. Before he could register what he
was doing, there was a corpse in front of him and hundreds of Death Eaters
screaming out in pain before collapsing. He only vaguely remembered sending out
a message to the Order of the Phoenix with his patronus before falling to his
knees and cradling the last member of his family to his chest, their bags of
Christmas gifts toppled over next to them, slowly absorbing the werewolf’s
blood.
He’d lost absolutely everything in life, and he still strove to do good for the
sake of a world that had turned against him at the drop of a hat numerous times
in his young life. He couldn’t understand how now, how once the horror of the
years was finally gone and his job was done, he was the only one left alone.
Everyone had paired off and fallen in love within mere seconds of the shadows
passing.
He worked until his eyes finally closed of their own accord, than slowly made
his way to the couch by the dying fire. He pushed his now dry robes to the
floor and lay down, watching the glowing embers as he drifted off into a sleep
filled with haunted dreams of loneliness, loathing, and above all death of
love.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter_2:
A green eye cracked open a fraction to guess at the time of day, only to close
it again as he sat up and cracked his back. He’d fallen asleep at the desk
again, though luckily this time it was after he’d finished working. The
previous morning he’d been so lucky as to wake up with his face stuck to a book
covered in old potions ingredients, and had spent the next 30 minutes scrubbing
his left cheek. He got up and walked over to the liquor cart, picking up what
he was sure was some sort of fine, very aged, and extremely expensive alcohol
and lifted the stopper in the decanter. Taking a whiff of what was inside and
having his stomach not roil was a positive sign in his books so he took it over
to the couch, pausing and picking up a glass too. He felt like being proper,
for it was a special day. Today was Christmas, and he had also finished
cataloguing the library in the early hours of the day. Pouring himself a rather
generous helping he raised the glass in silent cheers and downed it in two
quick gulps.
This year there was no tree, no excited teenagers opening mountains of gifts.
There was no holiday music playing and no dinner cooking in the oven, and there
was absolutely no invitation to enjoy these treats with anyone else. It was a
time for families, and his was completely spent, so he would drink everything
he was sure Sirius would’ve been chastised for drinking, and he would think
about the people that he’d lost. He tried remembering every single story that
Sirius and Remus had told him about his parents and about the Marauders as he
made his way through the large decanter. Once he’d finished the drinks and the
stories had ended in his mind he pushed himself up, needing to be closer to any
of the only people he longed for. He stumbled his way upstairs as quickly as he
could, only stopping when he was in Sirius’ bedroom. Any smells that might’ve
lingered, and comforted him were long gone now, but it didn’t matter to him. He
climbed into bed for the first time in over a week and pretended he could still
smell the strong scent of his godfather, the thing that seemed to reassure him
when ever he’d been hugged by those strong arms. He held on to the feelings
that flooded his mind as tightly as he could as he curled his body around a
pillow, the feeling of drowning more prominent now. His arms hit a box that had
been under the pillow he’d chosen to cling to and he immediately put the pillow
aside and sat up so he could examine it. It was wrapped in the gaudiest paper
Harry had ever seen, the variety of colours almost blinding him. There was a
card on top in a plain green envelope, a paw print in lieu of a wax seal.
The curiosity overwhelming, and logic telling him that it couldn’t hurt him, he
decided to open it. He carefully opened the card first and after reading a
crude joke on the cover he opened it to find Happy 16th Birthday Harry! Love,
Siri, (Padfoot – Greatest of the Marauders!) written in a familiar handwriting.
There was a caricature of a black dog underneath, which was animated to jump
around trying to catch a bird. The tears he’d been fighting off were coming
back with a vengeance and it was all he could do to close the card and put it
aside before any fell onto the ink. After wiping his eyes with the sleeve of
his sweater he carefully unwrapped the birthday gift he’d been meant to have a
year and a half ago. He placed the paper next to the card and found a wooden
box with a note taped to the top of it.
Harry,
There are rules with this gift okay? Don’t tell Remmy anything in here
otherwise he’ll kill me and all my years of hard work sleuthing will be for
nothing. Well you can show him some things, but well, you’ll figure it out once
you read what’s inside. First thing you have to do is pick a password. Padfoot
is God would be a prime example of one, that or all hail Padfoot- but it’s
totally up to you buddy.
I love you kid, can’t believe how old you are since when I think of you
sometimes its only to see some pudgy little boy that insisted on riding his
uncle snuffy. Actually as I recall you pronounced it unca snuppy. I’m not
complaining though Harry, you were mighty cute back then and obviously you’ve
learned my name is Sirius and I’m not always supposed to be a dog.
Your mom and dad still love you kiddo and if you visit the bank sometime,
you’ll maybe get to see inside the Potter vaults, you’ll see how much. That was
supposed to be your 17th birthday gift but I don’t like waiting.
Enough mushy stuff though, I’ll take you there tomorrow, and we’ll spend hours
with those delightful goblins, right now you should set that password (see
above suggestions) and slip this inside the box and say thank you unca snuppy
because you’re a slow reader and I’m sure by now I’ll want cake. Better be
chocolate…
Love you again kiddo,
Always have, always will.
Your Uncle Siri.
Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or burst out in tears at this point, he
could clearly imagine his godfather’s voice as he read the note. He placed the
piece of parchment off to the side with the other things and gave a sad smile
as he made the password unca snuppy, and opened the lid of the beautifully
carved wooden box. The insides were a lot bigger than he’d expected and right
away he could see stacks of pictures of his parents at varying ages, notes that
had been passed in classes between the Marauders, ideas for new schemes. The
thing he was sure he was supposed to have kept from Remus was on top, a sheet
of paper of all his hiding spots, whether for birthday or Christmas gifts, his
journal and ultimately his chocolate stash. He let out a choked sob and a laugh
together, imagining Sirius, hunting for the stash of sweets Moony always had on
hand. Underneath that small piece of parchment was a white gold chain with
three rings on it. Each of them bore the same crest, one Harry realized must be
the Potter family’s. On the inside of each band was a name engraved, one for
each of his parents and one for himself. He slowly unfastened the chain and
pulled off the one for himself, before redoing the clasp once the chain was
around his neck. He slid the ring onto his middle finger on his right hand and
it sized itself to fit perfectly. He picked up the wrapping paper, the card and
the note and placed them within the box, closing it and making sure it was
locked once more before he fully gave into the tears, curling in on himself and
clutching the rings of his parents, wishing more than anything they were there
for him just this once.
 
 
A week after finding his birthday gift from Sirius, Harry was much worse for
wear. He’d been unable to reopen the box, the pain too overwhelming for him,
and the thought of going to Gringott’s was just as bad. So he drank, it was New
Years Eve now and he was still alone, not a word from any of his friends in the
weeks since Voldemort’s demise. He’d thought about just going to one of their
houses but he could never bring himself to do it. He would just tell himself
again and again that if they’d actually wanted him there they would’ve called
for him. His trunk was sitting at the front door, for when he’d leave for
Hogwarts on the 1st of January, and he was enjoying the last of the alcohol in
the house. He’d decided once the clock stuck midnight and the New Year had
commenced (and his bottle would undoubtedly be empty by then) he would apparate
to the gates of Hogwarts and wait for the train to arrive the following night.
He couldn’t stand the idea of sitting on the train for the majority of the day,
either in a compartment alone, or surrounded by people and being ignored. He
forced the thoughts from his mind as he downed another shot, his hand wrapping
around the rings hanging around his neck as he tried to draw some comfort from
them.
He held up the bottle when the clock above the fire was about to chime in the
New Year and whispered his love for the 4 people that loved him as he was and
drained the bottle, throwing the empty crystal decanter as hard as he could
into the grate. He then got up and left the library for the first time since
he’d come home from the party and made his way to the front door. He wrapped
one of Sirius’ cloaks around his shoulders and dragged his trunk outside,
trying to stabilize himself before apparating.
He checked himself out when he popped into existence outside of the Hogwarts
gates, before stumbling back into a snowdrift. Well at least I didn’t splinch
myself, he thought as he tried several times to stand up. Once he was able to
stand he grabbed hold of his trunk again and pushed through the gates, dragging
the heavy thing behind him. It took a lot longer than he’d thought it would as
he took to falling on icy patches ever few feet.
When he finally made it into the castle he was met with silence. There were no
torches lit and no sounds of celebration he’d been somewhat expecting. He
rubbed his face with one hand and made his way up the marble staircase, heading
for Gryffindor tower. He was too exhausted and his head was spinning when he
finally made it into the tower so instead of bothering with another flight of
stairs to the bed that was no doubt waiting for him, he fell asleep on the
couch in front of an empty grate. His last foggy thoughts were of whether or
not he was actually happy to be back at Hogwarts, but really only time would
tell.
 
a/n: hey guys it'll get better, the first two chapters were kind of the intro
to the story. next chapter will be much longer lol. cheers!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!