At Least They'd Be There

The Auror Office was filled with paperwork. Harry hated it. He was better off being out there fighting dark wizards. But he was also the Head Auror.

On that exceptionally normal Thursday evening, Harry was in Muggle London, having a drink at a bar before heading back to the Ministry of Magic. He had been constantly on duty for 30 hours without sleep. And he was still expected at work.

The reason was that the Malfoys had escaped justice.

Again.

After all those trials following the Battle of Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy wanted to avenge the life imprisonment of his father. So, he had joined hands with some undercover rogues and thugs and had gained pseudo-Dark Lord status.

And it was on Harry, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and some other Aurors to apprehend them.

Harry sat back on his chair, sighing.

Immediately, her face shone in his mind.

The gloriously red hair, red as the setting sun.

The warm eyes of honey that lit up at the sight of Quidditch and Harry himself.

The freckles on her nose.

The rogue strands of hair inviting him to tuck them behind her ear.

The way she challenged him to a game of Quidditch with a twinkle in her eyes.

Her laughter that sounded like music.

Ginevra Weasley.

No.

Ginevra Potter.

“That is precisely how I look when I think of Aishwarya,” a voice said, snapping Harry to reality. “Is this seat taken?”

Harry adjusted his glasses and looked at the man. He wore glasses just like him and was dressed in a neat trenchcoat. He wasn’t British.

“No,” Harry said.

The man sat across him and sighed.

“My wife and I run an institute back in India,” he said. “I am in London for some work related to it. Long story.”

“Have a drink, mate.”

“Yes,” the man said. “I think I know your name. Harry Potter, right?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. This man knew too much.

“My name is Deepak,” he said. “Don’t panic. There are fantasy books written about you.”

“Fantasy?” Harry said in outrage. “You mean muggles KNOW about the wizarding world?”

“As fantasy.” Deepak shrugged as his drink came.

“You mentioned a woman’s name earlier,” Harry said. “That must be your wife?”

“Aishwarya?” Deepak said, a smile creeping up his lips. “She is the love of my life. She is everything.”

Harry nodded. He understood that feeling.

Deepak’s drink arrived. He took a sip and relaxed into his chair.

“Aishu and I grew up reading your stories,” he said.

Harry nearly choked on his drink.

“My what?”

“Your stories.”

Harry stared.

“Aishwarya, I mean.”

“No, not that part.”

Deepak blinked.

“The stories part?”

“Yes, the stories part!”

“Oh.” Deepak shrugged. “The Harry Potter books.”

Harry froze.

“The what?”

“The Harry Potter books.”

Harry looked around the pub.

Nobody was paying attention.

That somehow made it worse.

“You can't just say that out loud!”

“Why not?”

“Because we're in Muggle London!”

Deepak looked around too.

“Exactly.”

Harry lowered his voice.

“People will hear you.”

“Hear me say what?”

“That I'm Harry Potter!”

Deepak frowned.

“Harry, they think you're a fictional character.”

Harry opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Deepak took another sip.

“As far as everyone here is concerned, I'm just a slightly nerdy Indian man discussing a fantasy series with an unusually committed cosplayer.”

Harry looked genuinely offended.

“Cosplayer?”

“The glasses are very convincing.”

Harry settled for a sip of his drink in response.

“So how long have you been married?” Harry asked.

“Five years,” Deepak said. “2021.”

"And you're still looking at her like that?"

Deepak laughed.

"How else am I supposed to look at her?"

"Most married couples I know would've thrown something at each other by now."

"Oh, we do that too."

"There it is. So, what’s the secret?"

“Secret?” Deepak asked, blinking in confusion.

"You've been married for five years. You still talk like she is the best thing that’s happened to you.”

“You have been married to Ginny for two decades. All your children have left Hogwarts. And you still talk like Ginny is the best thing that’s even happened to you,” Deepak retorted calmly.

“That means?”

“Aishu saw me before I saw myself.”

Harry looked closely at Deepak. Nodded.

"Ginny did that for me."

A pause.

"You know what's strange?" Deepak asked.

"What?"

"When I was younger, I never thought I'd have this."

"Marriage?"

"A life."

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“My parents loved me.”

“Good.”

“They couldn’t protect me.”

Harry stared, dumbstruck.

“Couldn’t?” Harry asked. “Or wouldn’t?”

“That’s the complicated part.”

“Meaning?”

Deepak did not answer immediately. He looked around the bar, not really seeing.

Turned back to Harry.

“Do you ever wish your parents survived?”

“Of course I do!” Harry said in a single breath.

“That,” Deepak said. “Is where we differ.”

Harry stared at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I didn't say I don't wish they were alive.”

“That's not what it sounded like.”

“I said we differ.”

Harry shook his head. “How?”

Deepak turned the glass in his hand. “You lost your parents.”

“Yes.”

“I watched mine lose themselves. Their ambitions. The life they’d built.”

That’s not the same thing!” Harry said incredulously.

“Agreed.”

“Not even close!”

“You are right.”

Harry glared at Deepak.

“Imagine if Lily Evans and James Potter survived,” Deepak said.

“I’d immediately say yes!” Harry declared passionately. “Immediately!”

“Because you are still imagining a version of James and Lily who are your parents.”

Harry blinked at Deepak’s words.

“What other version is there?” Harry snapped.

Deepak smiled. It was infuriating.

“Imagine they survived that day in Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry nodded, eyes blazing.

“They give up magic.”

Harry froze.

“Why?” he asked.

“Family guilt and pressure,” Deepak said.

“That's ridiculous,” Harry snapped.

“Agreed.”

“No. Not ridiculous. Impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because magic was their life.”

“Exactly,” Deepak said.

Silence.

“People don’t abandon the thing they love,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“You would be surprised,” Deepak said, setting down his half-empty glass.

“Uh, I prefer Butterbeer.”

“I’ll personally place an order at Honeydukes,” Harry said impatiently. “Answer my question.”

“Petunia calls your mother every week.”

“My aunt hated magic.”

“Yes.”

“Mum would've ignored her.”

“At first.”

Harry gave a bitter laugh.

“At first?”

“Then the guilt starts.”

“What guilt?”

“Family guilt.”

Harry scoffed at his words. “That’s not enough.”

“Not usually,” Deepak said.

“Then?” Harry asked.

“Your aunt cries.”

“You’re making this up,” Harry said.

“Of course, I am,” Deepak said. “It’s a thought experiment.”

Harry huffed impatiently.

“She says Lily abandoned her,” Deepak said.

“She didn't.”

“I know.”

“Then why does she say it?”

“Because people don't always say what's true.”

Deepak took another sip.

“She calls your mum a disappointment. Selfish.”

“WHAT?” Harry exploded. Half the bar turned around.

Deepak didn’t flinch.

“Mum didn’t owe her entire life to Aunt Petunia!” Harry growled.

“Agreed.”

“Mum was allowed to go to Hogwarts!”

“Absolutely!”

“Mum was allowed to have friends! A career!”

“Certainly!”

“Mum was allowed to build a life of her own!”

“You’re right!”

Harry paused, breathing heavily.

“Would you mind stopping that?”

“What?” Deepak asked.

“Agreeing for everything.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re building toward something,” Harry said.

Deepak gave a small smile.

“Your mum eventually wonders if your aunt is right.”

“No, she won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she is Lily Potter.”

“Evans.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Evans!”

“Is she immune to guilt?” Deepak asked.

Harry froze.

“Is your dad immune to guilt?” Deepak asked.

Harry shook his head slowly.

“The calls continue for years,” Deepak said. “Even after you and Dudley are born.”

“Every time?” Harry asked weakly.

“Oh, every week. Every letter. Every phone call,” Deepak said.

He turned the glass in his hand and looked at Harry.

“Eventually, your parents stop asking what they want,” Deepak said. “They ask what the world wants of them.”

Harry scowled.

“Mum and Dad would’ve fought back.”

“In the beginning.”

“They were not weak!”

“I never said they were.”

Harry stared at Deepak, who continued calmly, almost like Dumbledore.

“Good people can surrender themselves too.”

Deepak looked at Harry. “Especially good people.”

Harry swallowed hard.

“If James Potter never joined the Order of the Phoenix and fought, would he still be James Potter?” Deepak asked.

A pause.

“If Lily Evans gave up her dreams out of guilt and moved back to the Muggle world, would she still be Lily Evans?” Deepak finished.

Harry rubbed his forehead, looking more exhausted than ever.

“At least they’d still be together,” he said.

Deepak looked at him sadly.

“That’s what I used to think too.”

Harry stilled.

“Your parents return to Privet Drive.”

“Why?” Harry flared up.

“Guilt. Obligation.”

“They’d be with me, right?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

The look on Deepak’s face made Harry clutch his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Your cousin is still a dolt,” Deepak said calmly. “Your aunt and uncle are no better.”

Harry was ready to take his wand out now. The Muggle world be damned.

“You still live in the cupboard under the staircase.”

Silence.

Harry’s wand hand shook badly.

“No,” he whispered in shock.

“Harry.”

“No.”

“It's a thought experiment.”

“No.”

Harry sat forward.

“My father would've kicked that door down.”

“Maybe.”

“My mother would've stopped it.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe.”

“NEVER!” Harry bellowed.

Deepak did not care for the glances thrown their way.

He merely continued in the same soft voice.

“What if they couldn’t?”

“They could.”

“What if they were too consumed by guilt?”

“They wouldn't be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they're my parents.”

“Exactly,” Deepak said, leaning back in his chair.

Harry froze.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s exactly what every child thinks,” Deepak said. “That their parents can save them.”

“Mine loved me.”

“And so do mine,” Deepak said. “They couldn’t save themselves first.”

Harry leaned back on his chair, looking older than ever.

For several moments, neither man spoke.

The noise in the bar seemed far away.

“So, yes,” Deepak said, looking at his glass.

“Your parents are alive.”

“In the same room.”

“Knowing everything.”

“Hating it.”

“Unable to stop it.”

“And apologising for it.”

Harry looked at the ceiling. At the other customers in the bar. Then back at Deepak.

“Did that happen to you?” Harry whispered.

“My parents aren’t bad people,” Deepak said.

Silence.

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

Despite himself, Deepak laughed.

“Yeah.”

“You know,” Harry said. “For years, I wished my parents lived.”

“And?”

“I would still choose them,” Harry said sadly.

“So would I,” Deepak said.

“What?” Harry asked.

Deepak looked down at his glass. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

They finished the rest of their drinks in silence.

Harry looked up.

“Your wife sounds remarkable.”

“She is,” Deepak said.

“Ginny is better.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Certainly, yes.”

“Harry, you’re still writing poetry about Ginny after all these years.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I am twenty-something.”

“And I am forty-something.”

Both the men burst out laughing.

“You know,” Harry said. “Your parents are lucky. They saw you become yourself.”

Deepak was speechless.

“To parents,” Harry said, raising a glass.

“To parents,” Deepak said, taking his glass too.

“Take care,” Harry said.

“You too.” Deepak nodded.

The two men left the bar, going in opposite directions.

Harry Potter meets an Indian educator named Deepak in a London pub. What begins as a conversation about love, family & sacrifice slowly turns into a disturbing thought experiment: What if Lily and James Potter had survived—but lost themselves instead? Deepak is the protagonist of my original novel "Echoes of a Late Bloom". This conversation grew out of themes explored there.