[ WP ] Harry Potter is 18 years old , and he is finally admitting himself to rehab . Magic is n't real , it 's just a drug-induced figment of his imagination . He 's making an honest effort to come to terms with the harsh reality .

`` My name is Harry,'' the boy started. His voice wavered. He looked around the circle, squinting at the flicker of the fluorescent lights. It was a very diverse group of about 20 people. All ages, genders, and races were pretty equally represented. Most of them had coffee in white styrafoam cups, and several were smoking cigarettes. There was a general feeling of antsyness in the room; some were agitatedly twirling their hair, while others bit there lips nervously, and knees could be seen manicly bouncing up and down. But they were quiet and attentive. The boy named Harry cleared his throat before speaking again. `` And I'm an addict in recovery.'' 
 
 `` Hi, Harry.'' The group chorused mechanically. 
 
 Harry had finally hit rock bottom. It was n't time first time, but this time was different. Exactly two weeks ago he had stumbled into the clinic, sweating and shaking, and mumbling about being on the Cruciatus Curse, whatever that is. He managed to check in before collapsing on the floor. 
 
 The next days were the worst he had ever experienced. Locked in his room, he alternated between the realistic torture of the drugs leaving his system, and long bouts of revisiting his alternate world; a world in which he is a wizard. 
 
 `` You foolish Muggles!'' He would roar, pounding on the door! `` Open this at once, or I'm gon na apperate out of here and return with my wand! The last person you want to mess with is a soon-to-be Auror!'' 
 
 Eventually he would collapse into a fit of unrestful sleep. 
 
 On the third day he woke up to the food hatch opening. The smell of breakfast filled the room. 
 
 `` Hungry?'' 
 
 `` No, thirsty though.'' 
 
 `` How are you feeling?'' 
 
 Harry laughed. `` How do I look?'' His sweaty face was puffy, and his glasses had somehow broken again. 
 
 The pair of eyes surveyed him for a moment. `` It only gets better.'' He said simply. `` Oh, I almost forgot, you have mail.'' And he pushed a water bottle and an envelope inside before closing the hatch. 
 
 Harry looked at the envelope. There was no sender name, just his name and address of the clinic. He wondered for a moment who would have written him. He had n't been close to anyone for a few years, as his addiction had gotten worse and worse. Ron had been in jail for 3 years, and had 5 to go. Harry tore open the envelope. Out fell a single handwritten page of stationery. 
 Harry pressed one half of his broken glasses to his face and began reading. 
 
 *Dear Harry, 
 
 I know we have n't spoken since freshman year of high school, but I had to write you when I heard the good news! We have n't been close lately, but I'm so so happy to hear you are finally tackling your addiction. I wo n't pretend to know what you're going through, but just know I'm thinking of you! 
 
 Harry, do you remember that time in middle school when that bully Tim was harassing me in the hallway, and you jumped on that troll's back and you and Ron fought him off? That's exactly the person I'll always see you as ( Minus all of that snot, ugh! ), because that's who you are! 
 
 Please write me back Harry, I'm here for you. I hope to see you soon! 
 
 Love, Hermione. * 
 
 Harry put the letter down carefully, and buried his face in his pillow. His eyes burned as tears rushed to them. And he let go. His whole body shook as he cried silently. He cried because he was an orphan, cast away by his extended family. He cried because of the years wasted feeding his addiction. He cried because of the relationships squandered over the years. He cried until he could no more. 
 
 He stood up to look in the mirror. `` I'm going to change.'' he said, to a tearful reflection. And he meant it. And he lifted his hand to cover the 9^3/4 tattoo on his neck. 
 
 
 

