Harry Potter and The Curse of the Fire Powder.

Ever since the defeat of Voldemort, Harry had taken full advantage of the perks of fame. It was known by some in the wizarding community that Harry took those perks to unnecessary levels. How could you not. He'd spent his childhood not having fun. Why not take advantage of free fun? Trips to Norwegian resorts, dinner's on the house. Not to mention the appreciation of the prostitute witches. Ginny was cute and all, but a prude in bed. Who doesn't like to fuck while apparating? Apparently his god damn wife, that's who. Their divorce was some delicious tabloid fodder. The wizarding world loved to gossip of her being jealous of his fame and accusations were widespread of her infidelity. These rumors weren't false, but they still stung like a gnome bite. Why would any woman want to make love with someone that can only get hard with a wand or goblin fist dildo up their ass? The divorce was really all Harry’s fault, though no one wanted to believe it.

The day that Harry Potter died was widely publicized, though not factually. The Daily Prophet knew that it would be quite a blow to the wizarding community to know the actual truth. The sad reality is that Harry had immersed himself in the fire powder culture, and he had died in a basement apartment in Diagon Alley. He was reenacting the day at Hogwarts and the battle between himself and Voldemort. He was prancing around the apartment high on butter beer, fire powder and fame, telling his loadie friends his tale. He demanded one of the wizard junkies cast the death spell at him, so he could deflect it the way he had done that fateful day. The problem with this reenactment was that instead of a wand, he was using an empty bottle of butter beer to deflect the spell and the spell hit him square in the chest. He was found two days later, wearing nothing but his old quidditch jersey. It was printed in The Daily Prophet that Harry was struck down by a conspiracy theorist death eater that didn’t believe Voldemort was dead.

The children weren't stupid. They knew that their father had died in an unsavory way, and Ginny never kept it a secret. They had all heard him in the middle of the night yelling like an alcoholic with PTSD, and it affected them all differently. Especially Albus. How could it not? Hearing his father slurring his name "ALBUS! ALBUS! ALBUS!", and then sobbing the last name of someone he'd heard of but knew nothing about. "Dumbledore."