Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. Grey's Anatomy isn't mine. Nuff said.

Harry

He hated this office, he decided. Seriously hated it. There weren't very many places that he could say that about but this office…he shuddered just to be inside it.

The dull brown furniture, light blue walls, and frames of diplomas and awards were all supposed to make the patients…er, clients, whatever they were supposed to be called feel more comfortable. He had to disagree. It made him feel trapped, confined and about to drown in depression. And he'd had more than enough of such feelings in his life he wouldn't willingly sit here every day with them.

He predecessor had insisted that just being in this office had helped cure some of his clients. Harry guessed that would be one of the main reasons the man was his predecessor. He buried his head in his hands and shuddered again before standing up with a determined air. He wouldn't take this cramped feeling for another instant. He'd go mad if he did.

He quickly shut and locked the door of his new office and leaned his back against it. That wall full of framed diplomas and awards had to go. He had never been much of a bragger and the papers made him uncomfortable. He knew that he deserved them. He'd worked bloody hard for the mastery in the mind arts and the other in potions that had translated into an MD of Psychiatry and Pharmaceuticology in the Muggle World. He done all the work on his own and in secret from nearly the moment he'd entered the Wizarding World at eleven. So yes he did deserve them but they still made him feel a fraud. So he took them down and tossed them into the bottom of his desk. He'd keep them in the office for those sticklers that insisted he was too young to have done all he had or the ones that needed to see them for whatever reason but at least they wouldn't be mocking him from the walls of his office anymore.

Then he banished the blinds covering the window, hoping no one asked where they'd gone. Like most wizards he preferred natural light to the artificial kind. To replace the blinds he'd just sent to who knew where he set up heavy dark green velvet curtains with silver ties to hold them back in a nod to his true Hogwart's house that no one here would ever understand. He doubted that he'd ever need to close them. Seattle was such a rainy city. It reminded him of London. He kind of liked that. He felt at home in the fog and the rain.

The rare sunlight streaming in now only made the office feel more cramped and depressing in comparison. Harry frowned at the furniture and waved his hand. That furniture would never do. The dull brown leather couch morphed into a dark green cloth reclining sofa with white oak legs. He waved again and the hard wooden chairs in front of his desk became large dark green overstuffed armchairs. He chose a white oak for his desk and left the desk chair the way it was. That chair at least was fine. A rolling chair with black leather. Boring basic, but that didn't matter. He added white oak tables to dot around the room and the filing cabinet joined the crowd. He liked the look of the white oak and it seemed to make the office that much lighter and airy. It was comforting really.

Harry leaned back against the desk and stroked a finger along his chin in consideration. Hm…he waved again and a bookcase appeared along one wall complete with Muggle Psychiatry books and magazines along with some basic Medical books and a few mysteries and fantasy stories. It would at least be a conversation point for his more skittish…clients, patients…whatever. Even if no one but him ever read any of the material he'd just placed there.

The frankly disgusting hospital issue orangish carpet needed to go as well. He stared at it for a moment, waved his hand and it because a plush gray. "Better," he nodded to himself. "Now comes the hard part." He wasn't even feeling the strain yet. He'd become very good at wandless magic since he'd left the oppressive environment around England. And his near limitless reserves made this remodeling easy.

The mural that took up the space of one bare wall in every single office he'd ever inhabited wasn't hard to conjure in the sense of paint and colors. It was the emotion that he used to bring in each color that nearly killed him every time. He needed the mural like others needed air though so he always made it. Even if the magic used and the emotions brought forth left him shaking and close to tears every single time.

As he stared hard at the blank wall across from his new desk, the orange of the Chudley Canons twisted with the hazel of Hermione's eyes and spots of pink for the daughter they had lost on the battlefield with Hermione and Ron. Ron had never known of his daughter. Hermione had only found out the morning of the Last Battle and she'd wanted to finish the war before telling her new husband of their fortune. Ron had fallen and moments later Hermione had been struck down by his side. Their daughter gone before she'd ever had the chance to draw a breath.

Various shades of red crept along the wall. Red for the Weasley hair. Red for the blood every member of the family spilled. Fred, struck down early under a crumbled wall of the school he'd loved. George, not yet dead but as close to it as possible and still breathe, locked inside of himself at the demise of his entire family and a head wound inflicted while he'd tried to remove the wall from his brother's body. Molly, crumpled by a bone breaker curse moments after defeating Bellatrix Lestrange. Arthur, felled by something as simple as a heart attack as his wife let out her last breath. Charlie, fallen from the turrets of the castle as he'd tried to grab a tiny first year that should never have been there. Percy, running into enemy spells, mad with grief. Bill, standing as long as possible over his wife's crumpled form until he too had succumbed to the injuries he'd ignored.

A bit of blond mixed in with all of the red for Fluer who'd stood fighting at her husband's side in a war she could have easily avoided by going home to her parents until a severing charm had opened her throat.

A trace of black for the man that had protected the son of his greatest enemy and his truest love until his last breath. Until the snake venom in his veins had finally forced him to his knees and onto the next world. The man that had never had the chance to truly see the young man that son would become.

A sparkly kind of blue for the old Puppet Master who did love him…in his own way. For all his manipulations he had only wanted the best for the world they both loved and he had wished for Harry to be happy in the end.

Deep, dark gray for the man who had died so that Harry could live. For the godfather that loved him so very much. The man who had lost so very much in a war that he barely got to see the beginning of.

The brown of life giving soil twisted with bubblegum pink for the uncle and aunt that lived, fought and died together. A strand of turquoise added for the godson he would never know. A boy left an orphan and swept away from the one person left that could tell him of his father.

And finally, last, certainly not least but definitely hardest. A strand of fire red and light silvery gray. For the enemy that died and the woman that held Harry's heart. Draco that had fallen, not dead but nearly, protecting the dying Ginny. The boy that had tormented him and the woman that had loved him. A year, a full year he had tried to save Draco from the curse that Voldemort himself had sent. A curse that resulted in a cancerous brain tumor.

Harry shook off the thoughts of death and sorrow, leaned his now weary body against his desk and took in the abstract lines of his newest mural. Yes, yes this would do. No one would know the meaning behind the colors and they could feed in their own. Perhaps it would once again help lance the abscess of someone else's pain in the way it did his own.

The first few notes of 'One Hot Mamma' rang out from his cell phone into the silence of his office and Harry's lips curved in a tired grin. "Hey, Cal," he greeted his best friend. "What's up?"

"New interns start tomorrow…you gonna be here early in the morning to meet with them or are you leaving that to your residents?" She asked with a bit too much eagerness. Seemed intern torturing was a sport at this hospital as much as it had been at his last one. Too bad he wouldn't have his other best friend around to help him torture his interns.

"Wouldn't miss it, poppet," he answered her with a chuckle. "There's this friend of mine, this Latin beauty that would have my bullocks for breakfast if I did." He pushed himself from the desk and stood on shaky legs. God he was tired now.

"And don't you forget it, Potter," she laughed, not detecting the weariness behind his bright tone. "I'll see you in the morning then?"

"I'll be here," he assured her easily. Callie really was the best friend he had here and though he missed Mark he knew the other man was completely content in New York. Maybe he'd give him a call later. It had been a few weeks since they'd done more than email each other.

Harry flipped the phone closed after telling Callie good bye and put his hand on the wall one more time. A bit of golden brown for hope. He ignored the fact that the color was the exact same as Callie's eyes and nodded once at the wall. His mural was complete for the moment. He might add more colors later and the mural sometimes took on a life of its own, twisting and writhing into new shapes that no one but he ever really noticed. He turned to leave. Tomorrow was his first official day and he had things to do before then.