My dearest Harry,

These past few months apart have been nothing short of an eternity. I must say this nearly every letter I send lately, but as always, you seem to be the only thing on my mind. Your words and the promise of our reunion are my only consolation lately. Though I yearn for your company, I know that as a man, I am not ready to face you yet. I may never be fully settled as a person, and I'm sure to still have plenty of learning and growing to do for years to come, but I am coming to know myself better with each passing day. I cannot promise that the man I am becoming will be a great one—or even one you like—but I feel that it would be a far greater crime to lie to you or be disingenuous after everything we've been through. Even if you are the only one.

On another note, I have an interview tomorrow morning at the Ministry. It's for an unremarkable entry-level position in the Department of Finances. However, for reasons beyond my comprehension I find myself . . . nervous. It's absolutely ridiculous and I'm sure if you were here, you'd be laughing at me in that breathy little chuckle you do. I don't know if I've ever felt nervous before, not since I was a boy—if at all. It's queasy and unpleasant, but at the same time there's something a little thrilling about it.

I know your OWL's are right around the corner and I can't help but wonder if you might also be feeling this way. Though, I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all passing your exams with top marks. Knowing you, you'll still put your all into studying. Make sure to drink that lavender clove tea I sent you before bed. Rest is just as important as your studies. I don't know if I will be able to right you again before your exams, so I'll wish you the best of luck in this letter. I know you'll do brilliantly, but even so: good luck, Harry.

Yours forevermore,

Tom

Harry smiled into the spicy-floral vapors of his tea as he sipped the warm brew. Candle light danced over the crisp planes of the letter and his eyes roamed the page again as he absorbed its contents. As always, Harry wanted to commit it to memory along with the countless other letters he'd exchanged with Tom. He'd received the letter at dinner but had only found the time to sit down and read it after his nightly hallway patrols and a bit of studying. By then it was approaching midnight and the soothing effects of the tea was extinguishing his worries one by one. Harry found himself thankful at times like this that his prefect status allowed for him to have his own room in the dorms. He cherished his privacy and the freedom to go to bed as early or late as he pleased. Though, he hadn't been sleeping much as of late. . .

Suddenly, a chill swept through the room and the candle light sputtered out, plunging the room into darkness as a thin tail of smoke curled up from the ember-end of the wick. The hollow rattle of bones clicking together and gentle nudge at his shoulder soon followed.

"Time for bed."

Harry rolled his eyes despite the ominous timbre of whispered death. What perfect timing, pulling him away from the cusp of wretched thoughts.

"Will you ever stop treating me like a child?" Harry whined sulkily, but did as he was told never the less. He slipped between the cool covers of his bed and although he'd already brushed his teeth earlier, he cast a quick cleansing charm on his mouth after his cup of tea.

"You are a child." Death replied from somewhere deep within the shadows.

"To you, perhaps, but in just a year I'll legally be an adult. That must count for something." Harry wasn't pouting, absolutely not. Even if he was, it was too dark for anyone to see.

"I won't consider you an adult until after your first century." Death teased, much to the teen's chagrin. "Now sleep."

Harry grumbled under his breath half-heartedly but his friend was gone before he even closed his eyes. Maybe tonight his demons would leave him alone.

"Happy belated birthday, Harry. Sixteen already, Merlin. Did you do anything fun?" Edith asked with genuine interest shining in her soft brown eyes as she carefully lowered her delicate old form into the plush chair across from Harry. Harry smiled and relaxed back in his seat, knowing that this session would be a more comfortable one. Edith strongly believed that they didn't need to climb emotional mountains every single session for the sake of a breakthrough. Sometimes it was just nice to have a chat with someone he trusted, someone who knew his struggles and didn't treat him like just another job.

"Thank you, and yeah I suppose it was pretty nice. Remus made a huge breakfast and I opened their presents. Then for lunch I went out and met up with some friends at Diagon. We wandered around a bit, had some street food and did a little shopping. I even took them out into the muggle world and we went to the cinema." Yet another memory Harry would cherish for a long time. Every day he was purposefully letting go of his hold on the cold aloofness he used as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. He didn't want to let what other people thought of him to stop him from enjoying himself in public.

Edith's wrinkled brow went up.

"Oh? Is that where you got those snazzy new clothes?" She looked over Harry's attire and the teen couldn't help the bashful blush that touched his cheeks as he shifted in his seat. He had, in fact, revamped his wardrobe recently and though he knew she wasn't judging him and really did like his clothes, this was the first time he was wearing them and felt a flicker of insecurity in his gut.

Much like Tom, he had been spending a lot of time getting to know himself recently. Although Harry had never really cared about clothes or fashion before—so long as he didn't stand out, he didn't care what he wore—the more confident he became in himself, the more he wanted to express himself and wear clothes that reflected how he felt on the inside. And once he really started to pay attention to what caught his eye while passing boutiques, his own tastes took even Harry by surprise.

Harry looked down at his current outfit and reminded himself that Edith, his parents, and the small group of friends that had been with him when he bought some of them had all had positive and supportive reactions. Though, there was nothing really too outrageous about anything he'd bought. Currently, he was wearing black suede Chelsea boots, and black jeans that hugged his legs like they were painted on but were stretchy enough to not restrict his movement. Up top he had on a black turtleneck tank top that tucked into his trousers, a few simple silver necklaces, a matching silver bracelet, and several decorative silver rings on his thin long fingers. He was even letting his hair grow out a bit and with a couple of silver chain earrings and small hoops in a few new piercings along his ears and a bit of tasteful eyeshadow—which Hermione had eagerly bought him when he'd expressed his desire to explore a less restrictive style of fashion—all of the features Harry liked on himself were in top form.

A far cry from his usual slacks, sweaters, and button-downs.

Harry went from posh school boy, to long limbs, slender frame, and something alluring and just a touch dangerous. There were far more adventurous pieces now residing in his wardrobe at home, but he wanted to start off a bit tamer. Hermione had given him a long and passionate talk about how clothes had no gender and nobody had a say in what he put on his body, but he couldn't think of any situation in which he'd feel confident and comfortable enough to wear the blue-grey-black pleated skirt she'd convinced him to buy, out in public. Baby steps.

"Some of them, yeah. I've never really put much thought into what I wear. Putting outfits together, buying things that catch my eye, it's a lot more fun than I expected." Harry replied honestly, twisting one of the rings on his finger around to keep his hands busy. "Sirius helped me with piercing my ears but when he tried to take me out to get a tattoo, Remus put his foot down." He added on with a mischievous grin.

"Well, I must say you look very handsome, Harry. You'd make even an old crone like me blush." She touched her cheeks like they were warm and chuckled as Harry dipped his head and waved her off in embarrassment.

"You'll be starting your sixth year soon, are you excited to return?"

Harry crossed his legs and threaded his fingers together as he thought about it.

"Hm . . . I suppose, yes. Madam Pomfrey is going to begin some of my more practical training and under her supervision I'll be officially enrolled in a Healer apprenticeship through Saint Mongo's. Technically people need their NEWT's before applying but with my OWL's scores and Pomfrey's recommendation, I'll be allowed to enter early as an intern. I'll mostly be doing menial tasks and shadowing healers and medi-witches and wizards, but it's a great opportunity to learn before I apply for the master's program when I graduate." Harry honestly couldn't wait to start shadowing real healers.

"That's wonderful, Harry! At first, I was quite surprised to hear that Harry Potter wanted to go into the field of medicine. Now that I know you a bit better, it actually makes a lot of sense. You're quite the caregiver in your own way. Unfortunately, magical medicine isn't as popular of a career as it used to be, it's been stagnant for nearly a century, while other nations are making leaps and bounds in their respective fields. Knowing you, you'll do nothing short of turning the entire practice of medicine on its head." Edith mused, her soft wrinkled skin folding around her smile.

"As long as it's for the better, I don't mind causing a little chaos." Harry winked and Edith erupted into musical trills of laughter.

Almost there . . . bubbling, steaming liquids of various colors and viscosities filled the room with a muggy haze that was both pungent and herbal in nature. Harry had been in the small potion's lab since mid-morning, with it now being sometime late afternoon. He was sticky with sweat in the humid room, and his shirt was surely ruined with all manner of questionable substances, but he was determined to finish this before dinner.

His fingers deftly added ingredients, stirred cauldrons and beakers, and adjusted temperatures all around the crowded table. He was no potion's master, but he had a knack for turning theory into reality. Afterall, this was all just magic, and anything was possible with magic.

While Harry trusted his ability enough that he wasn't worried about blowing up Grimmauld Place, he was still intensely focused on his work. Therefore, he didn't look up when the door to the lab opened and someone walked in. Someone who didn't already live there.

"You've been too quiet this summer. It makes my skin itch. At least tell me what you're scheming so I can be prepared for the shit hitting the fan." Grumbled a familiar voice.

"Eloquent as ever, Phil." Harry sighed, knowing he was in for another thorough nagging. "I'm not 'scheming' anything. I've decided to take everyone's advice and focus on myself. Is that so hard to believe?" Even as he said it, he knew it was. Last year, Harry was dipping his fingers into so many different pots he inevitably got burned, and he wasn't the only one. Immortality didn't make him invincible, and it didn't guarantee that he could protect everyone else either. He'd learned that the hard way.

Harry didn't have to look to see Phil shift uncomfortably where he stood.

"Sorry . . . you're right. I didn't mean- . . . Look, I know it's been hard on you since-" Phil cut off when an empty beaker near him burst and Harry's grip on the glass stirring rod grew dangerous.

"Don't."

Phil winced and scratched the back of his head, cursing softly under his breath. They lapsed into a long stretch of silence. Harry continued to brew, while Phil silently searched for the right words. Eventually, he seemed to think he'd found them.

"I heard from Sirius that you've been getting out of the house and spending some more time with your friends. That's good. You've always been quite the homebody." That was much safer territory for them both. Harry hummed in affirmation as he added some phoenix ash to his main cauldron and stirred.

"They come over a few times a week, since none of them went traveling for the summer. Between that and the studying I've been doing to prepare for my internship, I haven't had time for any scheming." Finally, Harry's eyes lifted from his work and met Phil's for the first time since he'd arrived. A small, tentative smile formed on his lips, hoping the older man took it for what it was: an olive branch. Phil's face softened as a bit of the worry drained out of him.

"Okay, I'll lay off." Phil sounded exasperated and just a touch fond. After a minute of them both soaking in the quiet atmosphere of bubbling and hissing, Phil tried again.

"You seem different. Before—I don't really know how to put it but—before, you always looked like you were bored. Like an outsider looking in, you watched things as they happened, took things as they came. Now, though . . . I don't know . . . it just feels like you're finally actively participating in life. You seem present, you know?" Phil shook his head, face scrunched like his words weren't adequate in conveying what he wanted to say. Still, Harry understood where he was coming from. Harry shrugged, focusing on his project so he didn't have to make eye contact.

"Guess I just realized that nobody's going to live my life for me. Only I can live it."

Phil scrutinized him for a beat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is that "Harry Speak" for 'I'm going through my angsty teen-phase'?" He dead-panned and the suddenness of it made Harry release an undignified snort that devolved into what he would wholly deny were giggles. "Seriously though, any more jewelry and I'll start to think you robbed a niffler!" He gestured to Harry's many earrings and rings that adorned him. Harry laughed harder and he unconsciously pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and grabbed the table to hold himself up. But the moment he pulled himself together he was firing back with a grin.

"You're one to talk, have you bought anything new in the last decade? I didn't know being an Auror meant relinquishing all sense of style." Harry snarked without heat, channeling his inner-Draco to come off as haughty as possible.

"Skin-tight trousers and silk blouses aren't exactly suited for chasing down criminals." Phil walked over to a stool just out of the way from his project and sat down with a slight creak in his joints and a wince.

"Anything is suitable if you're determined enough." Harry mumbled under his breath.

Now that the air had settled once again and they both felt a little more comfortable, Harry frowned and looked Phil straight in the eye.

"If you keep showing up here at the house my parents are going to start to think I'm causing trouble." The Auror's brow quirked up as if to say 'oh really?' Harry didn't appreciate the attitude.

"Kid, we both know that you don't get caught up in petty shite. If you did cause trouble, they'd likely have the whole Ministry knocking on their door, not just me." He had a point there. Harry pursed his lips and paused his mulling for a moment.

"I suppose normal teenagers do get into trouble here and there. Should I vandalize a Ministry building? Steal a bottle from their liquor cabinet? Get a tattoo? Just to keep them on their toes?" Harry contemplated seriously while the other looked more and more constipated the longer he talked.

"Why was that the only thing you took from what I said? And please don't put your poor parents through some misguided teenage-rebellion. I don't honestly know if they'd have the strength to say no to you even if you asked them to hide a body." Harry conceded his point with an eye roll and with flick of his wrist he began to add the various concoctions to his main cauldron with wandless magic.

"What are you making? I never knew you to be much of a potions buff." Phil asked as he watched the large cauldron begin to steam and smoke with the scent of petrichor.

He shot the man an unimpressed look.

"I have top marks in all my classes. But if you must know, it's not a potion. I'm applying for an internship at St. Mungo's this year and while Madam Pomfrey's recommendation gets my foot in the door, I need to pass an official exam to qualify. Which means I've been doing a whole lot of reading and studying this summer to prepare. Unfortunately, English magical medicine is severely lacking in many ways and I've had a few ideas lately that I'd be remiss not to try." As he spoke, he slipped a black dragon-hide glove onto his right hand and reached into the cauldron without an ounce of hesitation. A moment later he retrieved his hand and with it came a baseball-sized stone that was a pale pink and resembled a large quartz crystal.

"What's that do?" Phil leaned forward on his stool with a curious lilt to his voice.

"If my calculations were correct, it should behave like a magic dialysis machine." Harry murmured to himself, turning the stone over in his gloved hand.

"A what?" Phil balked and the corners of Harry's lips twitched up.

"Most curses, even once the initial curse is removed, leaved behind traces of residual curse magic. For most legal curses that doesn't matter since the body will naturally digest the magic until the effects are gone. However, lethal and illegal curses usually kill a person or cause permanent damage even if the initial curse is immediately counteracted. Also, muggles and squibs don't have a magic core where they can digest the residual curse magic so curses always affect them far more and for longer. This stone is meant to slowly draw out a person's magic, filter out any leftover curses, and return the cleaned magic back into their body. It can't reverse any damage already done by a curse, but it could minimalize the long-term effects and significantly shorten recovery time." Harry explained as he set the stone down on the table and began to clean up his brewing station.

He wasn't worried about vanishing the rest of the contents of the main cauldron since it was only meant to yield one stone at a time anyways and he would need to start from scratch if he wanted another.

"Can I try it out? Getting blasted with curses is an occupational hazard for me." Phil sounded honestly interested in trying it out, but Harry was already shaking his head.

"Not until I've run some tests and made sure it's safe to use. I may be smart, but there are bound to be unforeseen issues to work out before it's ready. Stop back in the day after tomorrow and it should be ready by then." With his work station tidy once more, Harry summoned his leather-bound note book and self-inking quill and began to take notes on the process of making the stone and the end product itself while it was all fresh in his mind. He almost forgot Phil was there after a few minutes until he suddenly spoke.

"So, when are you and Tom going to stop avoiding each other?" Harry nearly snapped his quill in half in shock. Blinking, he abandoned his meticulous note-taking to stare wide-eyed at the Auror. After a too-long pause, Harry mentally shook himself and looked back down at his notes, though he didn't pretend to see anything on the page as he responded.

"We're not avoiding each other. We're giving each other space to sort ourselves out and grow as individuals." Harry stated reasonably, willing down the heat that wanted to rise in his cheeks as he thought about Tom. Phil snorted.

"Sure, if staring longingly out the window like an abandoned puppy is meant to help your personal growth, then who am I to judge?" He drawled sardonically.

"What? I never-" Harry snapped back indignantly but was cut off by the older man.

"I wasn't talking about you." Oh. . . Harry's brain shut down at that revelation. Inexplicably, his face burned with a heady mix of embarrassment and happiness.

"It just . . . doesn't feel like the right time yet. We have plenty of time to get there, there's no rush." But even as he said it, the longing he usually suppressed flared up something fierce in his chest. He missed Tom. It had been a rough couple of months—especially after what happened—and there were many points in time he felt tempted to just apparate to Little Hangleton and run right into Tom's arms. He knew Tom wouldn't turn him away if he truly needed him. However . . . Harry wanted to stand confidently on his own two feet. He wanted to know he could rely on Tom without becoming dependent on him.

"Alright. I trust you to know what you're doing so I'll stop pestering you. Just don't take too long. Apparently the witches and wizards in the Department of Finances are duller than a bag of rocks and if he has to endure their pathetic attempts at conversation indefinitely, he can't guarantee their safety for long. His words, not mine." Phil smirked and hopped up from his seat.

"Thanks for the chat, kid. Tragically, I've got to return to my day job at some point today or they might actually fire me." Phil leisurely strolled towards the door, waving over his shoulder.

"You know, if you make a habit out of this, I'm going to have to fire my therapist." Harry called after him just as the hem of his long black coat slipped past the door frame.

He didn't know what woke him. Sirius was still beside him, his slow steady heartbeat letting him know that his partner was in a deep sleep. Their shared bedroom was completely dark and the house was silent. Remus sighed and burrowed back down into the warmth of his duvet, hoping to slip right back into sleep. Just then, an old terrible enemy to all seeking peaceful rest reared its head.

Thirst.

Remus groaned silently and reluctantly left his warm bed behind, careful not to wake Sirius. Slipping a dressing robe over his sleep clothes, the wolf shuffled through the halls with half-closed eyes. He was not expecting to find someone awake when he reached the kitchen, but the way that his curly-haired son froze when he cleared his throat and peaked over his shoulder at Remus with big green puppy-dog eyes proved that Harry hadn't expected it either. Remus sighed and took the kettle from Harry's still hand and set it back on the counter without filling it.

The teen's shoulders sagged when Remus caught sight of the black tea that he must have been planning to make and the older man shot him a sharp look at the undoubtedly caffeinated beverage. Remus got them both a glass of water from the tap while Harry continued to avoid his gaze.

"It's the middle of the night Harry. You can't stay up all night." It was an old argument lately. They had both noticed that Harry seemed to be sleeping less than usual. They knew why, and understood he was just trying to cope, but it was taking its toll.

"I know that." His words were sharp with pent up frustration and probably more than a little exhaustion. "But I feel like if I can just put it off a little longer, if I'm wiped enough, then . . . then maybe I won't dream." He ended with a whisper, but Remus heard him anyways. The wolf gulped down the rest of his water so he could set the glass on the counter and hooked his hand gently around the back of the younger man's neck to pull him into his arms. Harry immediately rested his forehead on his shoulder, looking so small ducked down like that despite having grown so much.

"Dreams can be cruel to us. But they're usually just a symptom of your consciousness. If they hurt you, sometimes that's because you're already doing that while awake. Even if you don't realize. It'll take time, but you've been doing so good so far and I'm so proud of you, Harry. It won't be a total cure, but try to be a little nicer to yourself while you're awake, okay?" He said while softly patting Harry's back and soothing down the back of his head. The younger's breath shuddered out of him and he nodded after a minute, which was more of a nuzzle into Remus's shoulder.

Remus pulled back after a while and smiled tenderly when he saw the stars glistening in the corners of Harry's eyes. He brushed the moisture away with the pads of his thumbs while Harry sniffed and ducked his head.

"Now, what do you say we get you up to bed, huh?"

Remus led him out of the kitchen with a hand on his shoulder and together they walked up to Harry's room. When the boy had brushed his teeth and was ready for bed, Remus pulled back the covers for him. Harry huffed but didn't otherwise comment on the coddling as he climbed into bed and laid down while Remus settled the blankets back around him with only a little tucking-in because he feared the boy might actually bite him if he went all out. He sat down on the side of the bed, relieved to see that Harry was already blinking sluggishly in the dim lamplight.

"Get some rest, pup. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep." He promised as he reached out and began to card his fingers through Harry's hair. Poor thing, he looks so tired. Remus thought while Harry turned over onto his side but nudged his hand to keep up its ministrations. He wished more than anything that he could take Harry's pain away, to take all of his stress and misguided guilt. But not even magic could make that happen. All he could do was support him, offer comfort, and remind him in any way he could that it wasn't his fault.

Harry wasn't to blame for that student's death. . .