the broken ones

by mew-tsubaki

M&MWP, Maydayverse, oneshot, slash. *Set after "if you fall at midnight," "A Life Well-Lived," & "HELLO? HELLO? LIAR LIAR"* Terry was perfectly fine without change. Stephen had no idea why he came back. Neither really wanted to find out what would happen should they meet again.

the broken ones

A HariPo oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. This pairing is a Mew and Mor's Weird Pairing, which you may find in the M&MWP forum (see my profile for details). Check out and join the forum FUN! Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: This follows the stories "if you fall at midnight," "A Life Well-Lived," and "HELLO? HELLO? LIAR LIAR," but this can be read on its own; you might enjoy the other stories, though, especially if you enjoy eagle rarepairs and heartache. :')

- ^-^3

Terry Boot pushed his fringe out of his eyes as he worked. He mentally made a note to trim his hair soon. It had gotten a little long as of late.

"How are you doing over there?" a familiar voice asked at the doorway behind him.

He didn't lift his eyes from his potion. "Fine. It's just compounding."

"Never thought being a Healer would mean you'd have to do so much of that, did you?" It wasn't a rebuke or snide remark. It was just a friend making conversation.

Terry got to a stopping point where it was safe enough to tear his eyes away and faced his friend and coworker, Lisa Turpin. "No, but I'm glad for it." He made a note as the potion changed color from pastel orange to a soft, light gray. "It keeps my mind busy. How go things on the ground floor?"

Lisa picked a few splinters from her fitted lime-green robes, the same robes he wore as a fellow Healer. "I'm entirely done with broom crashes for the rest of my life."

He rested his quill and furrowed his brow at her. "Broom crashes? What on…? But school's in session. Most families send their children to Hogwarts now, knowing it's safe. Practically no one homeschools anymore."

"And no one's giving flying lessons at home," Lisa informed him, her voice clipped. She ran a hand through the blond locks by her left ear and winced—she pulled her hand away only to find her index and middle fingers pricked by hidden splinters. She waved her wand, and the splinters pulled free and landed in the washbasin on Terry's left. But Lisa must've been quite vexed, for she cast a nonverbal spell, and the splinters went up in a puff of smoke the next second.

Terry handed her the beige jar of Two-Minute Tougher salve. "You don't mean to say…"

"Yep. The latest model Nimbus came out with a bad set of charms on it. Naturally, everyone hears Nimbus and they think two things: one, it's a Nimbus, so they've got to have it; and two, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Won, had a Nimbus, so they've got to have it." She sighed in relief as she slathered the salve on and it repaired her poor hands. "This is going to be a week-long endeavor, if not a month-long one." She pouted at him. "Are you sure you don't want to trade shifts? Not a single one?"

A moment ago, Terry had felt for her in her predicament. But now? "Ha! Trade in my odd hours for your broom catastrophes?" He grinned and Lisa huffed, but he glanced at his watch. "Lisa, I only just got here, but your day's practically over." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Why don't you mosey on down to the exit and Disapparate the moment the hour turns?"

She gaped at him, completely scandalized. "I'm here to work, Terry Boot! No wonder you take the longest walks around here, lunch break or not. You picked that up from Michael, didn't you?"

He shrugged. He'd heard this one before, that he'd been a fairly respectable kid before befriending Michael Corner, but Lisa never gave Anthony enough credit for being a bad influence on Terry, either.

His breath hitched.

Anthony.

Even the briefest thought of his late love gave him pause…but Terry took a breath, and he was all right. There was no forgetting a boy like Anthony Goldstein, but at least Terry had gotten to the point where he could think about the golden-haired wizard and not break down and lose a day to wallowing in grief.

"Terry?"

He snapped out of his daze. "Sorry?"

Lisa frowned and scrutinized him. If she guessed where his mind had gone, she didn't say. Instead, she, too, took a look at her watch. "…I suppose it really is just about time to clock out. I might clock out late if I don't hurry, even."

He mustered another grin for her, though this one was noticeably smaller. "See? We'll make a flouter of rules of you yet, Turpin," he teased.

"Har, har," Lisa groused. She waved over her shoulder as she backed out of the potions lab. "Have a good night, Terry."

"'Night, Lis."

- ^-^3

By the time Terry's shift was done, his eyes burned. He hadn't the foggiest as to why he hadn't traded any of his shifts with Lisa. He didn't imagine Lisa and Su being on the outs and therefore Lisa not wanting to go home—on the contrary, a very drunk Lisa had told him after work one time two years ago she could see herself marrying Su—so it really came down to Lisa absolutely despising the innumerable broom crashes, which he didn't fancy either.

But he was three weeks into a new schedule which saw him saddled with the graveyard shift three days a week, a day off, two normal day shifts, and then another day off before the late nights resumed. Yes, the graveyard shifts mainly had him making and managing inventory and records, but the hours were draining. He hadn't lied about making potions—it did keep his mind busy—but he wasn't used to this schedule yet, and he worried that he might not adapt.

Thank Merlin, home was within walking distance. Down the street from St. Mungo's dilapidated department store disguise that tricked even the nosiest of Muggles from entering the Wizarding hospital was a similar building, run-down in appearance and washed out in contrast with its lively background here in the heart of London. Stone the color of snot (in Terry's opinion) was broken in crucial places and cracked near the foundation, all architectural details intended to scare away even those Muggles who enjoyed buying properties to rehab them. And that was the point, because, as the Healer symbol imprinted in the keystone above the main door of the complex revealed to those who knew, this building was intended not only for Wizarding folk only but in fact for Healer residents and their families.

Inside, things were just as shiny and clean as the Ministry or St. Mungo's itself—Terry liked to think the latter, he mused for the umpteenth time as he rode the lift to the seventh floor, because Healers in general had a knack for tidiness that bordered on sterilization.

"Home, sweet home," he murmured against his door, the first one that greeted him off the lift. He went inside and was sorely tempted to crash on his pull-out sofa or even sit down…but, if he did that, he wouldn't eat, and he knew he'd never make it into bed properly.

"If you deprive your body of food and sleep, you deprive your mind," Anthony used to say. He nearly made it his mantra in their fifth year, what with them juggling D.A. meetings in secret, avoiding Umbridge, and studying for O.W.L.s.

"And, to think, Michael almost hexed you with that tattooed across your forehead for a week," Terry mused aloud.

The silence of his flat answered him.

Terry looked around, toed some text stacks back into place, and was staunchly reminded of his loneliness. "Right," he mumbled. "Talking to dead people could see me moved out of here and into St. Mungo's." He laughed darkly at himself. "I definitely need to eat and sleep before I lose it…."

- ^-^3

He ate—leftover something-loaf (Anthony and Padma would be so disgusted to look in his fridge)—and made it out of his robes but not even into pajamas before he collapsed on his bed and slept like the dead.

…he slept like the dead, and he dreamt of the dead, but he woke the next day, alive and well and alone.

Terry rolled onto his back and stared awhile at his ceiling. In the strong light climbing into his room around the curtains, he could see the ceiling was painted a cold, off-white hue. In his mind's eye, he took that exact hue and darkened it several shades, and it was the exact same hue then as the castle stones littering not only the grounds of Hogwarts but the surrounding area back in May 1998.

His stomach no longer roiled when he thought about that day, after the battle, being told the news and having to search for Anthony's body himself because no one else could determine where he'd landed. But sometimes he went over the details of that day, any detail at all, because he was afraid that, if he didn't, then details would start to slip away. If enough details slipped away, then Anthony would slip away. And Anthony was only still alive and well so long as people—so long as Terry—still remembered him.

But that's enough reminiscing for today, Terry internally scolded himself, smacking his cheeks to emphasize his point and to wake himself up more.

He still had a few hours before he needed to head into work, so he bewitched the kitchen to self-clean while he showered and dressed for the day. Again, he considered trimming his hair, but he also knew a medium-sized pile of post awaited him at his desk, so instead he made coffee and sat down in front of the collection of parchment atop his desk in his living room.

"Great," he groaned as he realized he must've shuffled everything together at some point, because they'd all been mixed and now he had to sort. At least he knew the two largest scrolls couldn't be misplaced; they were Healer quarterlies, one that studied natural magicks not commonly taught in basic curricula and another that stayed up-to-date on Muggle advancements in health. As for the rest… "Bill, bill, Aunt Sabina—probably about finalizing who's hosting Christmas this year—bill, Mum and Dad, Cousin Mitchell… Huh? Something from Harry and Ginny?"

Terry set that aside, along with his parents' letter, when the name on the next letter brought everything to a halt:

Goldstein.

It always took Terry's brain two seconds to play catch-up, but catch up it did, and his blue eyes flicked to the small calendar standing on the right side of his desk. Of course. Anthony would've been twenty-six this Saturday.

He knew what the letter said without evening opening it. It was Mrs. Goldstein's handwriting, but she always wrote on behalf of her husband, too, and she always implored Terry to join them to celebrate Anthony's birthday. Every year, the week of, Terry would receive such a letter (almost the exact same one, word for word), and, for the first few years, he'd answered it and joined them. Well, not the first year—the first year, he couldn't, as he had taken an eighth year at Hogwarts, so he'd only written them. But he'd stopped going in person two years ago, before finishing his training, because he'd realized he couldn't do this forever. Because—Because—Because—

It was one thing to remember the love of his life, but wasn't it something else entirely to act as if the world had stopped in 1998?

Terry grimaced and drank more coffee—and nearly spat it out. Oh, for Merlin's sake! He'd let their letter derail him long enough that the coffee had gone cold.

He ran an irate hand through his hair and checked his watch. No, he still had almost an hour before his shift…

"Screw it," he groused, and he shoved the post aside, hoping to be drowned in work today.

- ^-^3

"AH! Healer Boot! Perfect timing!"

Terry did a double-take at the intake counter where Healer Lovering flicked her wand faster than one's eyes could follow, directing patients every which way and doling out assignments to Terry's fellow Healers and Healers-in-training. "Uh, why's that?" he asked tentatively after he made his way over to the middle-aged witch.

"Because I'm short half a dozen Healers. Bloody vanishing sickness outbreak on the second floor—still haven't found them yet." Her eyes bored holes in him. "No inventory duty for you tonight. You're on call here in Artifact Accidents."

"But—"

"AH! Foster!" Lovering called after another unlucky Healer passing by. Lovering's attention was long gone from Terry before he could even ask anything about making rounds on this floor, which he hadn't done since year two of training.

It didn't take long for Terry to find a rhythm, though. He only saw two of Lisa's broom crash types, luckily enough, and there was one wand backfire with an elderly man who'd let his Crup use his wand as a chew toy. The pace around here was faster, and he had to work more delicately and be picky about his spells—with potions, there was more room for experimentation, but here his anxiety of choosing precisely the right spell for the occasion reared its ugly head.

"Next time, just Summon a stick from your backyard for Gobbins, Mr. Berrigan," Terry advised his wand-backfiring victim as he escorted the man out of the treatment room. "But see Ollivander first thing tomorrow, all right? Whatever you do, don't use that wand again, not in that shape!"

Mr. Berrigan nodded appreciatively and tipped his head to Terry, who suddenly had the desire to visit his grandparents after treating the man. Mr. Berrigan made it to the exit on his own, and Terry withdrew to the treatment room to mark his final notes about the case.

Someone knocked on the doorjamb while his back was still turned. Considering how early Terry had arrived today, he surmised Lisa had spotted him in the corridors. "Yes, you do see me, and no, I'm not switching shifts without telling you, Lisa," Terry told her as he closed Mr. Berrigan's file and held the folder up for the folder to fly off and file itself away in the hospital records vault.

The person coughed.

Terry turned around. "Lisa, you—" The teasing grin fell off his face and his mouth went dry. Terry reached for the countertop beside him to grab hold so as not to fall from the shock. He…he must've been thinking, been speaking, been dreaming too much about ghosts, because clearly he'd summoned one.

How else would it be possible for Stephen Cornfoot to be standing before him, alive and—well, not exactly well. Stephen's left arm was crystallized, glasslike, all shards and screeching pieces as he tried to keep it steady and held out ahead of him.

Terry's horror at the cursed limb was strong, but he still had a hard time believing his eyes. "Are you—are you really—?"

Of course he was. There was wide-eyed recognition in Stephen's eyes, and his body stiffened as if his whole being had been cursed, not merely his arm. "Terry." His name from Stephen's mouth sounded so harsh. Or maybe that was Terry's impression, considering Stephen next took a step back.

"Wait!" Terry held up a hand to stop him and took a step closer. "Wait, please. You need care." As if proving his point, the curse splintered and continued up Stephen's arm another centimeter. "I can help. So please…" He gestured to the cot inside the room and stepped aside.

For another second, Stephen remained tense and rooted where he stood mostly out of the room. But then a Healer went running by in the hall, and he entered to avoid a crash. Terry pulled the door shut behind him while Stephen got settled on the cot.

When Terry turned to watch Stephen awkwardly half sit on the cot's edge while keeping his cursed arm from touching anything, the Healer took a moment to drag his hand over his face. A million thoughts ran through his mind—some things he'd shared with all his fellow eagles, a few he'd shared only with Padma and Michael, and a few he'd kept to himself—but mostly he kept cycling around to his disbelief that Stephen Cornfoot, one of their missing and presumed dead following the final battle, was before him. Clearly not dead.

"Um." Stephen clenched his jaw and winced as he gestured with his cursed arm.

Well, not dead so long as Terry helped him. "Ah, r-right, of course," Terry stammered. He grabbed his wand from his pocket, and his stool floated into position under him when he seated himself in front of his patient. "How did this happen? It reminds me a little of a Looking-Glass Jinx, but usually that's something someone shoots at a vain person's face." He ducked his head to study the underside of Stephen's arm. "And these shards are less reflective, more transparent."

Stephen grunted…not exactly. It was more of an embarrassed cough, Terry decided, as Stephen answered him with his eyes averted, "I was filling phials with a potion."

"I need more details before I take action."

Stephen sighed. He still styled his hair the same as in their school days—a little on the long side but mostly slicked back. When he sighed, a chunk fell out of place and brushed his cheek, which Terry noted was mildly in need of a shave. "They were individual-dose phials. I was filling them with the Sleeping Draught I made."

"Oh." Terry blinked and returned his attention to Stephen's arm. "Work hazard, then."

"No."

Terry snapped his eyes back to Stephen's face, but still Stephen refused to look at him. "Then…"

"…I take it. I have bad nights on occasion, so it's good to have Sleeping Draught on hand." He peeked at Terry out of the corner of his eyes, though, and continued so as not to let Terry pry further, "I just happened to drop a phial this time, that's all. The glass reacted funny when it shattered, and then—" He waved his arm to finish his story.

Terry frowned. "I'd worry about the quality of those phials, then. They shouldn't break so easily, let alone react to a well-made potion."

Stephen snorted. "How bold of you to assume my potion-making prowess, Healer Boot."

"Yes, well, I'm certain your potion was fine, although none of us could hold a candle to Kevi—" Terry froze.

Stephen did, too. It were as though a Dementor had entered the room and sucked all the happiness and life from them.

"I'm sorry," Terry rushed.

Stephen said nothing.

Terry knew when to leave well enough alone. He'd been the same way for the longest time whenever anyone brought up Anthony to him. But Stephen and Kevin? They'd never said anything, even though Terry and the others suspected. So Terry's apology really covered everything—for bringing Kevin up, for knowing Kevin meant something to Stephen, for thinking Kevin might've meant something to Stephen.

Throughout the Healing process, Stephen sat rigid as a statue while Terry worked, never moving nor saying a word. In some ways, it was worse than talking. Terry was put in mind of the various exams throughout his trainee years, where he had to practice Healing his mentors, who evaluated him without any input whatsoever. Those practicals were nerve-wracking, and he hated to think of them even now…

The curse didn't advance so long as Stephen kept his arm motionless, which allowed Terry to test a few different spells. Fire would be a last resort, because it would be too easy to hurt Stephen in the process, so Terry first attempted to pull the curse out piece by piece. Unfortunately, new pieces popped up in their absence like new teeth, so his next attempt involved an augmented Pulverizing Charm that turned the glass into sand.

Though he said nothing, his raised eyebrows gave away his amazement as Stephen watched Terry's magic cause the curse to pour onto the floor, the glass now fine sand that was little more than glittery dust. Terry grabbed a bottle and tapped his wand to the lip of the opening, and the debris flew inside. "…that's quite a nice bit of magic," he said at last.

"You're welcome," Terry replied. "I'll run some tests on this and let you know if I find anything else that's cause for concern, but I strongly suggest you buy a new set of phials and don't use what you already have." He hesitated. "So are you, um, local now? Or do you still live in Scotland?"

Stephen flexed his arm and fingers, as if checking that everything were in working order. "I can't get a new set right now," he answered. "…and…local, I s'pose."

Terry's stomach did a flip. He had too many questions he wanted to ask Stephen, but he also had a hard time believing this meeting had transpired. But Stephen was local? So were most of them—Su shared Lisa's flat at the Healer complex, and Michael, Padma, and Morag worked at the Ministry. Terry's mouth soured the longer he lingered on his shock; he had no idea how long it'd take for him to process this, and he didn't want to spring this on the rest of them so suddenly, either. "So are the others," Terry warned Stephen. He stared at his patient long enough that it forced Stephen to meet his eyes, and Terry hoped Stephen would catch on.

He did, and he nodded. "No, don't tell them you've seen me," he decided. He laughed, darkly, and gestured with his now curse-free hand to the Healer. "Bad enough you look as though you want to strangle me yourself."

Terry blinked, taken aback. "I do?"

"From the moment you saw me, yes."

"Sorry."

Stephen shook his head. He waited a minute and then: "I know it's asking a lot, but—when I said I was local, that's not entirely true. It's…it's been a long time since I've been back here, in the U.K. as a whole"—his cheeks flushed with a tinge of color when he realized he'd given up an unnecessary detail that only fed Terry's curiosity—"anyway, could I crash at your place? It wouldn't be for long, and I won't get cushy if you keep that I-want-to-strangle-Stephen look in your eyes."

Now Terry blushed. "I do not have that look in my eyes!" he huffed. He glared at the other wizard. "And fine. But I don't get off until five in the morning, so you're either going to have to wait here or lurk outside my building."

Stephen gawked at him. "Five in the morning? Revered Rowena, that's absurd…"

"Up to you."

Stephen pulled a face and pushed the lock of hair that had fallen free back into place. "No, no, it's already quite cold out for it being October. I'll wait here."

"Then stick to the shadows for another hour while Lisa's still on so as not to give her a fright, and we have a deal."

"Deal."

- ^-^3

Despite the arrival of someone Terry never thought he'd see again, he slept like a log after dinner. He couldn't be bothered to tell Stephen the sofa folded out into a small cot, and he figured he wouldn't have to since, as Stephen had said, this arrangement wouldn't be for long.

But it was the first night in a very long time that Terry slept and dreamt not of ghosts but of living, breathing people. The loved ones he still held onto and held close to his heart. Even though he and Stephen hadn't been close in their school days and sure as hell wouldn't be close now, it was mildly comforting to wake up the following day and find his living room occupied.

But from where Terry stood by the door to his bedroom, he saw shadows under Stephen's eyes, and the other wizard tossed and turned. Terry frowned and walked over to him, gently shaking him by the shoulder to wake him. "Stephen. Stephen, wake up. Stephen, you're having a bad dream."

Stephen woke with a jolt and flung his arm out, knocking Terry's hand away and grabbing his wrist in the process. He glared—no, his expression was one of terror—at his host, and he took several breaths before he realized where he was and who Terry was. "Oh," he said between gasps. He released Terry's wrist, and the Healer rubbed the tender spot. "Sorry."

"Cripes, Stephen! That wasn't just some bad dream. That was a nightmare."

Stephen sat up on the sofa and swung his legs off, leaving the seat beside him empty, though Terry didn't join him. "Trust me, there are other nights that are worse. Hence the Sleeping Draught."

Terry didn't prod. Last night was a good indication Stephen wouldn't give him any answers anyhow. "If you really need some, I can whip some up tonight."

"Don't you have work?"

"I'm off today. I've got the day shift the next two days, too, so it won't be so bad, staying here, if you're used to more normal hours."

Stephen looked around the flat, much as he had last night when they'd come home. "Why'd you move here?"

"Part of it was a need for independence from my family, but that's really only a tiny part. The bigger parts are the short distance to work and the flexibility. If I'm here, it doesn't matter the shifts I take. I can come and go as I please without disturbing anyone else."

Stephen nodded. He waited as if offering Terry the opportunity to ask him one question.

But Terry didn't take advantage. He saw how Stephen looked at the abandoned stack of post on his desk and how Stephen kept sweeping his eyes around the room but lingered on the bookcase where Terry had displayed some of the photos of friends and family. "Would you like me to catch you up on the things you've missed?" Terry offered.

Stephen did a double-take; no doubt he'd expected Terry to select a more invasive question. He dumbly nodded, and he got up and followed Terry into the kitchen as the latter began to make breakfast.

"Let's see…," Terry began. He had an egg left but half a dozen frozen meatballs and a loaf of bread that wasn't yet moldy (Better than nothing, Terry thought as he prepared the meager meal). "Well, for the longest time, Michael, Padma, and I thought we were the only Ravenclaws in our year to survive. Padma and her twin don't look identical anymore, by the way; Pad's got this slight limp, and Parvati got hit by a curse, so her nose broke and was Healed improperly." Here he paused and eyed Stephen's left arm, which looked perfectly fine. "You should be completely fine, though, especially since you were seen to right away."

"Thank you," Stephen said.

"I already said you're welcome."

Stephen shuffled on his feet and scratched his jaw; he flinched when he realized how scruffy his cheek was. "Yeah, but…I never said that last night. So, thanks."

Terry shrugged.

"What about Lisa and Mandy and them? You thought I was Lisa last night, so." There was a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Yeah, she's a Healer, too. Michael, Padma, and I took an eighth year, during which we discovered Mandy was a new school ghost and after which I began my Healer training." Terry pushed on, ignoring the flash of hurt on Stephen's face hearing Mandy had died. "Dunno if you recall, but Lisa had been training with Madam Pomfrey in secret in seventh year, so she really could've skipped at least a year of training if she wanted to. But she and Su and Morag had gone missing in the tumult of the final battle, and she didn't return to us until 1999, so she and I started our training together."

Stephen took the few shaky steps towards one of the empty wooden chairs at Terry's small dining table and lowered himself into the seat. Then he rested his elbow on the table and held his head in his hand. "…they went missing?"

Terry sighed. He plated the food and put one plate in front of Stephen before sitting across from him. "Yeah. I'd been in Morag's group during the fight, but we never found her at the time." He swallowed a lump in his throat then and tried to think of the few times their group of friends had gotten together, and how much things had improved with Morag. But he couldn't swallow this lump—a lump of guilt—because, though she'd never said it aloud, Terry had long read in Morag's body language that she'd resented them for a long time for not trying hard enough to find her. And a part of him blamed himself, too, for believing that they really hadn't tried hard enough, had allowed themselves to be swallowed up by their grief that they'd let their last shreds of hope fly right out of their hands.

Like a cold splash of water to the face, it dawned on Terry that the same could be said of Stephen. Did he resent them, too?

He yanked his attention from his mug of tea and stared at Stephen, but Stephen either hid it well or was still caught up in all this news.

"…all right," Stephen said. "So Lisa's alive and well. Morag's back and well. Su?"

"Oh, uh. Yes. She returned around the same time as Lisa. A bit of up and down drama between them, but Su lives with her here on the second floor." Terry's grin was tight; he was happy for his friends, dearly, and he enjoyed spending time with them on occasion, but sometimes going downstairs made him too envious to be good company.

"Michael and Padma?"

"Ministry," Terry said between bites of food, and he pushed the proffered plate of food into Stephen's elbow until the later caved and began eating, too. "Michael's in the Office of Misinformation, and Padma began in the Ludicrous Patents Office, but she wormed her way to the position of Undersecretary to Minister Shacklebolt."

Stephen coughed around a bite of toast. "That…strikes me as something Granger would've done. Padma, Ministry ambitions?"

"Seems a funny turn, but she likes the work, and Hermione prefers effecting change in Magical Law Enforcement."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. When he was close to finishing his food ahead of Terry, he stopped and raised his head, meeting Terry's eyes as if to ask, "And you?"

"Not much else to say. I'm just a Healer. It's not a glamorous job, but it was one in high demand following the war," Terry informed him. "Probably the most spectacular things I've done have been separating a witch from her cauldron when she Splinched herself and landed in the wrong spot in her house and…oh!"

"What?"

"No, I just remembered I had a letter from Harry and Ginny, but I bet—" Terry held that thought and ducked out to the living room to grab their missive from his stack of post. He opened it, briefly observing the date and realizing it had been sent ages ago, and read it before he realized there was a photo, too. He grinned and sat back down, showing Stephen the letter and the photo. "I never opened this, but this was a highlight from last year: When I wrapped up my training last year, I actually helped deliver their first child. A baby boy. His name is James Sirius Potter."

Stephen read the thank-you note and watched the happy couple lift a pudgy baby's hand to wave at the camera. "He's a very…round baby."

"He was big to begin with. But healthy!"

Stephen smiled, and Terry noted that this was the first time Stephen had done so since they'd met again. It was a nice sight, Terry felt. "I'm guessing there have been a lot of them since the war?"

"Just the one Potter so far and two new Weasleys. But yeah, something of a baby boom." Terry pulled a face, and not because the egg on his plate tasted funny. "The wedding fever hasn't exactly died down, either. But I think we're immune."

"How so?"

"To my knowledge, Morag's the only one of us," Terry said, meaning their eagle group, "engaged. No clue what Lisa and Su's future is. Padma's rather in love with her work, Mandy's half of the ghost pair known as The Lovers, and Michael…I'm guessing is still his playboy self, but, now that I think of it, I'm not certain I can recall the last time I heard the git brag about a date or even a shag." He shrugged.

Stephen groaned uncomfortably, because there was no forgetting the Ginny–Michael–Cho drama from what felt like a lifetime ago.

They finished eating, and Terry set the dishes to washing themselves in the sink before going to his desk to tackle the task he'd avoided yesterday. He didn't mind Stephen following him around a little like his shadow, though Stephen had manners enough not to join him at the desk and be nosy (How Mandy of him that would be, Terry thought with a wistful, quiet chuckle when Stephen wasn't looking).

He penned the Potters well wishes for James, especially as the tot would be two in a few months' time, and he read his parents' news, general things and a mention that, no, no matter what Aunt Sabine said, Christmas was at their house this year, which only made him sigh. His cousin, Mitchell, was not the only cousin writing him, and most of the older ones had the grand idea to ditch their parents and celebrate Christmas together, though Terry would have to think about that one before making up his mind as to whether he had the time to join them…

Terry left the Goldsteins' letter for last, and his shoulders slumped. He was glad not to have an audience, for Stephen had picked up one of his heaviest magiomedical texts and been absorbed in it the last several hours.

Dear, Mr. & Mrs. Goldstein, Terry began to write,

Thank you for writing me again this year. I look forward to hearing from you—

He stopped. Not only did the words sound eerily familiar (was he caught in their same cycle? Was he writing the exact same letter he'd sent them these last several years?), but he found himself reading these words with fresh eyes.

Did he really look forward to hearing from them? Wasn't that just an invitation for this cycle to be never-ending?

Terry put his quill down and leaned his elbows on his desk, pushing his hands into his fringe and through his hair. Damn it. Damn it.

"You all right?"

Terry had been gifted his father's old study clock last year when he'd completed his training, and it sat on his desk atop the nook in such a way that its mirror-like face caught Stephen's concern in its reflection. "Fine," Terry spat.

But Stephen had set aside the text. He frowned at Terry's back before moving his eyes to the photo-laden bookcase. He inhaled.

It was clear as day the question primed on his lips, and Terry shot out of his desk chair, which would've caused quite the racket had it clattered onto the bare wood floor without the cushion of the rug underneath it. "No, you don't get to ask about him," Terry growled, the Goldsteins' letter crushed in his grip. He didn't wait for Stephen to respond before he stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

- ^-^3

Terry tried dozens of times, for the rest of his day off, to write a reply to Anthony's parents, but nothing came to mind. He took a break to grab a snack he treated as lunch, completely ignoring Stephen's presence, and he took a second break to make a bowl of instant Gurdyroot soup for his supper. His manners nagged him at that point, but he still refused to entertain Stephen further, so he merely left a second soup packet out for Stephen to make at his own leisure. After all, Terry was allowing him to stay here, but Terry hadn't signed up to wait on him, hand and foot.

Terry slept lightly that night. Partly he was perturbed; he knew his outburst wasn't wholly unfair, especially as Stephen had his own someone as a sensitive topic, but it'd been a while since Terry had last been so tetchy towards someone like that. But partly it was hard to sleep because Terry kept thinking about how he'd found Stephen earlier in the day, and he strained his ears, listening for the sounds of tormented sleep. Oh, he realized, turning on his side and pulling the covers up over his shoulders, I never did make him any Sleeping Draught…

Somehow, he drifted off, and he woke at a normal hour that Saturday when his alarm clock chirped at him like a baby hippogriff. Likely because the clock was a novelty one in the shape of a mini hippogriff, a gift from Lisa when they began training together. It was bewitched to nip his fingers if he tried to hit the snooze button. Terry sat up and turned the alarm off, and the clock only got one bite in, but he'd be fine since it didn't break the skin this time.

Happy birthday, Anthony, he wished silently, and then Terry began his day like any other.

Stephen, too, woke on his own. He was already up when Terry headed for the kitchen, though neither of them exchanged pleasantries. Stephen's eyes followed Terry into the kitchen.

"I'll be back at the end of the day," Terry said. He made coffee, drank a scalding mug of it, and poured himself a second cup. "If you're going to read, stick to the books piled on the floor, please. Stay out of my personal things." Actually, on that thought—Terry paused to wave his wand, and the door to his room swung shut with a squelching sound, Sealed off. "There's a stone garden out back, but I don't suggest leaving the building. Not only are you not a resident or known to others, but you risk bumping into Lisa or Su." Terry shrugged. "Especially Su. Another Healer installed a fish pond in the garden last year and has been teaching Su how to care for them, so she does a lot of the pond maintenance, but I find her there often on my days off, so I wouldn't be surprised if she's there even when I'm working."

"Noted," Stephen said.

Terry frowned into his mug, which he lowered to his navel. He finally looked at Stephen. "Look. I'm sor—"

Stephen shook his head. "Don't worry about it. We're even, as far as I'm concerned."

Terry's smile was tight.

Just then something knocked against his front door. Stephen jolted on the sofa, gripping the back and staring at the door like a cornered animal.

"Calm down, I know what it is," Terry huffed at him as he went to open the door.

"That sounded like a person," Stephen hissed quietly. "And I thought we both agreed about not springing me on the others."

Terry opened the door wide and gestured to absolutely no one whatsoever. Then he picked up the note on the floor and shut the door behind him. "Yep. It's a Knock-Knock Note from Su." He skimmed it and smiled a little. "The girls want to have me over for dinner tonight."

"Tonight?"

Terry pursed his lips. "It's the one night of the year that's hard to be alone," he confessed. "But they don't make a big deal of it. Just invite me over, y'know?"

Stephen furrowed his brow.

He had to swallow a lump of anxiety lodged in his throat before he could get the words out without stammering, but even then "Anthony's birthday" was barely more than a whisper.

Stephen dropped his eyes to the sofa cushions.

"But enough about that!" Terry said, too loudly, too forced, all in an effort not to pay attention to how wet his voice sounded. He grinned and flitted about his flat, ensuring things were in their proper places and that he had everything he needed before he headed out for the day. "I'll go shopping tomorrow after work, so try not to eat everything that remains. I'll, um. I'll see you this evening. I suppose."

His guest raised his eyebrows, skeptical of Terry's bravado. But, nevertheless, he waved to Terry and nodded, possibly the Stephen version of wishing him a good day.

- ^-^3

Lisa linked her arm with Terry's as they left work together that day. "Merlin! Days like this are just what we need," she declared.

Terry grinned. Though he'd spent the last few of Anthony's birthdays avoiding the painful topic, he actually enjoyed spending this day with Lisa and Su. "You do realize how difficult it is to walk like this, though?" he asked her as he tried to free his arm.

Lisa merely tightened her elbow around his. "Deal with it, Boot."

"I would if you weren't such a shrimp, Turpin."

She scowled at him, but it was all in good fun. Jesting like this…it was childish, and it was necessary, and it was perhaps something they'd missed out on, having to grow up so fast, going to school alongside the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Oh, by the way, I think I've filled out Michael's bingo card," he said, changing subjects.

Lisa gaped at him. "You're joking! You didn't really keep that?!"

"I mean, it was pretty funny and unnervingly realistic."

Lisa pulled on his arm when the foot traffic stopped for the Muggle lights and she faced him. "Terry, it's disturbing. He wrote down 'wand jammed in nose' on one of my squares." She shuddered. "I tossed it!"

"Yes, but aren't you curious to know what Michael owes me for winning? And I got the last square today with 'fake tattoo was actually an embedded spider.'"

She heaved a dramatic sigh. "…all right, I'll bite: What was your free space?"

Terry grinned. "The Golden Goose of Healer stories: 'delivered Harry's first kid.'"

Now the witch rolled her eyes. "You never waste a chance to bring that up, you know?"

"Huh. Really?" That hadn't occurred to him. He'd just thought of it recently given the Potters' note. James' birth actually had been tucked away in the far recesses of his mind for a long while now. He glanced at her as the lights allowed for them to cross. "What would you have used for your free space?"

Her round cheeks burned cherry red, so unflattering on someone with as pink a complexion as Lisa. "Um…'accidentally severed my own finger and had to reattach it.'"

Terry choked. "Shit! When did that happen?! First year of training? No, wait, that's a rookie mistake. Maybe when Pomfrey was guiding you?"

Lisa glared at him. "…this. Morning." Each word was short and sharp, and her look definitely could kill…

Luckily for Terry, they pulled up on the Healer complex. They looked up and spied Su waving from the second-floor window of her and Lisa's flat. Lisa and Terry waved, and Lisa was unaware of her happy hum as they looked up.

Terry craned his neck farther up to look at the end of the seventh floor—and his heart almost jumped out of his chest, as he hadn't expected to spot Stephen there. Terry tensed, but Lisa was distracted and, with a quick glance, Terry figured so was Su, so he risked a polite little wave to Stephen, although he determined to have a chat with him later, because he was fine with keeping a secret so long as the other party wanted the secret kept in earnest.

Inside, the Healers took the staircase to the second floor since it was a short trip. Su had the door open already to greet them, and she hugged them both after they shed their uniform robes.

"It's good to see you," Su, a woman of few words, said in that soft near-rasp of hers. The rest—that they needed to see more of their friends on a more regular basis, that Terry ought to feel free to barge in on them, and this and that—was said with the crinkle of her eyes as she smiled her typical slight smile.

"Good to be seen," Terry replied.

The Asian witch cocked her head to one side and ghosted her fingers over his head while Lisa hung up their Healer robes. "You could use a trim."

"I've been meaning to—"

Su shook her head and pointed to their loo. "Grab a towel for your shoulders. I'll take care of it before we eat."

Terry ducked his eyes and did as said, but it didn't bother him, Su's insistence. Joking around with Lisa, letting Su be a smidge bossy, having both of them physically close to him—it was comforting. Terry's family was a big one and one of the oldest Wizarding families, but he'd never had siblings, so he enjoyed how Lisa and Su acted like his sisters.

"Same as usual?" Su asked him when she stood over him where he sat on the edge of their bath.

"Yep. Anything fancy buggers the hell out of me."

She nodded and got to work with a Shearing Charm snipping and tidying his hair. It was funny; Terry was used to his mum doing this every summer, but that changed after he got his own place. Now he was used to Su (because the one time Lisa tried had been disastrous) helping him with his expertly choppy style… He easily felt like the youngest one here, though that was to the contrary.

"Looks great," he said by way of thanks when she finished and gestured to the mirror for him to have a look.

"Always happy to help," Su replied as they joined Lisa in the dining room.

Their flat was similar to Terry's, but each space could be spelled per the customization specs requested by the tenants. Where his flat had his large bedroom and an eat-in kitchen along with a full bath and shared living/study space, Lisa and Su had Expanded their kitchen to one-and-a-half times the size of Terry's with a separate, dedicated dining space adjoining it. The witches even had a small guestroom as well as their master bedroom, plus Lisa had a study. Their living room was the same size as Terry's, but it felt bigger because it was far less cluttered since it lacked the bookcase and hordes of books he kept strewn about his place. Lisa enjoyed cleanliness, but Su had a knack for keeping things tidy; it was yet another reason why he never minded visiting them when he got around to it.

Lisa already had dished up some casserole for each of them and opened firewhiskies for the other two. "Looking less like a slob," she quipped, her lips pursed but failing to suppress her smile.

"Tease all you want—there's been a lot on my mind lately," Terry said without thinking as he dropped into the seat across from her.

"Such as?" Su prompted. She took the chair at the end and turned her gaze his way.

Stephen's face flashed in his mind, but Terry gulped and knew that was not something to mention. "Just. You know. This schedule. It's hell."

"Oh, the wonky graveyard shift," Lisa stated. She pouted into her glass of gillywater. "Still haven't adjusted? It'll be a month next week, yeah?"

"Yes." Even thinking about it made him rub his eyes. "I don't know how anyone lives like this," he mumbled, "let alone minds other people around them." That was vague enough that even the sharpest Ravenclaw could read nothing into it…he hoped.

"True," Lisa agreed. They ate, Terry mostly poking at his food despite not having much at home, and she added, "Maybe you should request a new assignment, then? If it's too much."

Terry grimaced. That had occurred to him, but… "If I don't do it, someone else will have to, so…"

Su gave him a dry, half-lidded stare as if to say, "Really? Playing the martyr?"

He bared his teeth at her in annoyance, but Su was unfazed. "We've all faced worse," he snarled, and, with the heavy silence that followed, he left it at that.

Su pulled a pint of ice-cream from the freezer for dessert—a Florean flavor, since the store had been saved after the war thanks to the Belby family—and she dished some up for each of them. She and Lisa chatted quietly, leaving opportunities for Terry to join in if he felt like it but not forcing him to interact. As the night wound down, the couple knew their efforts would have little effect on his mood, and they didn't press to keep him. But Lisa did cover the rest of the casserole and shove it into his arms at the door.

Terry softened, his head finally dislodged from his arse. "Oh. You don't have to…"

"Rubbish," Lisa said. "You hole up in your flat so much, I bet you don't even recall the last time you went to the store, hmm?"

His cheeks warmed.

"Knew it. Just enjoy the leftovers and don't worry about returning the glassware. It's got a Return-to-Sender Spell on it, so it'll come home once you finish the contents."

Terry mustered a tiny smile. "Thanks for the head's up."

"And, Ter?"

"Hmm?"

"Just give what I said some thought, all right? No harm in that." Lisa's smile was timid, a tad strained, as though she worried he might snap at them again.

Instead, Terry gave them both quick hugs and headed upstairs. With the door locked behind him, he heaved a huge sigh.

"Dinner that bad?" Stephen asked.

Terry jumped. "Cripes, Ste—" He clamped a hand over his heart and nearly lost hold of the witches' gracious edible gift. "Turn on a bloody light!"

"Sorry." There was a pause and the overhead light flicked on. Stephen put his wand back on Terry's coffee table. "I nodded off while waiting. Didn't mean to scare."

Terry shot him a dirty look and stomped to the fridge. "They gave me the leftovers, so you can have some since I see I have…bread. And oatmeal. And milk"—he sniffed it and gagged—"that's turned. Never mind. I'm definitely going shopping tomorrow."

Stephen joined him in the kitchen. The first two nights, Stephen had kept everything on, cloak and shoes included. But he'd relaxed enough to shed his cloak at last, as if he really were just visiting. He crossed his arms in front of his shirt, which was crumpled from having slept in it yet again. He eyed Terry up and down before staring at his face. "…something's off."

"Oh." Terry scratched his cheek, happy no lock of hair brushed his finger there now. "Su cleaned me up. I feel a little more myself." He gave Stephen a quick onceover. "I can loan you a change of clothes, if you need, and you're free to use the kitchen and bath," Terry said. He had no clue what had happened to Stephen—or even to the Cornfoot family—but Terry couldn't rule out homelessness as a possibility in Stephen's case, and he went over in his head what he'd said to Stephen that morning. He hadn't meant to sound so gruff. "I wasn't trying to bar you from everywhere except the living room, you know," Terry said, frowning.

Stephen blinked and stood a tad straighter, leaving his arms to hang comfortably at his sides as he leaned in the doorway. "No, I understood that. I would've said the same, in your shoes."

Terry, too, stood a little straighter, glad that was cleared up. "All right then. Well, I do have the day shift tomorrow, so I think I'll tuck in now. Oh, and if you finish the leftovers—Lisa put a spell on the dish so it'll go right back to the girls once it's empty. Just a warning." He walked past Stephen. "Goodnight, Stephen."

"Goodnight, Terry."

- ^-^3

Shopping was a mindless task, as far as Terry was concerned; it made work look fun. He could breeze in and out of a Muggle market before a Muggle had long enough to pay him notice, and shopping in Diagon Alley had improved over the years now that fewer friends and classmates stopped him looking to chat just for "old times' sake."

That said, the notion to plan for the week ahead niggled at Terry. It'd been a few days having Stephen over, and Terry figured it wouldn't hurt to have enough food for two for at least the coming week. He bought only food, though, and some potion ingredients. If Stephen really needed clothes, then he could borrow from Terry, the Healer had meant that. If he wanted his own set of toiletries, then Terry would use a Multiplying Charm, easy to reverse after Stephen was on his way.

When he returned home that evening, he showed Stephen where he kept things in the kitchen so that Terry could get to work brewing a fresh batch of Sleeping Draught. It bubbled all the while throughout supper and was ready in time for lights out. There was enough potion to fill four phials, and he passed all of them off to Stephen after stoppering them.

"You didn't have to," Stephen said, but he cradled them against his chest out in the living room.

Terry shook his head. "Yes, I did. Now cough up whatever you have left over in those shitty phials." He held his right hand out and tapped his foot.

Stephen grumbled and went to the sofa where he'd folded his cloak into a makeshift pillow. "Your bedside manner's a little lacking," he muttered as he pulled the old phials from an inner pocket.

"But it gets the job done," Terry retorted. "Nice Extension Charm," he added while he studied the phials and wrapped them in a padded cloth. "Anything else in your pockets I should know about? I'll take these into the potions lab and do the analysis on them this week along with the sand remnants of the curse and see what I can find."

His guest shook his head.

Terry grew quiet for a beat. "I can't make this potion all the time, and you really shouldn't take it all the time, so I hope this will hold you for a while."

"Yeah, thanks."

The Healer fidgeted a little more, thumbing the cloth around the faulty phials. "You really all right here? Holed up, I mean."

Stephen shrugged, less an answer than a noncommittal gesture.

"Ah, right… 'Night."

"Goodnight, Terry."

But this time it was Stephen who walked away first, to put the Sleeping Draught away and make up the sofa. Terry's manners nagged him yet again, so he Conjured up a spare pillow and proper blanket on the back of the sofa. Stephen would see them when he turned around, after Terry had closed his bedroom door for the evening.

- ^-^3

The next day, Terry's second day off, was far less tumultuous compared to the last several. Aside from his scolding Stephen over being at the window the other day—"You realize how easy it would be for anyone to see you?"—they managed to keep the peace. Stephen appeared to appreciate the blanket and pillow, and Terry often caught his guest napping on the sofa throughout the week, always with the borrowed items in use…though his cloak was carefully folded on the floor and within reach.

As the week dragged on, Terry tested the curse's remnants and the phials Stephen had handed over. He often had time to let his mind wander while he waited for results, and his mind circled back to his conversation with Lisa and Su.

He supposed it was easier for the two witches since Lisa had better hours and they'd had years to adjust. But it was one thing for Terry to subject himself to this nonsense. Stephen…

…all right, frankly, he wasn't a terrible roommate, and he didn't seem to mind Terry's schedule, Terry begrudgingly admitted to himself. He paused to cross "toxicity" off his list for the sand sample. If anything, he figured, so long as Terry threw him a little bit of attention and kept him fed, Stephen was content to bum off him.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I've taken in a fucking cat," he groused aloud. Terry groaned at his epiphany and reminded himself to calm down and stop and think that maybe (just maybe) he might be drawing a bad comparison.

But then the second week of Stephen's stay was upon them. And Stephen had not budged.

Terry's tight smile around St. Mungo's began to ward off the crazies who liked to come in for a hit of feel-good potion, and even Lisa took notice.

"Um," Lisa said before heading out that Tuesday evening. "Terry, you're starting to scare…mostly everyone, mate."

He barely lifted his head from the stone counter where he studied the shoddy phials. "That's no concern of mine," he retorted.

He could hear her frown. "Right. Good luck with work, then."

"Mm."

Perhaps it was that Lisa had spoken up. Likely it was that he was getting nowhere with his investigation, which was a concern of his. But it also didn't help that the comparison smacked him right in the face when he got home that morning and, honestly, all Stephen was missing was the tail and ears, given the way he quietly turned on the sofa with interest in his eyes, his nonverbal "hello."

Terry gritted his teeth and ignored the fact that he enjoyed the company, enjoyed coming home to someone. "We need to have a little chat," he stated in a clipped tone.

If Stephen had been sleepy at all in the wee hour, he was fully alert now. He followed Terry at a safe distance as the latter marched into the kitchen to throw together a sandwich.

"I haven't pestered you," Terry reminded him. He pointed the butter knife at Stephen. "Which I realize now is far too gracious of me. But now you've got to tell me something, Stephen."

The taller wizard stiffened.

"What the hell even is your plan? Ponce off me forever?"

"…that's not…" Stephen's voice was quiet, but he clenched his jaw.

"It's been two weeks. If you really, absolutely need a roof over your head, then I am happy to help—but find a damn job, Cornfoot." Terry's voice had risen with the last few words, and he threw the knife into the sink before storming off to his room and slamming his door shut like any regular teenager or twenty-something having a tantrum.

- ^-^3

So much for keeping the peace.

The sometimes-awkward glance and usual comfortable silences between them were replaced with dirty looks and Terry's huffing whenever they crossed paths…which was not saying much given there was little space not to be in the same room unless Terry made himself a recluse, secluded himself in his bedroom or in the loo. But he wouldn't! This was his flat, for fuck's sake!

When they did talk, it was only Terry needling him to look for work, and his nagging eventually did the trick. Unfortunately, he found out on his day off, Stephen had ample time during Terry's work hours to get to the Prophet and to The Quibbler well before Terry, and whole sections (not just the Classifieds) went missing.

The petty side of Terry—who'd always had to take the four-poster next to Michael every school year and therefore had learned a few annoying tricks—resorted to balling up illegible remnants of newspaper and lobbing them at Stephen's head. Stephen scowled at him, but Terry stuck his tongue out at him, the irritating prat.

Meals had fallen to the wayside, as well. If there was no talking with one another, then there surely was no eating together, and Terry didn't go out of his way to make anything for Stephen. As far as he was concerned, he did enough to supply the food. Stephen could ruddy well make his own meals.

As frustrating as this was, Terry knew part of him was tired of this childish dance, too, especially with October wearing on. One such Sunday evening late in the month, he fretted that their little cold war would ruin yet another of his days off tomorrow, and he debated apologizing.

Though I don't quite have anything to apologize for, he thought while he waited to use the bath for the evening, as Stephen, the brat, had run in ahead of him.

Of course, even if Terry didn't believe he were a guilty party, he did believe in making things right while he still could. That was just a side-effect of thinking one had lost most of his loved ones to bloodshed…

With that sobering thought in mind, Terry stood up from his desk when he heard the bathroom door creak open. He clasped his hands in front of him and twiddled his thumbs, forcing his eyes to Stephen's face. "May we talk…?" His words trailed off, and his mouth hung open a little.

Stephen looked at home for once in proper pajamas (aha! So he did have some proper belongings lining the pockets of his cloak!), and he had one of Terry's hand towels draped around his shoulders. His dark brown hair was damp and looked nearly black, and Terry would realize later he'd given himself a trim, but the most obvious detail was that Stephen had shaved that permanent five o'clock shadow. In some ways, seeing him so fresh-faced was like looking into a Pensieve filled with Terry's memories from ten years ago.

But, with a jolt, Terry noted the longer, harder edge of Stephen's jaw. There was nothing soft, nothing of childhood in Stephen's profile as the other wizard patted the towel against his locks before casting a Heating Charm to finish drying.

"Terry?"

"Yes!"

Stephen furrowed his brow. "You wanted to talk." His sigh was huffy, as if expecting another fight.

Terry blinked. Yes, that was right. He wanted to talk…but his train of thought had derailed the moment Stephen had stepped into the living room. Damn. "Um. You're looking neater than usual." He winced. Revered Rowena, his wording was terrible…!

Stephen visibly bristled. "Thought I ought to. I have two interviews tomorrow," he stated, spitting out the dreaded word.

"Oh." Terry shrank back. "That's…that's nice. Um. Which jobs?"

Stephen didn't say.

Terry nodded. "Right. I'm kind of a git to ask, I understand…"

Stephen moved out of Terry's path and passed him the towel wordlessly. Ah. So he wasn't in the mood for conversation in the least bit.

Terry nodded again, a useless action in the face of their stalemate. Worse yet, his apology was stuck in his throat. He didn't like feeling like the odd one out in his own home, and he wanted this one thing to be said aloud.

Then again, some part of Terry knew that, if he managed to say one thing to Stephen, he'd let spill forth all the other things that he had (and hadn't) shared with their friends over the years. And if those things were said, then surely he and Stephen would never have peace, and Stephen might just disappear again.

Terry only mustered up the courage to say "goodnight" as they'd avoided that these last few nights, but Stephen robbed him of the chance. His guest had already tucked in for the night, going so far as to pull the blanket over his head and magically turn off the lights, leaving Terry alone to his thoughts yet again.

- ^-^3

On days off, Terry's hippogriff alarm was silent. Nevertheless, he woke at seven the next morning, hearing noise out in the living room.

Stephen was lacing his boots. He was dressed, which gave Terry a fright before he realized that Stephen had left a phial of Sleeping Draught on the coffee table and that his pajamas were rolled in a ball with the blanket on the sofa. And, upon closer inspection, Terry observed that Stephen was dressed nicely, in pressed trousers and a clean shirt in dark colors. He wore a different cloak, as well, so there was no hint he'd ever been the wizard walking into Terry's treatment room weeks ago, in need of multiple kinds of help.

Stephen glanced at Terry out of the corner of his eye. Then he paused and looked again, grasping he had an audience. He stood up straight and popped his cloak's collar, making a point of ignoring his host.

Terry frowned and wrapped his cardigan more tightly around himself. "Two interviews, yeah?" he asked.

Stephen fussed with a nonexistent piece of lint on his right cuff.

Terry hated small talk, but he was too tired to make this morning entirely painful for the both of them. He gave Stephen a tiny smile. "Good luck, then."

His guest paused a second time, but Stephen kept quiet as he headed out. The rejection left Terry more deflated than he cared to admit.

Normally, he appreciated days off, but Terry spent this one quite anxiously, trying to busy himself with household chores and chiding himself in short order for keeping things so regularly tidy. Reading reference texts and even reading for pleasure couldn't keep him from glancing at his father's desk clock every passing hour. Absentmindedly he realized it was Halloween, and he almost wanted to laugh at how they'd managed to put one of the most important holidays on the back burner…it also made Terry wonder where Stephen was looking, since Wizarding stores were less likely to be open today.

Stephen didn't return when Terry ate supper, nor did he show when Terry parked himself at his desk to wonder what had become of his…

Well, Stephen was certainly his guest and now his roommate, but they'd never really been friends before, even as teens. Terry wasn't certain he'd call them friends now, either, and he frowned as he considered whether that detail bothered him much. He fell asleep, head resting atop his arms on his desk, dwelling on that notion, his frustration evident on his face even with his eyes closed…

He woke in the middle of the night to find a weight on his shoulders—oh.

It was Stephen's blanket. …er, the blanket Terry had loaned him.

Terry sat up and pressed the heel of his left palm into his eyes, which were gritty with sleep dust. The light from the loo sliced through the living room from the crack made by the open bathroom door, providing Terry with enough detail of the scene behind him.

Stephen was back on Terry's sofa, in pajamas with his interview-worthy cloak draped over him since he'd placed the blanket on Terry. His face was turned away from Terry, though, towards the back of the furniture. His body language didn't give away how his day had gone, but his remaining phial of Sleeping Draught remained untouched on the coffee table.

It would be incorrect to say that relief flooded Terry, seeing Stephen back. But he had a calm as he got up, back aching, and stopped by the sofa on the way to his own room. He tugged Stephen's cloak free, folded it, and replaced it with the blanket before slinking off to sleep away the rest of the morning.

- ^-^3

When Terry awoke midday to start his day, Stephen was up already. They exchanged no pleasantries, but Terry glanced at him as he went back and forth between his room and the kitchen. Stephen made eye contact today, and he held it long enough that Terry had to be the first to look away.

Not long after, Stephen prepped to head out again, and Terry decided it was worth the risk to try talking again. His hope was bolstered by Stephen lingering at the front door. "Another one today?" he asked.

Stephen nodded. "…full week. I probably won't be up when you get in."

Terry briefly smiled. "No worries. I'll do my best not to wake you. And, Stephen?"

The taller wizard cocked his head ever so slightly Terry's way.

"Good luck."

Another nod. But this time Terry liked to imagine Stephen grinning a bit, too, as he left.

Such baby steps were the right measures to take with Stephen as the days passed. Stephen never told Terry how these interviews went, and it was hard to judge by his expressions—Stephen had a poker face that rivaled Su's, Terry learned—but he was more responsive to Terry's attempts at small talk now that Terry had lightened up on him as Stephen was job-hunting in earnest. Terry even poked fun at himself over the subject well into November now that they were back to eating together, at least on his days off and nights when he had day shifts.

"How do you mean?" Stephen asked, chuckling. They were eating sammies and chips, an impulse buy by Terry who had gone home a roundabout way and found an aromatic Muggle food cart parked at the street corner two blocks away. Stephen had inhaled half his meal already, and Terry didn't blame him; this was far more edible than a lot of what he'd had in his cupboards the past month and a half.

"Small talk is the worst," Terry bemoaned. "That's another reason to love being a Healer. You have to get right to the point. You can't mince words or you screw up."

Stephen shook his head. "You need brains for both. I don't have half the intelligence to understand your magiomedical texts, but there's an intellect of its own required for small talk. It's just an interpersonal skill, Terry."

"Yes, but…" Terry sighed and gave his guest a sad smile. He dropped his eyes to his glass of water. "I hate it. The one I knew who was best at it was Anthony."

They shared a moment of silence. Stephen dropped his shell once he understood Terry wasn't going to press him about Kevin, and they continued eating.

But Terry wondered if he might be allowed this one question. "Stephen, may I ask you one thing? About…that May."

Stephen flinched and studied his food wrapper. Yet he didn't say Terry couldn't.

"Why… Why did you disappear after the war?"

For a second, Stephen opened his mouth, and Terry thought they'd had a breakthrough. But then Stephen clammed up. He wolfed down the rest of his food and cleaned up after himself, making as though to end his night early without room for any further discussion, heavy or otherwise.

Terry grimaced into his glass. He honestly thought that would've been an easier subject than fallen loves. But the Healer's guilt over not searching hard enough for Morag back then returned, and he truly believed now that Stephen was the same way, had awoken to discover no one searched hard enough and resented them for giving up. Terry felt worse now in that he actually had had less guilt over Stephen because all they'd found of him was Stephen's school cloak left in utter tatters… This was one of those thoughts that he hadn't shared with anyone, that he'd long ago given in to the flight of fancy that Stephen had survived, that a tattered cloak wasn't a bloodied body, because Terry wanted so badly for someone to be alive, for someone to be angry at—he'd hoped and actually believed Stephen was alive, even though all the proof they had was to the contrary.

Stephen cleared his throat at the kitchen entryway.

Terry snapped his head up, eyes frantic. He wanted to undo the last minute and ask something else or nothing at all.

"Look, I—" Stephen frowned and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the tile. "I meant to say something earlier today. But I had an offer, and I took it. So I've got a job now."

"Oh. Stephen, that's great! Why didn't you say something? We could've been celebrating or—"

"Terry, I can move out now."

Was the heat in the building out? No…this felt a little like that first night stumbling across each other again. Like having a Dementor or two in the flat with them. "…what?" Terry asked after a two-second delay. Huh. And here he thought the only things that broke his brain these days were the Goldsteins' yearly letters.

"Thought you should know." He gave a jerky nod of his head in lieu of words, and he kept to himself for the rest of the evening, forcing Terry to pretend already that he was alone in his home.

- ^-^3

In the morning, the alarm clock chirped enough times that it had to hop off the nightstand and chomp on Terry's collarbone to convince him to roll out of bed. Terry shut it up, sorely tempted to throw it across the room, but then last night's memory of dinner came raging to the forefront of his mind. He hated that Stephen was already trying to keep a low profile…

Terry dressed and mentally ran through the day's schedule as he exited his room for breakfast. He wasn't sure how to start their morning conversation off without a hitch, but—

He stopped.

His flat wasn't just eerily quiet. It felt quiet.

He dropped his eyes to the sofa, finding it empty. He flicked his eyes to the kitchen—empty. Terry glanced back at the living room and caught what he'd missed on the first sweep:

The pillow resting atop the blanket, neatly folded.

No shoes or raggedy cloak in sight.

None of Terry's books out of place because someone else had been reading them.

No potion phial.

Not even a single crumb or hair.

Terry Boot was well and truly alone once more.

- ^-^3

The walk to St. Mungo's did nothing to shoo away the cloud over Terry's head. His miserable mood only worsened when he reached the potions lab and saw pieces of his tests strewn about—he never reached any conclusions regarding either the shoddy phials or the curse's remnants, so he scribbled in his notes "results inconclusive; poor potion materials," sent the file away, and cleaned everything up.

There. A fresh start. After all, everything looked brand-new at home, so why shouldn't his workspace be the same?

But it wasn't the same. Even though he was working with inventory today, he kept looking to the door, expecting Stephen to walk through as though this were a treatment room on the ground floor. He let his eyes linger even at lunchtime, and Lisa walked in to find him in this state.

Her wide eyes and furrowed brow said it all. "Goodness! Terry…"

He gave her his back and tried to busy himself with revising a file. "What can I do for you, Lisa?"

"It's lunchtime, Ter. But you look terrible!" She took a few steps closer, resting her lunchbox and hand on the nearby counter. "What in Azkaban has happened to you?"

"Not much," he fibbed. "Juggling a lot, you know."

The blond witch leaned to the left and peered at him until he glared at her out of the corner of his eyes. "That's hardly an angry glare you've got. You look—"

"Like what?" He stood and went to a far cabinet, not to do anything specific except to put distance between them.

"Sullen as sin." A pause. "You look as though someone tore your heart out," she added, her voice low and cautious.

Terry's hand froze on the bottle of powdered Sneezewort on the second shelf. His shoulders slumped. "I doubt it's that," he mumbled to himself, though he appreciated Lisa's frank appraisal. Then he raised his voice loud enough for Lisa to hear. "More like a punch in the gut. Metaphorically," he added, lest Lisa try to check him for injuries.

Lisa scoffed and threw her hands up, completely frazzled, as he returned to his work stool. "A punch in the gut? Terry, mate, what exactly happened?"

"Funny," he said, catching her confusion and concern and a little of her anger in seeing her friend out of sorts and using it to fuel a plan of his own, "I was just thinking I'd like to know precisely that."

- ^-^3

On any other occasion, he imagined Lisa would be proud to see him clocking out like a normal person and he would preen because, yes, he was perfectly capable of behaving like one of the more civilized folk.

Today was not that occasion.

Terry's day ended at the same hour as Lisa's, but he sped by her so fast that she was a blur in his peripheral vision. He thought he heard her call out "Have a good night!"—or possibly she told him off for running in the corridor—and either way he threw a dismissive hand over his shoulder, because he couldn't afford to spend the mental energy on his friend today.

No, not today. Not right now, with an idea churning in his head, an idea so bloody obvious that even a troll would've seen it.

The rear exit of St. Mungo's allowed for some modicum of privacy for Wizarding types, and Terry burst onto the cobblestone there, scaring nothing but rats as he twisted on the spot and Disapparated. A second later, he appeared with a pop in the stone garden at home, spooking Su at the fish pond, but he didn't stop for any friendly chat. He tore inside and stampeded up seven flights of stairs to his flat, too impatient for even the lift.

Terry didn't bother to shrug out of his Healer robes once inside his flat. He whipped around to his desk the moment he entered, shuffling through old copies of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler. No, nothing there save for what Stephen had left Terry to read.

Next he turned to the book stacks closest to the sofa. He picked each one up, thumbing through the pages, searching for scraps of parchment tucked here or there. Again, nothing. Not even a dog-eared page, which Terry appreciated for half a beat before he grumbled and resumed his search.

He found nothing under the coffee table, and the same went for the sofa itself. Terry tossed the cushions next and checked the folds of the loaned blanket. Still nothing.

Terry sat on his heels and surveyed the mess he'd created around him. Damn! All this effort, and Stephen really had left no mess behind. He hadn't looked it, Terry thought as he summoned a mental image of Stephen's initial disheveled state, but Stephen was quite tidier than—

Shit. Of course.

He scooted on his hands and knees under his desk and grabbed the waste bin from underneath. Without anything to protect his floor, Terry dumped the contents and scanned the pile for things he knew he hadn't tossed himself.

There were several balls of parchment, palm-sized and pressed tightly, compact, as if the person had wanted the rubbish not to be noticed. Terry counted two…five…eight…ten total. He set them aside and rounded up the rest of the rubbish before tackling these clues.

It took a little guesswork to open each one correctly without tearing Stephen's notes in the process. But Terry worked slowly just in case. He smoothed them out when he was done and made a pile. And finally he caught his breath.

This was better than nothing, and it was more than he had to go on this morning. Terry showered quickly and fixed something small to eat, but he picked at his food and downed a mug of coffee as he read through Stephen's prospective employers at the kitchen table.

The first thing Terry learned was that Stephen's handwriting was half elegant, half chicken scratch. He squinted in some places and turned pages and even held some parchment up to the kitchen light, but not everything was legible. That, or Stephen had some shorthand that Terry didn't understand.

The second thing Terry learned was that Stephen was absolutely desperate. One parchment had the store's name completely scratched out, but Terry read the address: Knockturn Alley. And he didn't feel much better finding notes on two different Muggle places offering barely minimum wage.

Most of the others had things crossed out, leaving Terry without enough detail to go on. But two gave him leads: One mentioned Florean's, with a giant question mark beside the shop name. Another simply said "Lizzy's" and had nothing but an address, though it was on Charing Cross Road, so Terry wondered how far it was from the Leaky Cauldron.

With two leads, Terry felt invigorated. It wasn't until he finally climbed into bed that he acknowledged he had no clue how he'd act should he cross paths with Stephen again, but he'd cross that bridge when he came upon it. For now, he'd settle for some sound sleep, as he knew how he planned to spend his day off.

- ^-^3

Terry was chomping at the bit to start his day, so it was hard to sleep that night, and still he ended up waking on the early side. Nevertheless, he planned on checking Florean's first, and Florean's wouldn't be open until almost noon.

The wait was excruciating, and Terry forced himself to take a walk up and down Diagon Alley when he arrived half an hour before the parlor's opening. His skin crawled when he passed Knockturn Alley—Really, Steve? Terry thought with a grimace—but the reminder that Morag was an Auror and would probably set Stephen straight right quick if he got mixed up in anything bad provided Terry with an iota of comfort…until he realized it meant telling her and, in turn, the others about Stephen's return. Ugh.

Lost in his grumblings, Terry was not the first customer in the restaurant, but at least it wasn't quite as packed in November as it was in a summer month. Plus it helped that Terry didn't get in line. Instead, he took up post by the windows, watching the counter and the kitchen door.

But the only people he saw were his upperclassman, Marcus Belby, and two witches, a woman with round cheeks to match Belby's and who therefore had to be his mum and a reedy woman with jet hair whom Terry didn't recognize.

Terry's breath hitched when someone else emerged from the kitchen, hefting something large…but it was some blond bloke Terry had never seen. So Terry admitted defeat for today and left, acknowledging that perhaps he didn't know Stephen's schedule yet. Although, the more he thought about the possible exposure to old classmates, the less likely Terry thought Stephen would turn up here.

He exited Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron and exited the pub to put himself on Charing Cross Road. Terry pulled the note from his cloak's breast pocket to double-check the address before turning left up the street and keeping his eyes peeled.

Terry went half a block before circling back to a nondescript storefront. It was painted in a drab blue–violet and was roughly double the width of the Leaky Cauldron's Muggle London entrance, providing room enough for a door and a small window display.

He walked backwards until his heels met the kerb and craned his neck up. The store's name was faded, but yeah—this was Lizzy's. And, much to Terry's surprise, the longer he stared, the more pronounced the gold paint used for the store's name became. The blue–violet trim turned a more saturated hue, like plump grapes, and then the store's name changed:

Lizzy's became Invisi-Lizzy's. Yet another Wizarding venue hidden in plain sight in the Muggle world.

Terry's confidence enjoyed the boost, sniffing out better luck here. He took another look at the window display, and now he saw past the mannequin, spotting a rack of Invisibility Cloaks. The name made sense now.

He hurried to the door and poked his head inside. It was a well-stocked store, almost cluttered like Flourish and Blotts except with clothing. There were several customers, Muggle and witch alike, and a pretty woman with light brown hair ran the register. She looked up and gave Terry her best customer service smile when the bell above his head rang out to announce his arrival, but then she paid him no further mind as she busied herself with something behind the front counter.

Terry breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Better to survey the place without eyes on him—

He froze when a second employee joined the first woman. Terry couldn't fathom his surprise—this was the entire point of making the trip out here today, yes? Either way, there was Stephen, dressed like a Muggle shop clerk and chatting with his coworker. Terry thought he looked a little pale, but that could've just as easily been the poor lighting in here or the fact that it was overcast today.

He didn't have long to dawdle, though, as the woman lifted a hand to point Terry's way. Terry practically saw everything in slow motion, her gesture and Stephen beginning to turn his head. The Healer barely had enough notice to duck back outside, and his heart pounded in his chest as he hid on the other side of the window display.

But the door closed behind him. No one came chasing after him. Ah. He really had gotten away with being mistaken for simply another customer.

A tiny part of him was disappointed by that, but Terry decided not to analyze why. He headed home feeling quite victorious. Sure, he had no clue where Stephen lived and he didn't know Stephen's hours at the shop, but this was a start. This was something. And something was better than nothing.

- ^-^3

Smart though he was, not even Terry could glean much from that one outing. He spent the rest of his free time that week trying to determine Stephen's schedule, because he didn't want to risk Stephen's job with a public spat in the middle of the store.

This was not an easy task. With his own schedule in effect, Terry slept away what he determined were the core hours Stephen worked during the week. On Friday, his day off gave him ample opportunity to eat breakfast and lunch outside on a bench parked across the street from Invisi-Lizzy's and simply observe.

He never did see Stephen leave before Terry headed to St. Mungo's for his graveyard shifts. But Stephen did go for a walk around lunchtime on Friday, so Terry took a walk himself during lunch on Saturday. This drove Lisa batty, since he never left the hospital even for breaks, but Terry wanted to gather more evidence to support his theory. He took another walk on his lunch break on Sunday, too, and, lo and behold, so did Stephen.

Emboldened, Terry waited outside Invisi-Lizzy's Monday afternoon. His legs ached after fifteen minutes, and he grumbled; he didn't think he'd become so sedentary, but his core and limbs clearly protested…

The shop bell jingled on Terry's left. "I'll be back shortly," Stephen called with a friendly wave over his shoulder. He grinned—until he turned and nearly literally crashed into Terry. Stephen pushed the door shut behind him. "What are you doing here," he groused. It wasn't a question at all.

Terry fell into step with him as the taller wizard set a quick pace down the pavement. "Thought I'd say hullo."

Stephen's shoulders dropped and he shot Terry a look. Not impressed. "You're interrupting my lunch break."

Terry bit his tongue to keep from revealing that he knew.

"I thought Frobisher said something about seeing a smarmy-looking bloke outside the store the past week. Didn't think it was you, though."

The Healer's hackles rose. "I'm not smarmy!"

Stephen smirked as Terry realized the trap. "But you don't deny you've been outside the store?"

"That—I—" If there were an Order of Merlin for Floundering, Terry had earned it.

Stephen turned on his heel. They were close enough that his shoulder clipped Terry's, and the Healer rubbed the sore spot while Stephen zeroed in on him. "Terry, look. I haven't determined yet if it were a mistake to return…but it's clear as day that you and I don't get along." His eyes roved over Terry, and Stephen sighed. "Surely you've better things to do?"

Terry glared at him. "Let me worry how I spend my time."

"Not when it interferes with my life. I don't like you showing up here." He said it with finality. And he left when Terry offered no retort.

- ^-^3

But Terry had given up back in 1998. He'd learned from that lesson. He wasn't giving up this time around. It was 2005, for Merlin's sake!

Since he'd already been found out, Terry didn't bother to make himself as inconspicuous as before the next few days. He stopped each day at the store, going out of his way to work, to peek in the window. The woman at the register—Frobisher, Terry assumed—raised her eyebrows at him on Tuesday but offered up a smile the next two days, even pointing him in Stephen's direction on the floor on Thursday evening.

Stephen's wide eyes showed his surprise on Wednesday before he gritted his teeth and made a point of ignoring Terry. And it was the same the following day. And he tried to make it the same Friday, when Terry lingered outside the door and debated entering the shop and giving Frobisher some business since there was a chance his presence had chased away a few potential customers…

But Terry snapped out of his thoughts when Stephen stomped out the front door at noon sharp and nearly slammed the door shut behind him. "Hullo," Terry offered with a meek smile.

"Hi," Stephen spat. "Thought we already had a talk, Boot."

"Actually, we haven't."

Stephen furrowed his brow. "…what?"

Terry glanced across the street. "Have a sit with me?"

Stephen gave him a skeptical look, but the pair of wizards sat on the bench where Terry had observed Invisi-Lizzy's for a week. "You haven't hit your head, have you?" Stephen asked.

"You said you and I don't get along."

Stephen groaned. "Don't start."

"How would you even know?"

Ah, a look of confusion.

Terry's smile was small. "Stephen, how can you say we don't get along when you and I haven't really talked? Every time we have the chance, we don't take it."

Stephen focused on a loose thread on his left knee. "…more like, every time we have the chance, we make it a fight."

Terry laughed darkly. "Talented, aren't we?"

They sat quietly for a minute.

"Stephen, let's…let's just have dinner," Terry said, improvising. "And you can talk. About anything you like. And I'll listen."

Finally, Stephen lifted his head. He raised his eyebrows.

"Really. I'll only speak up if you ask something of me. Healer's honor."

Stephen shook his head…but he chuckled. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"Just sometimes." They stood together and crossed the street. Terry stuck with him as they walked along the storefronts, and Terry frowned. "We can eat wherever you like. I didn't say that, intending to force you to come over."

"No. No, it's fine." Stephen inhaled and blew out a big, foggy breath. "It's best to have dinner at your place anyway. No one to stumble across us. No worries about interruptions." There was a faraway look in his brown eyes.

Terry reached out, touched his hand so Stephen snapped out of his daze and didn't walk into oncoming traffic. He met the other wizard's eyes. "You know you don't have to tell me anything you absolutely don't want to. And you don't have to tell me everything or even everything in one night. It's just dinner and the opportunity to chat, Steve. That's all." He pulled his hand back once Stephen nodded.

"All right. I, um. I get off at seven."

"I know."

That brought Stephen's annoyance back. He huffed while Terry laughed. "Don't make me rethink this, Boot."

"See you tonight, Cornfoot."

- ^-^3

Terry had plenty of time to shop and prep roast chicken thighs and vegetables for two, knowing that Stephen was likely to arrive shortly after his shift. There was Dirigible Plum pie for dessert since it was the season, but Terry had it there just in case, because the sweet aftertaste was enough to brighten up even the grimmest of nights. (He knew. He'd eaten it twice, out of season, when he thought he'd failed his practical exams during training. The pie had made him feel exponentially better right away.)

Someone knocked on his door at seven sharp.

"Coming! Coming, coming," Terry said. He hurried to the door and opened it.

Su stood on the other side. She quirked an eyebrow. "…nice apron."

Terry tore the frilly powder blue thing off his waist. "It was a hand-me-down from Mum and don't you dare say a word to Lisa," he hissed.

The dark-haired woman peered around him. "You're expecting someone," she correctly guessed.

His neck burned with heat. "I'm—just cooking something nice. Haven't treated myself in ages."

Su's gaze was unflinching. She didn't buy it.

"I'm celebrating?"

She blinked slowly at him.

"Yes, I'm celebrating. I'm finally used to my schedule." Though, as he said it, Terry realized it wasn't a lie. Somehow he wasn't as worn out by the heinous hours St. Mungo's gave him. That had become less a priority with his need to figure Stephen's whereabouts.

"Oh." Su smiled. "That's good to hear. We've been worried. Lisa said you've been jittery at work, as well, so I thought I'd check up on you." She patted his arm. "Lay off the caffeine, Terry, and enjoy your meal."

He laughed as Su left. Those two really did know him well…!

Terry arranged everything in the kitchen and stepped back to appreciate his handiwork. It looked like a spread out of Witch Weekly, complete with proper napkins and utensils. Then his eyes fell on the state of the living room, which he'd never put in place after tearing through it two weeks ago.

Another knock on his door.

Shit.

"Just a minute!" he yelped. He swished and sliced his wand through the air. The last item, the blanket, folded itself into place right as he opened the door and greeted Stephen. Terry beamed at him. "Hello."

Stephen furrowed his brow. "Why are you out of breath?"

"I'm fine," Terry fibbed. "Just nervous." There, not a lie. "I don't want to cock up again tonight."

Stephen snorted. "Shall I call you out on it when you do?"

"Hey! 'When'? I don't at least get the benefit of the doubt with 'if'?"

Stephen shrugged out of his cloak—he looked clean and interview-ready from head to toe tonight, not a hint of raggedness in sight—and draped it over the back of the sofa. He fixed Terry with a dry stare.

"All right, all right, I hear you loud and clear… Come on, let's eat," he said. He led the way into the kitchen. "Firewhiskey?" he offered as Stephen sat.

"No, thanks. I'd rather be sober for this."

Terry's smile was tight and awkward. Oh, revered Rowena. What the hell did Stephen plan on saying?

They spent the first few minutes eating, without conversation at all.

Terry pointed to their plates with his fork. "Do you like it? It was something quick"—lie—"but I've had it before"—lie—"so I thought it was a good option for tonight." (Actually not a lie, just a hope.)

"No, 's good." They lapsed back into silence.

Terry began to wish he'd grabbed a firewhiskey at least for himself. It might make the stiffness easier to bear. Especially, he decided, when they finished eating and sat nursing their glasses of gillywater.

Stephen leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. His eyes flicked to Terry's face every so often, but then he stood from the table without warning and went into the living room.

Terry grumbled to himself. He waved the dishes into the sink and followed his guest.

In the living room, Stephen stood in front of the photo-laden bookcase. His head moved from side to side while his eyes scanned the photos, and he didn't shy away when Terry crept up beside him. "You said I could ask you things," Stephen said.

Terry knew what he wanted to ask. But he was ready for it this time. He wasn't going to bite Stephen's head off again. "Yes," he confirmed.

"You have photos…of everyone. Except him. There's nothing of Anthony on your shelf."

Terry gripped his glass for dear life. But he also willed himself to relax, easier done than thought as it occurred to him that he'd spent less time, for the first time in his life, obsessing over Anthony's absence these past two months. He felt simultaneously guilty and relieved, as if the shadows in his flat were finally just shadows and not voids that ought to have been filled by an alternate future made impossible by a war forced upon them. "…not quite," Terry confessed.

Stephen glanced at him.

Terry reached for the Charms text on the top shelf. He cracked it open, revealing some photos stuffed between the pages. "He's just tucked away. Not gone. But ghosts…" Terry closed the text and returned it to the shelf. He thought of Mandy at Hogwarts and of working at a hospital. "Ghosts at St. Mungo's are expected. Ghosts at Hogwarts are an exception. But living with ghosts at home is unwise." His words sounded sharp to his own ears, but he knew the truth in them, and he wondered if he might ever convey that to Anthony's parents.

Stephen stared awhile longer at the other photos, watching the Boot family send an eleven-year-old Terry off to Hogwarts at Platform Nine-and-Three–Quarters, seeing Terry with Padma and Michael as they walked away from Hogwarts for the final time in 1999, matching photos of him and Lisa starting and finishing their training (the first uncomfortable because they'd had to relearn how to be friends, the second as amiable as all get out because they'd made it through together). There were other family photos, as well, plus assorted ones from friends; Padma and Michael stood quite proudly inside the Ministry's Atrium in one, and Lisa yanked Su into the frame in one rare instance. There was a Dumbledore's Army photo taken at the fifth anniversary of the war, and Terry had placed Harry and Ginny's photo with James in front of it since it was a cheerier memory.

Terry looked on with him. But he mentally sifted through the other texts on the shelves. He had other photos, of course. Things from their younger years. There were probably photos of all of them, shots with Stephen and/or Kevin in the background, not to mention a corporeal Mandy. He didn't mention it, but he'd show Stephen if asked.

Ultimately, his guest slogged over to the sofa. He sat on the end closer to the kitchen and rested his elbow on the armrest.

Terry watched him, too nervous to move without permission. But then Stephen caught his eye and jerked his head to the empty space on his right, and Terry sat with him.

"I don't know how you do it," Stephen said.

"Do what?"

Stephen gave him a wry smile…or, it'd be wry if it weren't so bittersweet. "You and Anthony. We all knew. It wasn't just us eagles. The whole year knew."

Terry coughed to hide his embarrassment. He swallowed a large gulp of his gillywater. "A worse-kept secret than Granger and Weasley or Abbott and Macmillan?"

"You were right, though."

Terry focused on his glass.

"About Kevin and me."

He drank more. Stephen wasn't looking for interruptions.

Stephen placed his glass on the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa. "It was after fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament. I think…a lot of us started to grow up right around then. And Kevin was just…" He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "He was a worrywart, you'll recall. Even before seventh year turned to shite. But he knew he couldn't worry all the time, and he was a tiny bundle of energy the rest. Far too inquisitive for his own good."

Terry slowly faced Stephen and studied his profile.

"He tried planning as best he could when you D.A. lot holed up in the Room of Requirement. I only studied up on spells as best I could because I couldn't keep up with the potions he was making. But, even then, sneaking spells and potions to you lot only did so much…"

Terry knew. He recalled quite vividly when Stephen and Kevin had come running together and joined those taking refuge in the Room of Requirement that late spring. He also remembered some teasing that had gone on back then when groups were formed, and Stephen and Kevin attempted to deny their feelings…yet they ended up in a group together. Terry and Anthony?

Anthony had refused. He'd told Terry they'd both be distracted, so they'd split up to fight in completely opposite directions.

A load of good that had done. Terry's group had consisted of Morag, Mandy, and Romilda Vane. They almost lost Romilda right out of the gate, but in the end Morag had been hopelessly lost and Mandy, dead.

Stephen cleared his throat and squeezed his right knee. He clenched his jaw. "Kevin was hit by the Killing Curse. I barely had time to register that before I was sent hurtling out of the castle." He scoffed. "So many goddamn explosions that night…"

Terry glanced at the hand squeezing the knee; Stephen's knuckles were white. Terry scooted a smidge closer in the hopes that Stephen would lighten up on himself.

"A part of me died with Kevin that night, Ter," Stephen whispered. That was all. He stopped there and faced Terry. His eyes were wide with horror, as though it were fresh and not a lifetime behind them.

"I empathize," Terry said. He put his glass down and turned his whole upper half towards Stephen. "I was so angry when I found Padma and Michael that I searched for Anthony's body on my own. And…" He dropped his eyes to Stephen's shoulder, ashamed. "For years, I resented the Gryffindors in our year. None of them died. I know I mentioned Parvati. But, with the exception of Lavender Brown almost succumbing to Greyback's attack, I truly believed they got off relatively easily. Almost unscathed." He cupped his cheek in his palm.

Stephen's wide eyes calmed as they roved over Terry's face. "…how did you put that anger and resentment behind you?"

Terry laughed darkly. "Honestly?"

Something flickered in Stephen's eyes at the word. But he relaxed and nodded, even smiled. "Yeah."

"Sometimes I think I didn't. Other times I think I just brushed my anger off and leaned heavily on Padma and Michael and my parents. And the resentment…the resentment crumbled away when I acknowledged the only thing it was doing was hurting me. And…"

Stephen raised his eyebrows.

Terry never imagined he'd admit this aloud. "It sounds ridiculous. Even for us magical folk. But, somewhere along the way, I began to believe you were still alive."

"Even though the girls were missing and I was—actually, you never said, but I'm assuming I was presumed dead?"

Terry nodded. "All we found of you in the wreckage was your school cloak in pieces. It was nothing to go on. But a silly part of me…wanted you to be alive so I could yell at you or something. I dunno," Terry groaned, and he dragged a hand over his face and then left his hand there to hide behind. "I think it was just a silly hope that one more of us was alive, is all."

His father's desk clock ticked in the ensuing silence. But Terry could hear the tiny smile in Stephen's voice as he remarked, "…thanks."

Terry peeked between his fingers. "For what?"

"For wishing me to be alive."

Terry pulled his hand away and reached for his glass, again wishing for firewhiskey. He didn't know how to handle that soft smile of Stephen's. "It was a baseless hope. Completely illogical. At odds with Ravenclaw House."

Stephen shrugged. "It's the sentiment that counts."

Terry leaned his elbows on his knees, watching how comfortable Stephen was over his shoulder. "…I know you didn't say, but I don't blame you if you still hold anger and resentment of your own from back then. Morag," he confessed, "took years before she befriended us again. She thought we'd given up on her, too. It was only with Romilda's help that she came around. 'S probably one reason why they're engaged, the persuasive girl." Terry finished his gillywater and waited for Stephen to react.

"No," Stephen said after a while. "It never quite entered my mind to resent you," he elaborated when Terry cocked his head. "And the only one I was angry with was Kevin. I had wanted nothing more than to run away the moment Potter and his mates arrived in Hogsmeade, but I said nothing. I knew Kevin wasn't going to change his mind about helping the D.A., so it was pointless." He snorted. "So I was a little angry with myself, too."

Again, Terry could empathize. But he kept his analog to himself.

Stephen sat up straight. "I came to sometime after the battle was over. I saw Kevin's body had been moved, but I didn't try to find any of you. I just—I couldn't. I hobbled out of the area on a broken leg," he said, patting his lower right leg, "and Apparated to a nearby village."

Terry gaped at him and couldn't help looking at his leg. "You're joking!"

"Nope. I relied on a Muggle couple who lived on the village outskirts. They helped me the first week or so. After, I wiped their memories of me and finished the healing process on my own."

He couldn't help himself: "But—! We had Healers at the castle, Steve! If the break had been worse or cursed, they could've treated it right away."

"My leg's fine," Stephen insisted. "Besides, I had enough to deal with when I did go home."

Terry shut up. This was a piece of the puzzle he didn't have.

Stephen scratched his neck and bit his lower lip. "When…I got home, things were bad. Some of my family were gone, dead in the war—I never knew during the school year because of the issue with the takeover and the post being inspected. And my dad was—is—out of his mind. He'd spent all our money on crappy enchantments to protect the house." He cursed under his breath. "If Mum had still been around, I know that wouldn't've happened."

Terry frowned and leaned his way. "What about your extended family?"

The dark-haired wizard shook his head. "They've cut him and, by extension, me off. So I'm essentially on my own." Stephen rubbed his brow. "That's why you saw me in such a sorry state and why I can't afford nice potion things. I've got no family ties left, Terry."

"So then, the job…?"

"A stroke of luck. Lizzy Frobisher is a fellow Hogwartian—I think she mentioned she and her twin were in Ginny Weasley's year?—and she owns that store. I explained my delicate situation, and she was willing to give me a go. The store makes a lot of money on the Muggle side, but the Invisibility Cloaks are decent quality, too, and she's very pleasant. Her fiancé works part of the year on a Demiguise conservation collecting the materials they need to make their cloaks. I was thinking," Stephen said with a wince, "that if sticking around here is too risky, bumping into the others, then I'd ask her if I might take a fieldtrip to the conservation with her fiancé. Work somewhere more remote."

"Oh." Terry pouted. "Yeah…yeah, I can see the pull." He exhaled slowly.

"What?" Stephen playfully bumped his shoulder against Terry's. "I'm probably getting ahead of myself, Terry. I'm a brand-new hire."

"No, just…" Terry glanced at him and blinked a few times to get his brain back on track as he noted how close Stephen sat. "I'm just wishing our House had been better mates. It makes me…sad to think that you and Morag stayed away for so long. Even Lisa and Su didn't return for a while." He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes. "Perhaps the lions deserved their luck in the final battle because their bonds were better. Otherwise, wouldn't we have banded together sooner?"

Stephen sat with him awhile in silence. The flat no longer smelled of their delicious dinner, and it was quiet enough that they could hear the children of the family of four down the hall running around their home. "Maybe these things just take time," he uttered.

"Maybe…" They stared at each other, Terry's pout still in play. "You didn't have to move out, you know. I'm sorry I made you feel you had to."

Stephen blinked. "You didn't. I was—I think I made too many assumptions about us." He made a contrite expression. "After all, we hadn't really talked before, had we?"

Terry nodded. He went over the last few hours in his mind, absorbing all the information and coming to terms with how much of himself he'd shared tonight. But one thing still stuck out to him about their situation. "You should at least come back here."

Stephen chuckled. "The spot I'm renting from Frobisher's not exactly a hole in the wall; it's livable. 'Sides, I thought you like keeping things a certain way?"

Something told Terry not to blurt out that Stephen actually meshed quite well with how Terry lived, although even the passing thought made the collar of his shirt uncomfortably warm. "You can live here, Steve. That way…" Terry chewed on his bottom lip. He flipped through the new information again until he seized upon his most convincing argument, and then he locked eyes with Stephen. "That way you don't have to cry alone."

Stephen's grin dimmed. He chuckled again, sure, but his shoulders slouched and his voice was tinged with sadness. He met Terry's eyes. "Yeah? Who said I was crying?"

Terry sat quite still. If he leaned to the left, Stephen…could rest his head on Terry's shoulder, yes, that was all. Terry now was acutely aware of their proximity, and he broke the tension by grabbing Stephen's cloak to pass to him. "Sorry," he blustered. "I'm not trying to assume anything."

That snapped Stephen out of his funk, too. He took his cloak and got to his feet. "No, don't worry about it." He donned the item and lingered until Terry caved and walked him to the door (so silly; the door was barely four steps from the sofa). "I— Thank you, Terry. For tonight."

Terry grinned, though his chest was tight. Must've overeaten, he thought. "It's not a problem. I'll see you around, Stephen."

Stephen hesitated. His lips parted as though to say something, but he must've thought otherwise. He nodded instead and exited Terry's flat.

- ^-^3

Terry only spent one night feeling down on himself. When he got home that Saturday from his day shift and the lift doors parted on the seventh floor, he found Stephen leaning against the wall beside his door. His surprise and delight mixed and nearly burst forth. It was all Terry could do not to jump on Stephen and grab him in a gigantic hug—but no, he wouldn't. After all, they were barely friends, and people didn't go around suffocating their barely friends in hugs.

"How the hell did you get in?" Terry asked him as they went inside.

Stephen pursed his lips. "Yeah, about not being seen…"

Terry halted and whipped around, causing Stephen almost to crash into him.

"Don't worry. It wasn't Su or Lisa." Stephen shed his travel cloak and jerked his head at the door. "The Watts family down the hall. Mrs. Watts has seen me a time or two, and I told her we were mates. She was happy to let me in today."

Terry's ears burned. Had he been wrong? Did Stephen really consider them mates…? Ah, no, of course. It was the only plausible, safe explanation for Stephen crashing at Terry's, as Terry almost never had company. "I see. Then what brings you today?" He gave Stephen half a smile. "Can't say I expected to see you back after last night. That was…more than I've spoken with anyone. In ever?" He laughed dryly. "So I thought you'd want some distance after how heavy things were."

"Oh." Stephen leaned on the back of Terry's desk chair while the latter hung up his Healer robes. "Then should I have not taken you seriously last night?"

"Come again?"

"You said I should move back…"

Terry's brain was on that two-second delay again. He gaped at Stephen. "But I thought— You said Frobisher—"

Stephen ducked his eyes. "Honestly?"

"What?"

Stephen shrugged. "Even knowing I can't come and go freely, I've liked living here."

Terry scoffed. "You liked having the free roof over your head," he corrected.

"That, too," Stephen said, though it was an obvious prod as he snickered when Terry bristled. He drew closer to Terry, though, and reached behind the Healer for where he'd draped his travel cloak on the nearer arm of the sofa. He felt around in the right breast pocket and withdrew a phial—the last phial of Sleeping Draught Terry had made him. "But I still have this. Even with all our bickering, I've had my best nights here. I haven't had to use this, and I'd like to keep it that way."

There was a more logical part of Terry that tried to explain to him that Stephen's words said nothing at all, that what Stephen had said was admitting having a means to an end. But it was rather hard to hear that part with Stephen standing awfully close. And, when Stephen set aside the potion and cloak and kept staring at Terry, it was rather hard to think altogether.

Stephen's eyes roved over Terry's face and—wait, when had that started? How had Terry not noticed before?

Terry slipped out of reach, his mind a muddled mess. "I'm glad to have you back," he blurted before he regained control of his mouth.

Stephen's smile was the last thing he saw before Terry hid in his room until suppertime. "Good to be back."

- ^-^3

Having Stephen back felt more natural, oddly enough. Terry had come to expect the taller wizard's lanky form on his sofa—or on the pull-out now, since Terry had confessed at dinner on Stephen's first night back that he didn't have to cram himself onto the narrow piece of furniture. Sure, Stephen had huffed and bitched that Terry could've told him that a helluva lot sooner, but that didn't turn into an argument, nice enough.

These days, Terry came home in the wee hours to an occupied living room, and the sight filled him with peace. Stephen still didn't leave many of his own things strewn about, but tiny parts of him began to crop up around the flat: His shoes parked by the sofa's end, his travel cloak hung on the hook usually occupied by Terry's Healer robes, a bag he left stowed under the coffee table, and a proper notebook Terry had seen him write in when perusing Terry's reference texts. Offhandedly, Terry noted he'd have to ask Stephen about buying other necessities he needed, unless they wanted to lessen their risk of encountering familiar faces and go out together to some shop nowhere near local.

Graveyard days put their schedules at odds, so often Terry would head out as Stephen came home. It always felt like a missed chance, especially if Terry dithered and devolved to useless chatter and Stephen listened with bemused interest and a suppressed smile toying with his lips.

On day-shift days, Terry liked to swing by Invisi-Lizzy's and pick Stephen up. Stephen had turned him down the first time he did this, a week after moving back. "You're literally going out of your way to do this," Stephen pointed out.

"Pish-posh. It's exercise," Terry stressed as they crossed the street. "Exercise is good for you."

Stephen didn't refute him. Again, he eyed Terry as if Terry were the world's most entertaining creature.

Those nights were best. It was easy to move from playful bickering into getting along comfortably and even occupying the same space. It took Terry two days to realize Stephen had begun to help him actually make dinner, and Terry didn't know what to do with himself, chattering away about nothing at all and working in his suddenly quite small kitchen with Stephen at his side.

It was his days off that confused him the most. He would wake in time to have a quick bite with Stephen and see him off. And then he'd spend his day agonizing over the mystifying tension that had replaced their friction, all the while trying to tackle his other priorities.

It didn't help that, on Terry's days off, Stephen was always home promptly. Even if dinner weren't set in stone. Even if it meant the two of them occupied the sofa, sharing old stories and new, laughing until tears brimmed in their eyes and Terry had to hide his face by Stephen's shoulder. Even if it meant each man trying to read in peace and accidentally being caught staring when he thought the other weren't looking.

Terry wondered about this change in atmosphere. He didn't like being analyzed…but this wasn't being analyzed, per se. No, it was akin to hyperawareness of each other. They had shared their vulnerabilities, and now it was hard to tamp down their curiosity over what else made the other person tick.

It didn't help that Stephen was done keeping his distance. All the caution these last several weeks, especially staying out of reach whenever Terry's anger flared or his annoyance bubbled, was gone. Stephen stayed within arm's reach now. Terry entertained his previous comparison, that of Stephen with a cat, but a cat's affections were much simpler, black-and-white things to understand.

Terry kept picturing all the very non-feline stares Stephen sent his way these days, even while at work. He wondered if Stephen were aware of it himself and, again, Terry wondered if this truly were only a recent development. So much had flown over his head since taking Stephen in early in October…

"…ry. Terry!" Lisa hissed. She shot him a look as they followed a group of trainees around in preparation for the holiday intake.

"What?" he snapped back in undertones.

"You weren't paying attention at all!" She darted her eyes to the trainees. "You know as well as I do that trainees wander off if left alone. Especially in their first year."

He rolled his eyes. "We're only playing chaperone, Lisa. Williams is doing a fine job keeping them rapt with her instructions," he stated. They both glanced at the senior Healer leading the group. She was actually an old witch who'd been through both wars, and Terry and Lisa suspected she might've even been McGonagall's age if her bright smile didn't take decades off.

Lisa exhaled slowly. Then, with some resistance, she tugged on Terry's arm until they left the group and had the privacy of a tiny storeroom to themselves. "It's not like you to be distracted at work, Terry," she cautioned. "You don't look terrible like before. But…" Her short height was an advantage for her, letting her stare right up into his face. "Your mind's been anywhere but here today, mate. Are you really all right?"

Terry didn't rush to answer her, and he ignored Lisa's fussing as she pressed a cool hand to his forehead to check his temperature and tried to guess what else might be wrong with him. He let her force him to sit in a chair while she fetched him some water, too.

The entire time, his brain played part of her words on a loop: "been anywhere but here today." Anywhere but here.

Anywhere.

Any place at all.

It didn't have to be a very far place at all.

It could be in the same country, the same city…hell, even up the street, in an ugly building. In a flat too big for one person on his own.

Terry mustered a smile when Lisa returned.

"What? What is it?"

She'd been right to ask him if he were all right. Because he knew he wasn't.

- ^-^3

Terry blew a low breath when he left work that first Sunday in December. Lisa's fuss delayed him, and yet somehow she'd run off home first. Ah, well. Though he'd be home late, the walk gave him time to think.

That said, the distance between St. Mungo's and the complex had never felt shorter. Terry rode the lift up to the seventh floor, and it dinged before he was ready to get off. His front door, too, opened before he could open it himself.

Stephen wore a surprised expression that morphed into an easy smile. "There you are. Welcome home," he said, sidestepping so Terry could enter. He closed the door. "Guessing something interesting happened at the last minute? I, uh, had a laugh at myself," he continued as they stood there, him clearly waiting for Terry to put away his Healer things, "when I realized I'd be walking home on my own today." He glanced at Terry. "But I was a little surprised you hadn't beaten me here. So I began to worry a tad…" His words drifted. "Terry?"

The Healer barely lifted his head. He kept his focus on Stephen's shoulder, which was hard enough. His focus was crap, with everything swirling around in his mind right now…

"Terry, are you all right?" Stephen took a step closer to him and reached for Terry's rucksack. When he pulled it free and placed it on the floor by the desk, he bent a little to get a better look at Terry's face. "Ter, did you pick something up at St. Mungo's? No, wait—when's the last time you properly took care of yourself?"

Terry pursed his lips. He tried dodging Stephen's eyes while the other fretted and attempted to baby him.

"Terry, please." Stephen's tone was one of hurt. His hands hovered by Terry's shoulders. "Tell me. I'm not a Healer, but… What do you need? Blanket? Porridge? Rest?"

He cracked a smile. He couldn't help it. Stephen Cornfoot, who'd tried to have that air of "I care about no one but myself" when they first met again, was this frazzled over Terry? Terry wanted to laugh. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against Stephen's chin, an awkward pose until Stephen conceded he'd only be comfortable with his arms around Terry.

"Well, now I'm definitely worried about whatever case put you in this state," Stephen said. But his arms were strong and tight around Terry. He looked down at the other man.

Staring back at him, Terry reached up with both hands and held Stephen's face. And he kissed him.

It was a short kiss, and Terry thumbed Stephen's cheeks when they broke apart. But Stephen furrowed his brow, and his hold on Terry loosened. "You're really out of it, aren't you?"

Terry glared at him. "I'm not." (Only the tiniest of fibs. He was fairly exhausted from work. But he was delirious from his feelings.)

"Come on. Come on," Stephen repeated, undoing the buttons on Terry's Healer robes and hanging them up. Then he slung one of Terry's arms over his shoulders as if the latter were either an invalid or a drunkard and marched them towards Terry's room. "It's probably a small fever or something. Do me a favor and sleep it off, all right? I'll leave you a snack for when you wake."

Terry's glare lessened to a bratty scowl. He grumped as Stephen hit the lights in the bedroom, and he growled when Stephen deposited him on his mattress. He resorted to shooting his roommate dirty looks when Stephen sat on the bed's edge and looked him over.

"Don't be like that." Stephen pushed on his shoulder and grabbed the knitted throw folded at the end of the bed. He draped it over Terry, took another look at the irate creature before him, and brushed some of Terry's fringe off his brow. His hand lingered on Terry's cheek, which really did begin to feel warm. "I'll check on you later, yeah? So get some sleep, Ter." With that, Stephen got up and walked out, hitting the lights before pulling the door shut.

- ^-^3

Terry woke that Monday morning feeling fantastic. Really. It was some of the best sleep he'd had since taking this terrible schedule. A tiny part of him conceded that, fever or no, he obviously hadn't been treasuring his normal workdays well enough. That, and…

He stared at his bedroom door. It was still closed, but Stephen had been back at some point. There was a glass of water on his nightstand, and the alarm clock was sound asleep. Terry turned it around to find the alarm had been switched fully off, and he set it before changing out of yesterday's clothes and slinking out of his room.

The flat was eerily quiet again—but Terry's panic subsided when he found that, no, Stephen hadn't left. Instead, Stephen was reclined on the sofa, reading a magazine quietly. He put the magazine down on his chest when Terry leaned on the sofa's back and stared down at him. "'Morning," Terry said.

"'Morning," Stephen replied. "How'd you sleep?"

"Brilliantly." Something clicked in his head. Terry pushed the cuff of his oversized jumper up and read the time on his watch. "Wait, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I shot a message off to Frobisher. I'm just shy of having been there a month, but she was all right with me taking a sick day."

Terry frowned. "Sorry." Then he glared at him. "And hey! You completely overreacted. You didn't have to take a sick day. I'm not sick, Steve."

Stephen quirked one eyebrow, skeptical. He propped himself up on his elbows. "You're certain?"

Terry leaned forward. They were nearly nose-to-nose this way. "Positive."

Stephen sighed and pushed Terry's face away, ignoring the Healer's protest. "Fine. You like to talk, so let's talk." He sat up and waved to the now free spot on the sofa.

Terry sat and tucked one leg under himself. "Merlin, you're irritating."

"Then why do you insist you're anything except addled in the head?"

Terry puffed his cheeks out and observed Stephen for long enough that the other wizard actually did up the open two buttons on his shirt. "I don't hate you," he started.

"Gee, thanks." Stephen settled him with a dry stare. "I worry about all those others you don't hate."

"I don't hate you," Terry repeated, "and I am probably the only person who knows exactly what it's like to be in your shoes." He paused when Stephen stiffened. "But not hating you isn't enough. And sharing woes and agonies isn't enough. We unstuck each other."

Now Stephen furrowed his brow. He squinted at Terry. "Come again?"

"Do you know that, in five years of training to be a Healer, we only briefly cover the grieving process?"

Stephen held up a hand. "One conversation at a time, please."

But Terry batted his hand away. "I have a point, honest." Again, Stephen softened at that word. "Look, we train as Healers, but we're not meant to do much when it comes to consoling people when the worst happens." He gestured vaguely. "I always thought I'd be better equipped for that, given the war. But I'm not. I'm terrible. I've never even properly handled Anthony's death and absence in my life."

Stephen frowned. "It's understandable, Terry."

"No, it's not!" Terry groaned. "So many like us do one of two things: They either get stuck in time and can't move on from their loss or they seek out something to help them move on, but actively seeking anything isn't the best option either, because so often it ends up being nothing more than a distraction."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow—"

"I was stuck in 1998, Stephen. At least, part of me was. A large part. And then you came into St. Mungo's and needed help and—" Terry took a breath. "I think I learned how to live again. Grow. Age. Care for others. Care for another."

The flat fell silent. Stephen locked eyes with him, and neither wizard looked away, even as scared as Stephen appeared, with his eyes wide and his jaw clenched.

"And you've been seeking anything else. Your family, any job opportunity. But…" Terry looked over his shoulder where their cloaks hung together by the front door. He turned back to Stephen with a soft smile. "Tell me the truth. You still have that last phial of Sleeping Draught even now, don't you?"

Stephen's flush was all the answer he needed.

"You told me yourself you sleep better here. Even when we get on each other's nerves. I don't," he said around a wet lump in his throat, "think it's cruel to Anthony or to Kevin or to their memories that we keep on living, Stephen. And that we do all the other things that come along with living—bickering, worrying, caring…" Terry had another "ing" in mind, but he really was trying to be better about being presumptuous these days, so he waited for Stephen's response.

"I don't have to agree with you, you know," Stephen groused, but there was no heat in his voice or any malice in his glare. The redness of his cheeks rather nixed those things.

Terry laughed. "I can read it on your face, you know." He leaned forward. "I won't call this 'moving on' either, just so you know. It's…us evolving."

"Do broken people evolve?"

Terry shrugged. "Maybe it's an outlook thing. We stopped seeing ourselves as broken and that created room for evolution."

Stephen nodded. He kept quiet awhile longer, but his posture relaxed, and Terry noted he leaned the Healer's way. With his head tilted in Terry's direction, a hunk of hair fell out of his slicked-back coif. He bit his lower lip, his eyes roving over Terry's face; with his eyes this close, Terry could see his own periwinkle eyes reflected back in Stephen's brown ones. "…what now?" Stephen asked, his voice low.

Terry brushed that hair back behind Stephen's ear. Their noses touched. "Whatever you like. Whatever's comfortable." He grinned. "After all, we both have the day off."

Stephen blinked—and chuckled. Then he corrected the only mistake from the night before and caught Terry in his arms again.

- ^-^3

Terry pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he hovered over the letter on his desk.

"You're going to be late," Stephen reminded him from the sofa.

"Shut it, will you?" Terry snapped at him. The quill in his grip was on the verge of snapping with each of Stephen's interruptions. "I'm signing my bloody name, for fuck's sake!"

He could feel Stephen's eyes on his back as Terry rushed through this last piece of post and stuffed it into an envelope. Then he stood and unceremoniously dumped the entire pile on the other man's lap.

"The Watts family has an owl you can borrow—send everything right after lunch, please," Terry implored. He whirled around. "Shit. My scarf. Where's my scarf?"

Stephen sat up on the sofa and wordlessly Summoned the item from Terry's closet in the bedroom. "You never brought it out here," he said as the item settled around Terry's shoulders. He pushed the pile of post onto the cushions so he could stand and make Terry look at least somewhat presentable. "You sure you'll be all right?" he asked with a smoothing palm along the lapels of Terry's travel cloak.

"You're beginning to sound like Lisa," Terry griped. He scowled at Stephen until the taller man placed a kiss on the wrinkle between his eyebrows. "But she doesn't do that, so you're forgiven."

"Thought that'd help." He raised an eyebrow. "You've told me a lot about your family recently. Are you sure you can escape a brief visit at your parents' before Mitchell's get-together and make it home in one piece?"

"Absolutely not." Terry pushed a scrap of parchment against Stephen's chest. "So here are the addresses, in case I need you to come get me."

"Um. Won't they wonder who the hell I am?"

"Steve, if I'm stressed beyond belief by my parents or aunt or I've gotten shitfaced with my cousins, explaining you to them is my last priority." Terry's eyes darted again to the sofa. "Please, just—I finally found the right words. So send—"

"Yes, yes, everything right after lunch. Now go," Stephen insisted, ushering Terry to the door.

Terry resisted opening the door. "We'll have the holidays to ourselves, when I get home. Promise."

Stephen nodded. "I'd only doubt you if you were anyone else." Then he kissed Terry, holding on for a tad longer than they ought to have risked with Terry running behind, and sent Terry on his way. He returned to the sofa after locking the door and tidied the post, and, later in the day, he did send everything off after borrowing the Wattses' owl. Letters and holiday cards went off to Padma, to Michael, to Morag and Romilda, to the Potters, to Terry's favored Healer mentors. Su and Lisa's letter Terry had simply sent downstairs that morning with a little charm. But there was one letter in the owl's bunch, the letter Terry had taken so much time to write, probably the most important one of all:

Dear, Mr. & Mrs. Goldstein—

I'm happy to hear from you. My apologies that I didn't reply right away to this year's letter. The goings-on at St. Mungo's always keep me on my toes.

Like you, I keep Anthony in my heart and in my memories. And I'm glad for that. But Anthony wasn't my only loved one, my only family. I see you two as family, as well, and, as I write this, I'm in the process of Christmas get-together-wrangling with my relatives (also, a belated Happy Hannukah!). Something struck me this year. You two loved me no matter what, as Anthony's friend and even as his boyfriend, and you treated me as your own…as your family.

But family doesn't see one another only once a year.

I know I haven't kept our tradition of celebrating Anthony's birthday together. That's hard for me. But I would like to propose something new: I would love to see you two on a more regular basis. It doesn't even have to be holidays. I still haven't found a tea I like very much, but I do love coffee and sweets, and I'm working every day on talking—I want to be better at having more meaningful conversation with those I love, and that includes the two of you, too.

I won't declare that Anthony would've decreed this…but I like to think that this would make him smile. Me and small talk. You're both very kind, but haven't either of you noticed how bad I am at small talk? I have.

Be well heading into the New Year. I hope to hear from you soon. I have so much to tell you, but I'd rather save it for when we next see each other.

Love,

Terry

- ^-^3

;w; MY HEART. Okay. So. What many don't know is that this fic…got started 6 yrs ago. In 2014. I even p much had the notes outlined for it. But so many things happened IRL and other ideas cropped up (and maybe I still wasn't 100% confident yet in my hc characterization of Stephen yet…or even Terry *sweats*) that this document just. Sat. On my flash drive. For 6 yrs. Fast forward to 2020, the year from hell, and I decided to celebrate 15 yrs of being on FFN with writing the Morilda oneshot "yours, mine, & ours," which in turn spurred me to draw up a proper timeline of my Maydayverse, the overall headcanon I have for HariPo. And then things began to click into place for my eagle headcanons, and finally "the broken ones" could be written. I've been waiting to have this be a full-fledged story forever, and I wasn't expecting a massive beast that went over 70 pgs, *LOL*. But…there were a lot of details, and I adore slow-builds, and this is one of the works where I'm proudest bc it felt the most natural. Esp given some of the topics included. I rly want to hug Terry and Stephen esp…! ;w; All that aside, I ended up scratching the itch of including some necessary world-building, mainly surrounding St. Mungo's bc yeah. Anyway, I'm also busy having feels bc it only occurred to me when I sat down to write the story and the Goldsteins' letter came up that I knew I had to include Terry's response, so I saved that for the ending. AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh. I hope he can help them become "unstuck," too. c: Last things: There's an Easter egg in here for anyone who's read my oneshot, "if you fall at midnight" (can you find it? it's tricky to spot! ;3c) and OC Healer names actually come from the protags of Cathy Hopkins' Mates, Dates series, which I adored as a teen (and tbh kinda wanna reread, *LOL*).

Thanks so much for reading, and please review!

-mew-tsubaki :')