Harry's fingers danced to an disjointed rhythm as he watched Dr Evans settle herself.

"Right, Mr Potter." she exhaled as she adjusted herself in her seat. "How have you been lately?"

"Can't complain," he answered with a shrug. She made a note in her file.

"And your headaches?"

"The same," he replied. Her lip ticked.

"I see," she replied through pursed lips, she spun her pen and settled it beside the file. "How about your homework?"

"I've been doing it." he looked away from her.

"How has that been? The experience, I mean. Is there anything you would like to share?"

"I suppose," Harry bit the inside of his lips. "It's been enlightening."

"How so?" Evans leaned into her seat and watched him carefully. Harry let her words hang in the air for a long while. The silence was uncomfortably soothing that a part of him almost forgot she was in the room. When he turned to look at her, she sat with a patient expression.

He began to chuckle.

"What?" Evans smiled awkwardly.

"No, nothing." His eyes travelled to watch the tree's wave with the breeze. His fingers tapped on his knees. "I just realised something that I didn't seem to notice when I was journalling."

"And what's that?"

Harry tilted his head and adjusted his glasses. "I was just thinking about how people always die around me."

Evans raised her brows. "What makes you say that?" She reached for her pen and made a small note. Harry watched her spin her pen.

"Well, I've had my parents die in front of me, because of me. I've had my best friends brothers mutilated and one of them died. I saw my godfather die and then I saw my Head Master die. I watched someone who protected me most of my life die in my arms. And then my godfathers best friend and his wife died. Leaving behind their son who is in fact, my godson. Now, my girlfriend- ex girlfriend, honestly I can't tell you what we are, is in a coma…" Harry paused, his eyes glazed over. "Wow…"

He leaned into his seat. "When I think about it, I must seem like a basket case." He chuckled softly.

Evans watched him carefully, almost as though calculating her next words. Her eyes searched his.

"Take a deep breath, Mr Potter." Evans spoke coolly.

He was suddenly aware of his shallow breathing, of the sweat that formed at his temple, he was incredibly aware of the thundering in his chest, and of the heart dropping sensation that filled him. He was aware of the way his blood seemed to burn against his skin.

His eyes ached and his throat tightened excruciatingly. He raised a hand to his eyes to rub them from under his glasses, as well as to wipe the wetness that formed over his eyes. His minds eye created images of bodies, most were familiar to him and three who weren't. All stared at him. They had no expression. They just watched him. Harry tried to blink them away but he could feel their eyes on him. Always watching him.

"Wherever you are, come back to this moment. To this space." She spoke calmly and he reminded himself to breath again.

"Mr Potter, I do not think of you as crazy. Nor am I here to judge you or your experiences. I have no expectations of you, I'm here to help."

And a few eyes turned away.

He took a deep breath.

"Would you like to start again?"

'No…' his brain whispered.

He took a deep breath and nodded.

"I think-" He started. His tongue stilled, refusing to form the words. His throat clenched, in spite of himself. A part of him wondered if every part of his body had engaged in a joint effort to sabotage his intentions.

Eighteen years of suffering and endurance flashed before his mind. Moments of genuine happiness which were quickly ripped from under him crossed his mind. The moment of his death. All of it came rushing back like a wave. Something trembled on his knees, when he looked down it was to find his hands shaking. He could feel the vibrations against his skin though he felt far removed from himself.

"Something's wrong with me…" he whispered as though coming to a new realisation.

…

The third years filtered out of his class with hurried footsteps while the sixth years pushed their way in. He heard several "hey!" exclaims and groans frustration. Harry turned to wave his wand over the board and prepared his notes for the next lesson as students found their seats. It hadn't taken long for books to be taken out and silence to fill the room. He could feel their expectant gaze on his back. He turned around and smiled warmly at the class.

"Can anyone tell me the advantage of non verbal spells?" Harry asked as he paced the floor of the class. He picked a textbook that had fallen in his path and handed it back to the student with a small smile. His green eyes wandered for any hands that shot into the air.

His six years were, as most students, incredibly eager to answer.

"I'll assume you've read your notes in advance and know the answer," he offered a gap in time for a hopeful student to fill. "Right…"

"Well, according to your textbook, which I'm sure you've all made detailed notes on, as it may or may not come up in your exams." He narrowed his eyes on them with a smile. "Non verbal spells leave your adversary with no forewarning as to the spell you intend to use and thus provide you with a split second advantage." He waved his wand and the words formed on the board. Students made notes on their scrolls. Of course, they had not read ahead their notes. He would never have bothered had he been their age. Hermione would have, but she was not most students.

Harry approached the book shelf and returned to the board with a textbook. He briefly flipped through the pages to find his bookmarks and waved his wand over the board. Page numbers began to form.

"The use of a non verbal spell may in certain instances mean the difference between-"

A heavy thud disrupted the silence.

This was promptly followed by sharp gasps.

Harry snapped to the students, his eyes followed the numerous turned heads and students who were thrust to their feet. His furrowed gaze settled on Heather Worthington who had collapsed from her seat and landed shoulder first on the hard floor.

Harry dropped the textbook in his hand and leapt the distance to the spot beside her. His initial reaction was to lay her on her back. Her eyes was greyed and unseeing. Her chest neither rose nor fell.

"Heather," he called with a shake. She was unresponsive and he knew it was beyond him. He made short work of sweeping the child off the ground and into his arms. Her head lolled lifelessly over his arm. The students wordlessly created a path for him.

He made quick work of waving his wand over the board and transferred his notes to the board, including homework as he carried Heather in his arms.

Harry kicked the door leading to the infirmary. It swung open and banged against the wall, jolting Madam Pomfrey who had been attending to a cut on a students forehead. She jumped when she saw him. When her eyes fell on the student in his arms, she moved towards him with deep concern etched on her face.

"Set her here," she spoke hurriedly as she shifted a curtain to expose an empty bed. He nodded and gently settled the student on the bed. He stepped away before he could be shoved out of the way by the matron. "What happened to her?" she asked. She flashed the bright end of her wand over the girls open eyes. Her pupils didn't respond. Harry watched her check the girls pulse. His tongue clung to the top of his mouth.

"Potter?!"

He snapped at her words.

"What happened?" She asked again.

"Oh- uh- I have no idea," he furrowed his brows. "She just collapsed out of nowhere."

Madam Pomfrey began to move in a blur as she searched for tools that clattered against one another. Harry's gaze stayed fixed on her wide, unseeing eyes. His head tightened like a band had been snapped around him.

He stayed in the same position even as Madam Pomfrey drew the curtains and concealed the girl from his sight.

…

By the time dinner had rolled around, the news had already spread throughout the school.

Harry stared into his cup of water. Ordinarily, he would be making polite conversation with the other teachers, laughing at stories shared amongst themselves or languishing in nostalgia as he admired the students from his spot in the front but this night was different. This night, his mind burned with questions. He was suddenly incredibly understanding of Hagrid's confusion the first time a student had been injured in his class.

Though in his case, there was no hippogriff, only endless questions.

He sighed heavily and shifted the plate of food away from him. He stood from his spot at the table. He could feel the gaze of the other teachers on his back as he brushed past them. He avoided making eye contact, lest he have to explain himself, after all, he had some assignments to finish grading.

No one questioned him or drew him back as he walked through the nearest exit and away from the Great Hall. His footsteps echoed as he walked away from the voices that echoed behind him.

Students get sick all the time. How on earth could he blame himself for being none the wise? Perhaps, she was fine and his concern was entirely unwarranted.

"Potter," he heard from behind him. He turned around to see Professor McGonagall. Head Master McGonagall as it were. Her robe fluttered as she approached him, deep lines ran across her forehead.

"Professor," he spoke with a firm nod.

She watched him carefully. "How are you?" Her face softened.

"As well as one can be," he answered with a stiff smile. She furrowed her brow and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I suppose I should tell you, Potter," She spoke gravely. "Heather's situation has not become better. She's been moved to St Mungos."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his lips parted then sealed. His hands found his temple and rubbed small circles.

"Her parents are being informed as we speak." She patted his shoulder. "Rest easy." She pulled away from him and took a step in the direction of the Great Hall. She paused.

"Potter, as the incident occurred in your class, there may be-"

"-An investigation, I know." He replied stiffly.

Mcgonagall offered a sad parting smile before she disappeared into the Hall. His skin felt like stone against the cool night breeze.

…

Harry flipped another page, he read the answer to the question and shook his head in disappointment. He dipped his pen in ink and set to making notes on the page before grading the paper. He fixed his spectacles over the bridge of his nose and pulled another paper from the stack.

A cool breeze against his cheek prompted him to look up and out of the window. The sun was beginning to set in the horizon. He looked down at his watch, it was four-thirty. His limbs chose that moment to cause him grief.

He sighed deeply and stretched his fingers. The muscles in his hand were grateful to be free from the pen. He rolled his neck and shoulders and several pops echoed. His back ached from sitting at the desk for hours. He finally stood up and stretched. Perhaps he was getting old, he chuckled at the idea.

He lamented the idea of sitting back at the desk, and so his mind began to wander around his office. He organised some of his drawers and set his table right, instead of the organised chaotic mess he was used to. When he was finished, he walked down to the classroom, where he picked up strewn textbooks and placed them on their respective shelves.

He'd begun cleaning the board when a soft knock at the door drew his attention. The door opened before he had a chance to answer (or rather, pretend he wasn't in) and he dreaded the idea of having to speak to another person. Until, he saw who it was.

His eyes softened. "Hermione,"

"I hope I'm not intruding," She poked her head from behind the door, a soft smile played on her lips.

Harry looked to the board and raised his brows with a soft smile, "I could do with a distraction," He settled the duster beside the board and brushed his hands on his pants. "What are you doing here?"

She narrowed her eyes on him, "Do I really need a reason to visit my friend?"

"Well no," he replied and let the grin grow on his face, "But also, yes."

She shook her head as she approached one of the empty seats closest to him, and slotted herself in. "I needed some books in the library. I figured I'd stop by and greet a friend while at it." Her eyes scanned the room, no doubt reminiscing about their younger days. She breathed a heavy sigh and their eyes met.

"What's it like?"

"What?" he asked looking down at her, he leaned his body against the board.

"Standing on that side of the table?"

Harry pursed his lips, he folded his arms across his chest in mock thoughtfulness.

"Mundane most days," he shrugged. "Entertaining on others. Honestly, sometimes I think you'd do a better job at this than me."

She gave a small smile and shook her head. "You were always the better teacher,"

Harry smirked and approached her. He sat on the desk with his feet pressed on the empty seat beside her. Her eyes remained focussed on the board, there was something that caught his attention in the way her lips formed a small smile and the way her eyes sparkled.

"I miss the old days,"

"Which part?" Harry tried not to pull a face. After all, every year he had spent as a student was filled with some form of chaos.

"The parts where we were happy," she answered softly. Harry's lips formed a thin line. Even though every year had been filled with chaos, there were some moments, few and far between, where their laughter echoed along the walls. There were time's where they had been able to be carefree and worry about the things students worry about. In the corner of his eye a student zoomed past the window in a blazing flurry of gryffindor colours.

Birds chirped in the distance as her words hung between them.

"Your coat," he spoke softly, finally breaking the silence. His eyes refused to settle on her. "I still have it at my place."

When they arrived at his quarters, he pushed open the door and then quite abruptly shut it.

He was suddenly very aware of the possible mess he would expose her to. Hermione looked at him with confusion etched on her face.

"Look Hermione, I know how much you adore structure and order and frankly, I have none of that. Well, at least not how you would imagine it. So, I need you to promise me something," he pressed a hand on her shoulder, "Try not to organise my mess, or at the very least, try not to vocalise your judgment."

She rolled her eyes and pushed her way through. She was quiet for a moment.

"Well at least it's better than Ro-" she paused as though something caught in her throat, and then promptly threw herself on the couch (technically, his bed). Harry unfastened his shoes and tossed them aside.

"Hungry?" he asked as he approached the kitchen. He opened his fridge

"No, I already ate."

"Good," Harry called over his shoulder, "Because all I have is milk, and a few eggs." He opened his cupboards and shifted the contents, "I've also got some biscuits, coffee and some … firewhiskey."

He remembered guzzling half of the bottle when Ginny had broken up with him, the hangover had been agonising. The stuff was potent, one shot was enough for a buzz, anything beyond that was the makings of a tragic evening. After his traumatic hangover, he'd made a solemn vow to abandon alcohol altogether. In commemoration of this vow, he'd shelved the bottle as a reminder of his terrible mistake of overestimating himself.

"I'll take the whiskey," Hermione called from her spot on the couch. Harry furrowed his brows

"I thought you only drank wine?"

"I feel like whiskey today," she answered. Harry stared at the back of her head as though waiting for her to say 'never mind, I must have lost my mind for a minute'. When she didn't, he reluctantly pulled out two glasses and carried them with to sit beside her. He poured a single shot into both cups and offered her one. She took the proffered drink and Harry watched with fantastical amusement as she swallowed the entire drink in one mouthful. He savoured the burn as he swallowed his drink and watched her carefully.

'3…2…1' As though on cue, she began coughing, and tiny clouds of smoke escaped from her lips. She patted her chest repeated. He chuckled as she hiccoughed.

"It feels like my chest is on fire," she breathed between coughs. Harry patted her back softly.

'Firewhiskey, imagine that…' he bit the sarcastic remark and instead reached for her cup, "Maybe you should stick to wine."

His fingers had barely reached the cup when she snatched it out of his reach. She pulled the bottle of firewhiskey to her and poured herself a double. She threw her head back and swallowed in a full gulp.

"Hermione, are you alright?" he asked, this time he observed her with concern. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. She wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve and reached to pour herself another shot. Harry caught her hand before she could tip the liquid over. "Hermione." He warned and tilted his head to meet her gaze.

She wouldn't look at him, her eyes were fixed on the bottle.

She pulled her hand away from his and leaned her head over the couch. Her eyes were turned upwards and bounced as she stared emptily at the ceiling.

"Did you ever think things would end up this way?" she whispered. He watched her carefully, taking in the way she breathed, it was shallow and deep. He took in the way her lips parted and the way the fire danced on them.

"I don't think we turned out that bad," he answered and rested against the couch. He kicked his feet up on the table and looked at the fire. The crackle of wood filled the space between them.

"Ron told me about what happened," she spoke, "With your student. It seems she was hit with the same curse that was used on Ginny."

Harry said nothing. He remembered Heather's empty stare when he'd set her on the bed and instantly recognised the similarity.

"I figured as much," he finally spoke and scratched the stubble that poked from under his chin. "Is that why you were in the library?"

She nodded and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she finally turned to him with a meaningful look. He sat upright and leaned towards the table, her fingers slowly fell from his shoulder to trace the top of his back and then fell away. A small shiver ran along his spine and he wondered if the room had gotten cool.

He poured the brown liquid into his cup, tilted his head back and swallowed the content. He squeezed his eyes as the liquid burned down his throat and chest. When he turned to Hermione, she was staring at the fire.

There was something etched along the lines of her face. Something was on her mind, weighing heavily on her and yet, he couldn't bring himself to ask her. A part of him wondered whether he should at all, after all, he knew well what it was like to be poked and prodded for answers especially when not ready to do so.

He decided he would try anyway. "Hermione, are-" He began but was cut off as she sat upright to pour herself another shot and threw it back.

A smile grew on her face. Harry knew that smile.

She was drunk.

He blinked slowly, he knew she was a lightweight, perhaps he should've diluted it with water. Before he could chastise himself any further, her hand swung and hit the centre of his chest. He blinked rapidly at the sudden gesture.

"Harry!" she called. "Are you listening?"

"Did- Did you say something?" he looked around the room and then settled his eyes on her. She tilted her head and swayed towards him, her balance tipped her over to fall behind him. Her head was pressed against his shoulder blade.

"I said," her hand reached over to his shoulder and she pushed herself up, using him as leverage. She peeked over his shoulder and tilted to look at him. She was so close that he could smell the sweetness of her shampoo and the firewhiskey on her breath. She threw her arm over his shoulder and draped it across his chest as she rested her head over his other shoulder.

"You're a terrible friend," she whispered.

Shame, white and hot, coursed through him. He felt his throat catch. Her hand swung lazily across his chest.

Should he apologise? Should he make excuses? She was right, he had been an abominable excuse for a friend. He'd pushed both her and Ron away, without explanation. But even then, they still forced their way into his life and clung on to him. They deserved better.

"Hermione- I-" He finally pulled his tongue from the roof of his mouth when a low snore rang in his ear. He turned his head slightly so as to avoid disturbing the woman over his shoulder.

Indeed, she was asleep.

He smiled stiffly, "I know…"

Harry turned as slowly as he could to avoid waking her and hooked one arm under her knees and rested the other at the middle of her back. With a breath, he raised her in his arms. Her head lulled over his chest as he approached his bedroom.

The door slowly creaked open. He settled her over the sheets, removed her shoes and placed them on the floor. He pulled the covers over her.

"Goodnight, Hermione."