The next day, Harry sat in St James' Park, watching as little Teddy chased after the birds. It was a beautiful summer's day that contrasted spectacularly with Harry's mood. As if oblivious to his godfather's mood (which of course he was), every time Teddy got within 10 feet of a bird, he would squeal in delight and shout at the top of his lungs, 'I almost catched it!' It was just what Harry needed to get his mind off the events of yesterday afternoon.

Except he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He had mixed feelings about how things had transpired with Emma. Really, the main feeling was pure, all-consuming relief, but there were undercurrents of other emotions that he couldn't quite catch.

Breaking up with her had not gone as planned, even a little bit. It had been a few weeks since he'd been with Ron in the pub and had drunkenly decided to break up with her, but in the cold light of day, breaking up with her had been easier said than done. Emma had been fairly elusive – he now knew why, of course – but he had seen her perhaps once in the last few weeks, which had made it pretty difficult to have any conversation with her, let alone a break up.

The other main reason for not doing it sooner was that he didn't really know how to break up with someone. Admittedly, he'd only ever had one girlfriend, and that was Ginny almost 4 years ago – it was hardly fair or relevant to draw on his experience from breaking up with Ginny. After all, both women's personalities and the situations were worlds apart. No, he'd had to come up with a whole new plan for breaking up with her that didn't involve using dark wizards as an excuse.

Not that it mattered now, anyway. It was done. It had not gone to plan, and he knew that he'd hurt her, but it was done.

So why did he still feel so fucking conflicted?

He sat up into a cross-legged position just in time to catch Teddy as he launched himself at him, flinging his tiny arms around his neck and scrambling on top of him.

'How many birds have you caught now?' Harry said, manoeuvring a wriggling Teddy to a slightly less painful position in his lap.

'One hundred!' he announced proudly, huffing big deep breaths against his ear.

'One hundred! My goodness me, there aren't going to be any birds left!'

Teddy grinned at him. 'Can I have some more bird food?'

'What's the magic word?'

'LUMOSSSSSSSSS!' he shouted, hanging on to the S dramatically before descending into fits of giggles. Teddy had just started to understand that he was a wizard, and had taken to shouting incantations (often mispronounced) that he'd learnt from the adults at every opportunity. It drove Andromeda mad.

'Silly me for forgetting about magic words, eh?' he chuckled, tickling the furiously giggling boy.

After a moment, he handed Teddy the paper bag full of bird seed from out of his pocket – manners would have to wait for another day – and smiled as he watched him run away, casting bird seed all over the grass with a flock of 50 pigeons following close behind.

Suddenly, something in his pocket flashed with warmth against his hand. He pulled the small coin out and read the little message that had appeared around the edge.

Ron told me. Where are you? H

He tapped the coin, thought of his reply, and returned it to his pocket. A couple of years ago, Hermione had repurposed the charm on the coins they'd used for Dumbledore's Army so that now they could send messages to individual people. It was actually really nifty magic, although the pair of them had joked that it was pretty much the same as texting with Muggle mobile phones. Given Ron's track record with phones, they'd agreed it was probably best to stick to what they knew. Secretly he was pleased – the Muggle world had somewhat left him behind since leaving the Dursleys, and he wasn't very good at using all this new technology.

He supposed he wouldn't need his mobile phone now he and Emma had broken up. Despite spending nearly all of its life in the draw of his bedside table, its mere presence comforted him, reassured him that there was something (someone) out there tying him to the Muggle world that he grew up in. Now, the damned thing was a sort of mocking reminder of how incompatible they'd been. Anyway, it was a stupid idea to try and cling onto a world in which you no longer belonged.

He picked at the grass absentmindedly.

The emotion that had threatened to overwhelm him last night (before he'd shoved it expertly into a box in his mind) was no longer there. When Harry had laid in bed last night and attempted to process the feelings triggered so violently in him earlier that afternoon, he had felt completely underwhelmed by his response. It was like the emotions – feelings, thoughts, irrational thinking, whatever it was – had just disappeared, leaving nothing but objective logic in its place.

When he thought about it again this morning (over and over and over again), he still drew up a blank. Yes, there was a new sense relief, which hadn't come last night. But there wasn't much else that had changed from yesterday.

Anger, if there had been any, had by now fizzled away into inexistence, although that in itself was not unusual – he was not one to hold onto anger these days. He wasn't in the slightest bit angry with her or with the situation, even if perhaps he should be. There definitely wasn't sadness, either. He wasn't upset by what she'd done to him; she'd not hurt him. In fact, he felt indifferent about what she'd done with Mike – fine, if they were two people who wanted to sleep with each other, then so be it.

He snorted, though it was humourless.

What was wrong with him?! How was it that she could do something so terrible to him, and him not care enough to even ask her why?

It should have sparked something in him to see her hurt and upset, but it hadn't. It should have hurt him desperately that she'd done this to him, that it ended the way it did, but it hadn't.

Was his brain broken or something? Was he even capable of feeling emotions anymore? The Aurors had taught him to compartmentalise and to reign in feelings that could adversely affect your performance, but had it gone too far? Was he some kind of emotionless monster that couldn't even be fucking angry when his girlfriend cheated on him, for fuck's sake?!

A tap on his shoulder interrupted him from his inward spiral. Hermione plonked down on the grass next to him and wordlessly threaded her arm through his.

'Hey you,' he said, leaning to lightly bump his shoulder with hers.

After the war, they had become exceptionally close, even more so than when they were at school. Growing up had helped bring them closer, as did the fact that her relationship with Ron was no longer a 'friendship'. It was only natural that the two of them, 'ex-Muggles' as she called it, gravitated towards each other.

At its simplest, she was his sister, and he was her brother.

'Tell me all about it,' she said with an air of motherliness. The corners of his mouth pulled up of their own accord and he smiled despite his bad mood.

So he told her. He shared with her all of the emotions he'd felt (or lack thereof), and everything that had been plaguing him ever since. And calmly, and in the most Hermione-like way, she rationalised his fears and the nagging thoughts that he'd had this morning, and on the whole made him feel much better about it all.

They were interrupted a couple of times by Teddy, as expected, but the three of them spent a pleasant hour walking round the lake, excitedly squirrel-spotting and chasing the birds.

After waiting in a ridiculously long queue for an ice cream, he ventured back over to his godson and Hermione, awkwardly trying to hold three already-melting ice creams. Hermione took two from him, and Harry bent down to give Teddy his huge ice cream, which was already dripping down the little boy's hands. They set off again at a leisurely pace round the lake, with Teddy excitedly babbling to himself over his ice cream. To an outsider, they must have looked like the perfect family.

If only that were true… Life would be much simpler.

'She told me she loved me,' he muttered, finally having built up the courage to say it out loud.

This was the part of last night that he had resolutely not thought about yet. Or at least tried not to, anyway. He didn't know why he had felt the need to leave this out when he'd first told Hermione. It was probably because deep down he was embarrassed to admit to anyone, even himself, that out of all the things that had happened last night, those three words were the only ones to cause any sort of emotional response.

Bloody hell, he definitely was broken.

'What? When did she say that?' she rushed, clearly taken aback.

'After I said that it wasn't working. She just blurted it out.'

'She said "I love you". Those three words?'

'Yes.'

He still couldn't look at her.

'Are you sure she didn't mean, like, "I will always love you, but…", you know? A slip of the tongue?'

He shook his head. 'She said something about how we could work it out, and when I didn't say anything back to her, she said it. "I love you".'

Hermione stopped walking and gaped at him. She recovered quickly, but the sight of Hermione's confusion and shock made him feel instantly vindicated. It wasn't just him that was surprised by the sudden revelation Emma had dumped on him yesterday.

'So what did you say?' she asked. You could practically smell the smoke coming from her brain as she thought through every possible scenario.

He popped the last bit of the ice cream cone in his mouth, purely to give himself time to think of something to say that didn't make him sound like a complete dickhead.

Naturally, Hermione read it all over his face.

'Harry…' she said admonishingly. 'What did you say?'

There was no way she'd let him off without him telling her, so he sighed. 'I said something along the lines of "you're only saying that because you can't face that we're over".'

Surprisingly, she said nothing. He was expecting some shocked response from her, telling him that he should never have said it, or that no wonder she was upset, or… well, anything really. But instead, she was silent.

She huffed angrily. 'You know, if she actually loved you, then she'd have never slept with Mike, the silly cow.'

Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it was most certainly not that. His eyebrows shot up of their own accord, and he did everything in his power to keep from laughing.

'Bloody hell, Hermione, tell me how you really think,' he said, still desperately trying not to grin.

They made eye contact, and he couldn't help but burst out laughing. To her credit, she looked a little sheepish, but joined in with his laughter.

'It's true!' she exclaimed, cheeks red. It felt good to laugh.

'I know it's true. I know she didn't mean it,' he said at long last. 'Or if she did, then I have badly misread this whole situation.'

She chuckled, somewhat humourlessly. They linked arms again and carried on walking.

'So, why is it bothering you so much?' She said it quietly, delicately.

Christ, she could read him so well. She had this unnerving ability to know what he was thinking before he was thinking it himself.

Now that he was thinking about it, though, he didn't know why the words were bothering him so much. Was it because that was the first time either of them had said it?

That was almost certainly part of it, and a large part at that. As well, it was galling that she had thrown such an emotional curveball right when they were most vulnerable with each other, most open to having their feelings stomped upon.

Saying those words had been nothing more than a cheap way of guilting him into staying with her, he knew that. But it surprised and horrified him that she'd dealt such a low blow, one that he'd not expected her capable of. He had never imagined she could be so cruel.

Was that what the problem was? That he couldn't see this coming?

Quite possibly.

But there was something else that was nagging at him, refusing to budge from the surface of his mind, yet staying infuriatingly unidentifiable. He told Hermione as such.

'I think it's always going to be difficult for you to accept and recognise love, because you've not been exposed to it very much,' Hermione said after a long pause.

He didn't really know what to say to that. 'Yeah, maybe.'

'You aren't in love with her, are you?' she asked nervously, perhaps misconstruing his vague reply.

'No. Definitely not.' Another pause. 'I'm not sure I've ever been in love with anyone, to be honest,' he said quietly. He wasn't quite sure why he was telling her this; he was not used to being this open, even with Hermione. These were thoughts he'd kept hidden forever, from everyone, and he'd never felt the desire to change that.

It was true, though. He was 100% certain that he was not in love with Emma. He'd enjoyed it while it lasted, and it had been fun and freeing and all those things relationships were supposed to be. She was interesting and funny and beautiful, albeit dramatic and occasionally needy, and he genuinely didn't have any regrets about their relationship.

Hermione's quiet voice pulled him from his reverie. 'Not even Ginny?'

He pondered the question. When he was with Ginny way back in his sixth year, he'd been certain that, in another life, he could absolutely fall hopelessly in love with her and live happily ever after. The End. But that was a stupid, teenage fantasy, borne from a desperate desire to feel wanted and loved… to feel normal.

But he wasn't normal – he never had been, and probably never would be. Good things just didn't happen to him, and settling down to a long happy life with the woman he loved was never the life he was going to be able to lead. So he'd never entertained the thought of a life with Ginny.

Regardless, he thought he'd been in love with Ginny the year they were hunting Horcruxes, but now he was older he wasn't so sure. Was it even possible to be in love with someone when you'd never really been with them in the first place?

Sure, he'd liked her a lot, fancied the pants off her at the time, and he loved spending time with her, even now. But they'd never really had the chance to love each other. They hadn't got to experience anything that people who were in love got to experience – they'd not had a proper date, they'd not gotten tipsy and shamelessly flirted in front their mutual friends (like Ron and Hermione did frequently), they'd not argued or deliberated about what to have for dinner or whose parents they were going to spend Christmas with.

They'd never got to do any of it, and so they'd never stood a chance.

It was a shame really. The short time they were together was a joy that he'd never known before or, admittedly, ever since. But that didn't mean he was in love with her, right?

'If you have to think about it this hard, then you probably weren't,' Hermione said finally with an air of teasing in her tone.

He sighed. 'Yeah, you're probably right.'

This topic was getting entirely too close to the bone for his liking. Suddenly, it was like the conversation had run headlong into the wall that he'd carefully constructed many years ago as a dam against his feelings for Ginny. If his mind kicked at the bricks at the bottom of that wall, there was the very real risk it would fall down, and he couldn't let that happen. For his own sanity, he couldn't revisit those feelings that he'd quashed so long ago.

No, this dam needed to be left well alone.

'Thanks, Hermione,' he said sincerely, effectively (and probably unsubtly) ending their heart-to-heart. 'Dunno what I'd do without you.'

She blushed slightly but smiled. He hoped she knew how much he appreciated her.

'Come on, you,' he said to Teddy, running to catch him up in his arms before flinging him over his shoulder. Teddy screamed with delighted laughter. 'Let's get you home.'

It wasn't until later, when he was lying in bed awake for the second night straight, that he remembered Hermione's words from earlier.

'I think it's always going to be difficult for you to accept and recognise love, because you've not been exposed to it very much.'

The explanation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He finally understood why Emma's declaration had caused such a powerful response in him, and why he had struggled to process his feelings on the matter. It all seemed perfectly clear to him, now, why he'd been so bothered by her saying those three words.

Nobody had ever said them to him before.


Harry strode into the office the next morning and straight up to Robards' office. His secretary, Sam, was sat at his desk outside the door, furiously typing away on his typewriter.

'Hey Sam, is he in?'

'He is. Let me go and check if he's free for you.'

Sam knocked and stuck his head round the door, and he could hear their short conversation.

'He's happy to see you, go on in.'

Harry stepped hesitantly up to the door, which held a large, rather ostentatious plaque reading Head Auror G.L.R. Robards. He knocked on the door and waited.

'Come in,' came the gruff voice of his boss.

Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had been in this office. It was surprisingly small, considering Robards' status, but what it lack for in size, it made up for in grandness. It was decorated like the inside of a mansion, with wood-panelled walls, endless books neatly arranged on shelves, and a very large antique desk that dominated the room. He'd thought it before, but Harry once again was struck by the impression that Robards was a man that admired the finer things in life.

Robards gestured for Harry to sit in one of the leather Chesterfield wingbacks that sat across from his desk.

'Auror Potter, how are you?'

'I'm well thank you, sir.' He knew Robards appreciated directness and hated dithering – he was like Moody in that respect – so he got straight to the point.

'I've been considering applying for the Healer course you wrote to us all about. I wondered if could tell me a little bit more about it.'

Robards considered him for a moment. Harry tried to stare resolutely back, but he could feel his cheeks redden under the intense gaze. His face showed no reaction whatsoever as he picked up his quill and quickly scribbled something on a bit of parchment.

'The course is 2 years, full time. It has been specially designed so as to remove extraneous detail that would not be required of an Auror. Whilst on the course, you would still be officially employed by the Auror Office, and your role will remain Junior Auror, attracting the same pay. However, you would be seconded, fully funded, to the Healing course for the duration of the 2 years.

'You will be expected to still work on some of your cases within the Auror Office, but this would be for a maximum of 2 days a week, so as not to interrupt your studies. Is everything clear?'

'And upon graduation?'

'Upon graduation, assuming you pass all relevant examinations, you would be promoted to a Senior Auror role and your cases will be assigned separately and overseen by me. The probation period usually attached to Senior Aurors upon their promotion will be doubled from 3 months to 6 months.'

He took it in for a moment. This felt almost too good to be true. He was going to be paid what he was now, to complete a fully funded, extremely competitive course that he knew he would love, only to be promoted to Senior Auror at the end of it?

There had to be a catch, right?

'I understand. What about my lack of NEWTs, sir?' He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Fucking Dawlish had gotten in his head.

Robards' mouth twitched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to laugh. He must have been aware of the discourse between his two employees, after all. But it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

'I have been assured that the application process is rigorous, and would admit only candidates that were likely to succeed.' Harry gulped to try and swallow the nervous lump that had formed there. 'And trust me when I say that I would not put anyone's name forward that I did not believe was up to the task. It would reflect badly on me and on the Department for any of our Aurors to fail.'

The threat was implicit, as were Robards' expectations.

'Yes, sir.'

'Any questions?'

He shook his head. Robards stood up and picked up a stack of parchment from his desk, which he thrust at Harry.

He took it and glanced at the title. Once he read it, he couldn't drag his eyes away from it.

APPLICATION FOR AUROR TO HEALER CONVERSION PROGRAMME

He had to do this. His heart practically jumped with the thought that he might be a step closer to being able to help people in ways he could never fully do before. The prospect excited him more than anything had in years.

'I will be reviewing applications before submitting them on Friday morning. Shall I expect yours to be among them?'

The voice of his boss filtered through the fog in his mind, and he blinked furiously to try and refocus on anything other than the piece of parchment he was holding. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, Robards' face was stern, but his eyes danced with something that looked to Harry very much like pride.

The fire that had sparked when he first started seriously thinking about becoming a Healer was now roaring. His chest felt full with it, spurring him on and overpowering the decision-making centres in his brain.

His mind was made up – he was going to do it.

'Yes, sir.'


That night, for the third night in a row, he lay in bed consumed by the events of the past few days. In stark contrast to the last couple of nights, where his mind had been full of frustration and negative introspection, tonight his thoughts were decidedly more positive.

Hermione's input had been invaluable yesterday, both in setting his mind straight, and spurring him to draw a line in the sand and move on with his life. Ron was great in his own way, but he was not so good at helping him organise his feelings, and often fell very much on the side of 'it'll all work out in the end'.

Sometimes, it didn't work out well in the end… Sometimes, he just needed more than the black and white opinions that Ron usually offered.

In the space of 3 days, he'd gone from in a steady relationship in a steady job, seemingly stable in everything, to having no girlfriend, no ties to the Muggle world, and about to consciously embark on a new career.

It was madness.

Harry from 3 years ago would have balked at the thought of so much change, been suffocated by the fear of rocking the carefully constructed boat. Now, he couldn't wait to leave the shit behind and get started.

Couldn't. Fucking. Wait.


A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think - do you think all this Emma stuff is behind him now?

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