That Friday, Harry was stopped in the hall by Headmaster Clarkson as he was walking towards Marty's room.

"Mr. Potter, mind if we have a little word?"

Harry didn't mind, but he was a little worried. Clarkson moved to the side of the hall and stood tall, looking down on Harry sternly. Harry was just glad he was far enough away that he couldn't be grabbed at; at this point, anyone looking at him like that usually led to some form of harassment.

"I've been asking around and no one has you signed up for their extracurricular activity. I just want you to know that here at Smeltings we like all our boys to have a hobby. So think about it, and tell your Dorm Leader by Monday what you've chosen."

The idea of having to talk to Kenny at all was wrenching, but Harry nodded and said, "I will, Sir. Thank you."

"How has your first week gone? Keeping up with your classes?"

"Yes sir. Very well." He wasn't really, but no need to tell the Headmaster that.

'Well, off you get to therapy. That's very important!"

As Harry watched him leave, he was sure the idea to stress therapy sessions had been planted in the Headmaster's head because of magic. A little while later, Marty was looking wisely at him with her pen between her teeth.

"What are you thinking about, Harry? You're awfully quiet."

"Do you believe in magic?" He said, surprised he found the courage to finally ask her. He'd been wondering if she knew he was a wizard, but there was no telling.

"I believe there are things that can't be explained by science," she said in that usual disguised way she had been using for the past few weeks.

"No, I mean, do you believe in real magic? Like…hocus-pocus."

"Do you believe in hocus-pocus?"

Harry wondered how this was going to be a productive therapy session if he couldn't talk about that which defined him most.

"Do you believe magic is real, Harry?"

He nodded, unable to hide really how truthfully he did believed.

"What does magic mean to you?"

"It's…a lot of trouble, most of the time. But, it can also be good. I think life would be easier without it, sometimes. There would be a lot less…danger."

Marty nodded sagely at him. "Do you think magic was – involved in what happened to you at Stonewall High?" That was the first time she'd brought it up, and it took Harry off guard. "Harry?" she urged.

"Times up," he said somewhat angrily as that was a very twisted way to bring the subject up.

Marty sighed but consented. "We made good progress today. I think we know each other a little better, and that's good. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Harry was about to leave, but hesitated by the door. "Marty?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"The Headmaster wants me to choose a sport or hobby to train in. Do you have any idea what I'd be good at?"

Her eyes trailed over his body appreciatively. "You look fit, Harry. You look like you could compete in anything. What do you like to do?"

He knew she meant what did he like to play – yet, he wasn't exactly able to tell her he liked playing a Seeker in Quidditch – but all Harry could think was that what he liked these days was shrouded in pain and disappointment. He liked being wrapped around a body that felt so good he never wanted it to stop; and he liked letting his mind go and fucking in rhythm with someone as perfect as his best friend. He wanted all that back, but every time he remembered how perfect it was, he would be crushed yet again under the pain of the truth.

"Harry, you're drifting off again, you know?"

Harry looked up at her. "Sorry. I have to go."

He left quickly and went up to his room. Kenny was at wrestling practice that wouldn't finish until after dinner, so he had the room to himself, and so what he did with that brief moment of privacy was to lock the door and drop his pants.

He leaned one arm against the door and wrapped his other hand around his growing arousal and imagined he was back at Hogwarts, in the hospital ward, alone at night with the darkness all around him. Strong hands held his body and played with his nerves, and hot kisses landed against his mouth. He pumped himself fast with one hand and – as the memories returned to him – grabbed a handful of the hair on the back of his head. A few deep breathes later and he made a mess against the back of the door, biting his bottom lip, his head fallen back.

He stayed that way until the sweat that coated his lower back and throat turned cold, just imagining he was on his back with someone endlessly fucking him. He tired himself out thinking about it, and then reality came back to him. He came back to himself and pulled his pants back up, then searched for something to clean the drying mess on the back of the door.

He really hated how lonely he was here at Smeltings.