Over the next several days Colin spent the hours he wasn't at work doing his best to neatly pack up his apartment in preparation to move into Harry's house. Dennis helped some, but given that he was busy packing for his move to Paris it wasn't very often that he had the time. Colin felt a sense of nostalgia as he boxed up his belongings (mixed in with excitement when he found several pairs of missing socks). He'd lived in this apartment ever since he'd left school, and there were years worth of memories to prove it: The coffee table where he'd played Exploding Snap with Dennis; the bathtub where he'd had silly bubble baths with Harry, in the early days of their romance; the red stain of pizza sauce in the kitchen, that he couldn't bear to clean because he loved the reminder of the food fight he'd had with Harry and Dennis and Leanne while they were making dinner together one night.

"Do you remember that food fight?" Colin asked Harry, during the one night he'd been able to come over to help pack.

Harry laughed warmly in response. "You were so cute, cheese in your hair and pizza sauce on your cheeks."

Colin loved hearing Harry laugh. It sounded similar to a dog barking. He'd told Harry this once, back when they'd simply been friends, and he'd gotten a faraway look in his eye. It had been then that Colin had learned that Sirius Black had been Harry's Godfather.

The house that Colin entered after finishing his packing no longer held the portrait of Sirius Black's Mother in the entryway, a fact he was appreciative for as he dropped his trunk on the floor. It landed with a large thud far disproportionate to its size. He swished and flicked his wand, levitating the trunk in front of him, and brought it up to Harry's bedroom - their bedroom now, he thought with a smile.

Harry wasn't home yet - he was at the hospital - and Colin didn't expect him home for another hour or two. Harry had mentioned that he'd made a couple of new friends at St. Hope last week and that he'd promised to visit them, which Colin was thrilled to hear; Harry didn't have many friends, and kept mostly to himself. More social interaction would be good for him. Colin had a quick stop at Dennis' place to make anyway.

He left Number 12 Grimmauld Place without unpacking the trunk and apparated to an apartment not far from the one he'd lived in. The door opened without his prompting, and Dennis greeted him with a "oh good, I need you to help me look for my spare keys". Colin glanced down and then pointed to the door.

Dennis gave a sigh and pulled the keys out of the lock on the front door. "That's how my day has been."

"Are you all packed and ready to leave?" Colin asked.

Dennis nodded. "I'm packed, I just need to give the apartment a quick cleaning charm and then I can hand the keys back."

Colin helped Dennis with the room by room cleaning. When they finished, Dennis picked up his trunk (after a quick charm to make it lighter) and they left the apartment, locking it up behind them.

"You're going to have so much fun," Colin said as he hugged Dennis goodbye.

"I'm excited," Dennis said, "I can't wait to learn everything."

"When you finish, I expect a gourmet meal," Colin told him.

Dennis smiled widely. "Count on it."

"Oh," Colin said as he remembered, "when you find out what they do to make black pasta, would you tell me what it is?"

"I'll owl you when I learn the secret," Dennis promised. "And Colin?"

Dennis' tone became serious as he spoke his name, and Colin raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I decided to go to culinary school because I don't want to be a pawn in my own life anymore," Dennis said meaningfully. "Perhaps you should follow your dreams too. Why not start taking action? Open up your photography studio, Colin."

Colin stared at his brother. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Dennis didn't seem to need one. He gave Colin a smile, gripped his trunk tightly, and apparated away with a crack.

Colin stood staring at the spot where his brother had vanished, his thoughts racing. He wanted more than anything to open up a photography studio. The paper was a decent job and he loved it, but it wasn't what he wanted to be doing for the rest of his life. It had just never seemed like the right time to make the leap.

Maybe there was no right time. Maybe he just had to make the jump off the cliff.

The silence was chilling to Harry as he sat down next to Bill's bed. The total stillness of the man's gaze was unnatural to see. He began to talk to keep away the feeling of being watched. "My boyfriend is moving in with me today. We've been together five years. I think most of our friends wondered why we hadn't taken this step sooner. We'd just say that we were happy with the way things were, but really...I was the hold up. I didn't tell Colin that though." He paused a moment. Bill's eyes hadn't moved, but Harry shifted, feeling uncomfortable. The truth threatened to break free from his mind, but Harry resisted it.

"Bill has a way of doing that, somehow," a voice spoke from behind Harry. He turned in his chair to see Luke standing in the doorway.

"Doing what?" Harry asked.

"Making people speak truths they would never tell anyone else," Luke said. "I would guess it's because he can't talk back. He can't judge what someone says."

Harry shrugged. "I just don't like silence."

"Why do you think that is, do you suppose," Luke said thoughtfully.

Harry shook his head. He knew why, deep down. But he wasn't going to admit it.

"Darkness isn't to be feared, Harry," Luke said, as though he understood what Harry wasn't saying. "Darkness isn't really Dark, after all. It is merely our perception of it that makes it appear so."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"All this pointless fighting with ourselves. We struggle to fit into whatever box we're told is the right way to live. And yet - if it was the right way, we wouldn't have to struggle, would we?"

A light bulb went off in Harry's brain. He'd never thought of it that way before. Was he struggling for nothing? "Are you saying that people shouldn't fight who they are?"

Luke inclined his head. "Perhaps if we all accepted ourselves for who we are, and allowed ourselves to be who we are - perhaps we'd be happier."

Harry gave another shrug and looked away, his eyes falling upon the dozens of drawings on the wall. "Who drew these?"

"I assume Bill did," Luke answered. "I found them in his apartment. I thought maybe if it felt more like home here he'd wake up."

"And the crosses?"

"I remember as a child, the image of the Cross made my Bill feel safe. His Mother put some funny ideas in his head. Told him things that couldn't possibly be true."

Harry nodded, curious, but didn't ask Luke to explain further.

"So your boyfriend is moving in today, huh?"

The attempt to change the subject was obvious, and Harry went along with it. "Yes. Figured it was about time."

"Do you love him?"

"I can't imagine my life without him," Harry said. "He's the best part of me. He's so kind and patient and I don't know what I'd do if he ever left me."

"That was how I felt about Bill's Mother, back when we first started dating," Luke said wistfully. "Elizabeth was everything to me, everything I thought I wanted." He smiled wryly. "Hang on to your boy, Harry. It can all be over in a blink of an eye you know."

"Colin loves me," Harry said defensively.

"I'm not saying he doesn't," Luke said softly. "But free advice from an old man, Harry - people leave. It's simply a fact of life."

Harry wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to keep his thoughts from overwhelming him. "I know that. I've lost so many people. And it was my fault that they left."

Luke clapped him on the back as he moved to stand by the window. "Good for you for recognizing when you are at fault. Most of the kids these days want to blame everyone but themselves for their problems."

At least I'm doing something right, Harry thought with a dry smile. He sat back in his chair and let the silence fill the room for a moment before he started to speak again to chase away the deafening noise in his head. Luke threw in a comment here and there, but Bill stayed quiet, his empty eyes seemingly staring at the art littered across the walls.

When Colin entered 12 Grimmauld Place after saying goodbye to Dennis, he found Harry sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand. He looked lost in thought. "Harry, I'm home," he said gently.

Harry jumped, tea sloshing out of his cup onto his trousers, and Colin couldn't help but laugh even as he apologized. "Sorry love, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Usually it's me startling you," Harry threw back at him grumpily as he waved his wand to clean himself.

Colin chuckled at the reminder of that night at the opening of Homes for Hope. "Tables are turned at last," he said merrily. He moved to make himself a cup of tea as well. "How was your day?"

Harry was quiet for a moment before saying, "What would happen if I decided to give in?"

"Give in to what?" Colin asked. He sat down across from Harry, his seeping tea in hand.

"Why am I fighting my brain?" Harry responded with another question, his eyes closed. "What if I just...gave in?"

Colin didn't know how to answer for a moment. "Is that what you want?" he asked at last. "Would you be happier if you gave in to whatever your mind wanted?"

"I want to stop fighting!" Harry burst out, his eyes opening, and Colin saw the desperation written there. "I don't want to hurt anymore, I don't want to fight anymore. What if I just let the voices in my head win? I'm so tired Colin."

"Do you know what that pain means," Colin said carefully. "That pain means that you are going in the right direction, love."

"But it hurts!" Harry said, his voice rising to a shout on the last word.

"That's how you know you're going the right way. Fighting the pain hurts, and it's a struggle, but that's how you know it's worth it." Colin took a sip of his cooling tea to give him a chance to gather his thoughts. "Giving in might be easier, and it might take the pain away, but every time you do you make it that much harder to go in the right direction."

"But how do you know it's the right direction? What if fighting actually means that you're fighting against who you are?"

Colin set his tea aside and moved to sit next to Harry. He took Harry's hand in his own. "I don't know the answers to these questions, not really. I can only tell you what is true for me. I can't tell you what works for you."

Harry closed his eyes again and squeezed Colin's hand tightly. "I don't know what works for me. I've been trying to figure it out for years."

"Harry," Colin said tentatively, "have you thought about asking a Mind Healer perhaps? It doesn't have to be the one you have to go to for work, but perhaps a different one might be able to help you make sense of things?"

"No." Harry threw off Colin's hand and stood up abruptly. He turned away and folded his arms. "I don't need someone else poking around in my head."

Colin stood up too. "Then how can I help, Harry? Tell me what you need."

"I don't know what I need," Harry cried out as he hit a nearby cabinet in frustration. "I want to forget everything. I just want to stop hurting. Short of obliviating me, how can anyone help with that?"

"I found my bath bubbles while I was packing," Colin said as an idea popped into his head. "Perhaps a bubble bath might help, at least for a little while?"

Harry turned to look at him, an odd sort of look on his face. Colin looked back at him, hoping that Harry remembered the days when they'd take baths after long hard days at work as a way to relax - and as a form of foreplay.

At last, Harry reached out his arm, extending his hand to Colin, and Colin took it, cautious hope filling his insides. He knew it would take more than bubble baths to help Harry, but perhaps it could be a start.

After all, he thought to himself, Hogwarts wasn't built in a day.

The halls of the Ministry were mostly empty as Harry made his way to the Auror department. He disliked coming to work this early, but he wanted to be in and out of a certain office before his co-workers entered the building. The office he was looking for was located in the middle of the Auror department, which was supposed to be for convenience but in reality more of a hindrance. Most wizards jokingly teased anyone seen coming out of this office, and Harry wasn't in the mood. As far as he was concerned, he was doing this for Colin and it was nobody's business but his own anyway. Not that Colin knew he had decided to take his advice after their conversation last week, but still.

He knocked on the door and waited but a moment before Liza, an older witch with gray hair streaked with purple, let him in. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Auror Potter? And at such an early hour?"

Harry struggled with finding words for a moment before blurting out, "My boyfriend thinks I should see a Mind Healer. He thinks I need help untangling my thoughts."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't think I do, but I know it would make Colin happy."

Liza regarded him for a moment before gesturing him through a door to the right. He sat down on the couch by the window (for some reason it was showing snow falling, which he knew couldn't be right; summer had only just begun). Liza sat down on the chair across the small room and waited.

Harry hated this part. Why did Mind Healers always wait for him to speak? He didn't know what to say or where to start. He didn't really need to be here anyway. But Colin would be happy if he showed he was trying. Not that he knew what trying really meant. What was he trying to accomplish anyway?

"I think Colin told me to talk to a Mind Healer because he doesn't know what to say to me," Harry finally said. "I think that he thinks he can't really help me. I don't think he realizes that his advice is always sound."

"And yet here you are," Liza said. "Would you like to choose the topic of conversation or should we continue where we left off at your last evaluation, if you'd prefer?"

Harry folded his arms and attempted to hide his discomfort. "I don't want to pick up where we left off."

Liza folded her hands and waited, and Harry shook off the urge to scream at her. Don't sit there! Fix me!

"I've been trying to figure out," Harry said when the silence became too loud, "If this daily struggle with my mind is worth the fight. Is it better to struggle, or to give in? And I don't know what the answer is. I don't understand."

"What is it you are struggling against?"

"I - I'm not even sure I know the answer," Harry said. "Maybe anger?"

"Anger at what?"

"I don't know!" Harry felt frustrated. How would this help him? He didn't know the answers to her questions.

"Think back," Liza coached him soothingly. "Think back to a time when you were angry. What were you angry at?"

Harry immediately thought of running into Draco Malfoy in the bathroom of The Phoenix Song. "I ran into an old school rival not long ago. It made me really mad to see him."

"Why did you feel so angry?"

"I don't- " Harry paused, his mind whirling. "It's - he's a living breathing reminder of the fact that so many Death Eaters survived the war and so many of the people I knew and loved didn't."

"Aside from the obvious, why does that bother you so much?"

Harry frowned but complied, thinking back to what he had felt that day. Guilt immediately bubbled up within him. Guilt that he'd gotten them killed. Shame that he hadn't done better, that he hadn't killed Voldemort sooner. Fear that the people closest to him would all eventually leave -

The emotions were too much. He stood up. "I've got to go," he said. "I can't - I can't."

"Auror Potter, please - " But Liza's words were cut off as he closed the door behind him. He walked quickly to his desk and buried himself in Jane Jones' missing person file.

"Was that the last file?" Astoria called out.

"Yes," Kenny called back.

Astoria gave a sigh of relief. She'd spent all morning completing the paperwork for the successful placement of four clients, and she didn't think she could spend another minute staring at yet another piece of parchment. Time for a break, she decided.

She strolled through the facility, enjoying the chance to stretch her legs. The Underground wasn't, as the name might suggest, underground. It was actually a building located in Diagon Alley. The entrance was positioned behind an ice cream shop. The owner, a grandson of Florean Fortescue, guided perspective clients through as needed, where Kenny would greet them before sending them back to Astoria. Once she accepted a client, they were led to the living quarters. The building could house up to fifty clients at a time (they hadn't needed that much space yet, but Astoria was planning for the future). Clients had the option of attending classes while Astoria and her staff worked on preparing a new life and identity for them: The classes ranged from self-help to new career choices, and the staff worked closely with each client to create a life for them that they could be happy with, away from the person (or people, in some cases) who had abused them.

Astoria paused at the door that led to the cafeteria. It was lunchtime, she realized. She entered the room, grabbed herself a bowl of soup, and settled down on a table in the corner of the room. She didn't usually eat in the cafeteria, but she had forgotten her lunch on the kitchen counter this morning.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all," Astoria said with a smile.

The dark-haired nervous woman who had asked for help two weeks ago returned the smile and sat down across the table. Astoria still didn't know who she was or why she was running from her old life, but she'd watched her adjust to life at the Underground and gain confidence by taking several of the classes offered during the week.

"I'm told that you did well in the Healing for Beginners class," Astoria spoke up. "Does the medical profession interest you?"

"It does," the woman confirmed. "I've always dreamed of becoming a Healer of some sort."

"Would you like to take more classes in Healing? I can make that happen. Poppy Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse, has agreed to teach her craft to any of our interested clients."

"I would love that," the woman said excitedly. "When can I start?"

"I'll floo her today and find out when she's available," Astoria said.

"Thank you so much," the other woman said, grinning.

Astoria smiled back at her. They finished their meal in quiet companionship. When Astoria stood up to leave, the other woman grabbed her wrist. "Thank you," she repeated, her words soft.

"You're welcome," Astoria said gently.

The woman released her, then said so quietly that Astoria had to strain to hear her, "My name is Jane."

Astoria understood: Jane wanted to repay Astoria for the chance to become a Healer the only way she knew how. "Thank you, Jane," she said, allowing her tone to express her gratitude at the knowledge bestowed upon her.

As Astoria walked back to her office, she felt a sense of satisfaction: At last, her most mysterious client was beginning to open up.