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Disclaimer: As my parents have so kindly pointed out, as I am a minor with no declarable income living in my parent's home, I own nothingg.

In a perfect world
This could never happen
In a perfect world
You'd still be here
And it makes no sense
I could just pick up the pieces
But to you
This means nothing
Nothing at all.

"Well, shit." Harry thought. The bible was obviously right. Suicide damned you to Hell; why else would he have a Simple Plan song stuck in his head? He cracked open an eye, and was met with dull light. Opening both eyes slowly, he looked around and realized he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Maybe the bible was wrong. There was actually a fate worse than Hell. Looking over, he saw professor McGonagall, knitting. Harry was incised. He tried to speak:

"So, let me get this right. You tell me to go back to Hogwarts, I respond by trying to off myself. Of course, you then proceed to take me to the one place I would rather be dead than ever see again."

But it came out as a raspy "umhhghhhmgh." Harry's throat was so dry he couldn't form words. How long had he been out? His racket had brought the professor to attention.

"Harry. You're awake." She said, calmly. "Can I get you anything?"

He barely managed to croak out "Water." She obliged, and he greedily drank the water. Testing his voice, he said, as politely as he could manage to, "Professor, I would like to leave as soon as possible."

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid we cannot allow that."

"You can't keep me here! I'm seventeen! I'm of age!" Harry said, regaining a bit of his impudence.

"By entering Hogwarts as a first year student, you contracted to finish your education. If you leave now, you'll have to give up your wand." She said evenly.

"But Fred and George…"

"Mr. and Mr. Weasley went through an appeals process. It is long, and rigorous, and I guarantee, you would not succeed in permission to leave school and retain your wand." McGonagall cut in, finishing the short lived argument. Harry leaned back into the pillows sulkily.

"We have a psychomagist from St. Mungo's coming in shortly to visit with you." The professor watched Harry for a reaction. Not getting any, she continued. "Based on his preliminary evaluation, we will release you for the second or third day of term." She watched him again.

"What…time is it?" Harry asked, just to break the tense silence.

"About seven pm. You've been asleep for some time. Poppy gave you a potion to replenish blood and give you dreamless sleep. She was quite worried about you."

Harry nodded, silently.

"The rest of the school has just arrived and is going into the sorting. Oh, it's just so dear, the little young ones…" Madame Pomfrey bustled in at that moment, speaking in a whisper, until she noticed Harry was awake. Her tone switched.

"Oh Harry, you're up. How are you feeling?" she cooed, touching his head, taking his pulse, and looking into his eyes, all at once.

"Well, you look fit as anything, although pale and a bit underfed. We'll soon fix that." Picking up his bandaged arm, she examined it. "The bleeding is stopped. Thank goodness." As she was moving about, arranging things and cleaning, a man walked into the room, looking around.

"Is one of you Minerva McGonagall?" he asked the room at large. The professor responded.

"I am. You must be Healer August. Come in. This is Harry." She nodded towards the boy. He sat up a little, working with his instinct to not look weak in front of a stranger.

"Harry. Hello." Healer August said gently, smiling at him warmly. He turned to Madame Pomfrey and the Professor.

"If you would please give Harry and me some time alone?" They both left the room obligingly, smiling reassuringly at Harry.

"Hello Harry. I'm James August. I'm a psychomagist from St. Mungo's. I specialize in adolescents, and I would like to help you." The man sat down beside Harry's bed, never looking away from him.

Harry studied his face closely. August was closer to middle age than youth, with graying hair, dusty blue eyes, and a kindly, weathered expression. He looked intelligent and trustworthy, Harry noted. Then again, he thought bitterly, had he ever really been able to trust anybody?

"So, Harry, how are you?" The Healer asked gently.

"Fine." Harry replied neutrally.

"How are you feeling?" August said, patiently, putting all him emphasis on the last word, and looking at Harry with an all-knowing expression. Harry suddenly found a lump in his throat. No one had ever asked him, really asked him how he was, wanting and expecting the full answer. Not trusting himself to speak, he shrugged, looking away.

"I would really like to help you." August said softly, leaning in towards Harry. "But first you're going to have to want to be helped. Do you want help?"

The tears were held back no more. Harry let the burning liquid leave his eyes. Hanging his head, he considered the many conflicting thoughts running through his head.

"I don't need help."(Yes, yes you do. You can't do this alone…)

"I'm beyond help."(At least try, maybe you aren't. Maybe you're wrong...)

"No one will ever understand what I've been through."(They were all there for the war too; they saw what you saw…)

"But not all of it! Besides, they shouldn't have to; it's my burden to bear."

"What if even he, a professional, thinks I'm hopeless? What if he gives up on me?"(He obviously doesn't think you're hopeless. He wants to help you. Besides, if he really thought you were hopeless, would he have come in the first place? After all, everyone knows everything about your life. You're a goddamned media god…)

However, these thoughts were not what came out of his mouth. In a whisper, so subdued the Healer had to lip-read, the boy who lived said,

"Yes."

And that's it, the 2nd chapter, the LAST chapter if you dont get off your ass and REVIEW! The lyrics are "Perfect World" by,duh, Simple Plan. I hope you liked reading it as much as it liked being read.

To my AWESOME (read: only) reviewers, Maggie M, and Harry's Love Slave, I say, thanks, and be patient. The wizard on wizard is soon to follow!