Harry wiped the tears from his eyes and looked straight at August. How bad could this be, he wondered. Talking to someone, someone who might be able to help him get what was in his head out into the open, maybe even make it go away.

He thought back to his one interaction with a therapist before. Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley to a psychologist after the game system he wanted for his 13th birthday had been sold out and he'd had a hysterical meltdown. Harry remembered sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the pamphlets on the wall. "Is Your Child Depressed?" "Helping Your Adolescent Through Grief". Harry had snorted with laughter, thinking he was the one who needed this, not Dudley. The doctor had walked into the waiting room and walked right up to Harry. Aunt Petunia almost screamed with frustration, how had he assumed Harry was the one who needed help when poor Dudley obviously was suffering in extreme emotional pain?

"Harry?"

Harry abruptly returned to reality as Healer August softly spoke his name.

"Yes…" harry repeated. "Yes, I'll accept your help, but not here. I refuse to stay in this hellhole any longer." He thought about the consequences of leaving Hogwarts, having his wand broken, and decided to press the issue a little further. "I refuse to stay in this…place."

"That's fine." Healer August stated calmly.

Harry looked at him in shock. No battle? No talk of wand breaking or schooling or contracts or expectations?

"Yes, that's fine. I can call over to St. Mungos and have a bed for you in an hour. It will be a nice, quiet environment. You'll be confined to the ward, of course, and attend therapy during the day when you aren't under observation. I'll have a bag packed for you, of course you wont need too much as you'll be in a sleeveless gown at all times, to make the routine body searches easier. There will probably be ten or twelve other people there, and I'm sure you'll get along wonderfully. There's a man there right now who took too many drugs and thinks he's a teapot. Nice guy, really likes to whistle…he's been there for a few months now, pretty average stay."

"Okay, Okay, I get it!" Harry didn't want to stay at Hogwarts, but he most certainly didn't want to be subjected to random body searches.

"So can I assume that you would like to work on your recovery with me, on an outpatient basis?"

Recovery. Harry was overwhelmed. Hearing that word made it official: he was sick. There was also a glimmer of hope, though. The healer sounded so sure of himself; so sure that recovery was the only option. Harry, though, wasn't so sure.

"Sure…" Harry said, making sure to maintain some venom in his voice. He wanted it, this recovery August spoke of, but he wasn't going to let him know that. Harry never let anyone know what he wanted. It was less of a letdown that way when he didn't get it.

"Alright, well I have a form for you to fill out, just some basic information for your file." Healer August handed him a piece of parchment and a quill. "I'm just going to go talk to Minerva and Poppy, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

He walked out of the room, into the sitting area where Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were waiting anxiously.

"Well?" Professor McGonagall asked. Her brow was furrowed deeply.

"He appears extremely depressed, and not thrilled about being here, but he's agreed to stay for the time being." Healer August put a hand on the professor's shoulder. "You couldn't have done anything else, Minerva. It's not unexpected, after everything he's been through, and I doubt we even know the half of it."

Professor McGonagall winced. "He's so pale and thin. It looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. And his arms…I've never seen anything like it."

August nodded grimly. "I haven't seen the damage yet, but judging from the report you sent, it sounded extensive. I'm having him fill out an intake form, hopefully it will give us a jumping off point."

In the infirmary, Harry looked at the form. The words swam before his eyes; he was exhausted and emotionally charged. Picking up the quill, he began writing.

Name: Harry James Potter

Birthday: 07/31/80

Age: 16

Height: 71 cm

Weight: 55 kg

Easy enough, he thought. He looked at the next set of questions. He thought about lying, but decided he might as well tell the whole sordid truth. After all, he'd come this far.

Do you take any medication? List. No.

Do you take any illicit drugs? List. Marijuana, Cocaine

Do you drink alcohol? Yes.

Do you smoke cigarettes? Yes.

How many meals a day do you consume? 1

Do you exercise? How much? No

How many hours of sleep do you get a night? 3-4

Harry wondered if he would get in trouble for admitting that he had taken to using muggle drugs. No turning back now, though.

On a scale of 1-10…

How often do you feel depressed? 10

How often do you feel hopeless? 10

How often do you think of suicide? 10

How often do you feel anxious? 10

How often do you think of hurting yourself? 10

Why do you think you were referred to MMHM (Magical Mental Health Ministry)?

I tried to kill myself.

Harry put down the quill at the very second healer August walked in the door. Harry mutely handed him the questionnaire. August looked over it, his expression remaining unreadable. He sat back down in the chair beside the bed.

"It sounds like you're pretty unhappy, Harry." August said, quietly. It was not a tone of judgment, or an accusation. It was simply a statement. Instantly, Harry felt his icy exterior melt. No one had ever acknowledged that before. He felt a lump in his throat, and didn't trust himself to say anything, so he simply nodded.

"We're going to help you as much as we can, but you're going to have to help yourself too."

Harry nodded again.

"Okay. Well, here's how this works. Off the third floor landing, there is a wing reserved for students who need our help. There is a separate dormitory, a common room in which we hold groups, a classroom, and of course, my office and living quarters. There are rules that I expect you to follow. There won't be anything you could use to hurt yourself, and when you first move in, you'll be supervised constantly by student psychomagists. As you get more stable and make more progress in your recovery, you'll get more privileges, like walks on the ground and being less monitored. I will, of course, be on call at all times. While you're still suicidal and medically unsafe, you'll complete your coursework in the private classroom. When you're ready you'll start going back to classes, one at a time. We'll meet every day individually for our sessions, as well as for group."

"Whoa." Harry said, finding his voice. "Group? You mean, with other people? I don't want to see anyone. I'm not ready…"

"Currently, there is one other student in our program. He is in much the same situation as you, although a bit further along in his recovery. He'll be travelling here after he's discharged from St. Mungos later tonight. I think you'll find that you can help each other in this process and keep each other accountable. I've worked with him closely over the past months, and I think you will get along well, if you can concentrate on your similarities, rather than your past differences."

"What the hell does that mean?" Harry's voice was starting to rise. He felt like an idiot. How could he have thought this man was going to help him? Tears stung his eyes. Trust had never gotten him anywhere, and this was just more proof.

"Harry, I would not do anything I thought would harm you further. I need you to trust me, and trust that I know what I'm doing." Healer August remained calm.

"Who is it?" Harry's voice shook. He didn't know if he wanted to find out. There was only one person with whom "past differences" could be a big problem. One person in the world who he knew he could never get along with.

Healer August took in the boy's apprehension, and calmly responded:"I believe you are familiar with Draco Malfoy?"