The fridge was completely empty. There was not even an old milk jug or spoiled cheese. His phone didn't work because he has forgotten to pay the bill, and he lived too far from any wizarding establishments that delivered food. If Harry wanted to eat, he was going to have to leave the house. He supposed he wouldn't die if he missed a day's worth of meals. Even as his stomach grumbled in protest, the savior of the Wizarding World dragged his feet back to his room and sunk into bed, ignoring the foul smell of his sheets or the sweat stains on his pillow. He covered himself with a plush blanket that had been spelled to never lose its texture, and was asleep within minutes despite having woken from a five hour nap only 30 minutes prior.

At 6:30pm, a blaring noise woke Harry and suddenly he was back at Hogwarts with flashes of light flying around him and his friends falling one by one. Voldemort appeared in front of him, cackling, and Harry raised his wand at the imposing figure. He yelled out "Sectumsempra!", too terrified to simply disarm the Dark Lord. He was reward by a sharp stab of pain on his left cheek, which only sent him farther down into desperate terror. Now Voldemort was standing above him, so Harry grabbed his wand, but fear paralyzed him. He couldn't think of anything. What spell? What spell? Voldemort raised his wand and began to yell "AVADA". Harry shrieked and threw up a shield, knowing that it would not stop the spell, but unable to think of anything else. As he cast the spell, his wand went flying out of his hand so he raised his arms above him in a futile effort to protect himself. All he could do now was cower and scream until death finally came for him. But death did not come, and slowly, through his screams, he began to hear less and less of the commotion around him until the only thing he could hear was his own wailing.

"Harry…"

He looked up, terrified, but the only person in front of him was Ron Weasley.

"Did you see him?!"

Ron looked at his feet as his ears burned red.

"…I didn't see anything, Harry."

"But Voldemort! He cut me! He-" Harry looked to his mirror to the left of Ron to check his cut, only to see that the mirror was shattered. "I… Wha…"

"You broke that mirror Harry. I came to see if you were going to go to therapy. Hermione set up an alarm with your wand, but she wanted me to make sure that you wouldn't sleep through it. I got here a few minutes before it sounded and when it did, you started screaming bloody murder. When I came into the room, you attacked the mirror."

Harry was silent. He had had dreams before from which he awoke to find his room in shambles, but never had this happen while he was awake. He couldn't even look at Ron anymore. In fact, he wished he could hide deep beneath the earth until he grew old enough to die. Ron sighed, seemingly tired, and helped Harry out of bed before leading him to the floo. Harry stepped in, called out the appropriate words, and stepped out into Dr. Miller's waiting room at 6:55, surprised to see that the Doctor was already waiting for him.

The man was dirty blond this time, with dark black eyes and a hooked nose. He wore the same glasses as last time, and unassuming khaki pants with a button-down shirt. If it weren't for the glimmer of his glamour, Harry would have thought the man to be a muggle who had gotten lost while about his day.

"Hello, Harry. I'm glad that you were able to make it today. Shall we go to my office?"

Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was wearing a dirty tank top and sweats underneath a questionably-coloured bathrobe. However, he followed the man, too afraid to go back home in case Ron was still there. He didn't feel that he could face his friend after what had just happened.

Dr. Miller sat down and brought out a chess board.

"How are you, Harry?"

Harry grimaced and sat down. He looked at the therapist bitterly and could feel his disdain from their first meeting returning to him.

"I'm wearing a bathrobe."

"I see that. Is that something you would like to discuss?"

Harry grabbed a chess piece and almost slammed it down onto its new position on the board.

"Don't talk to me like that."

Dr. Miller smiled so faintly and so quickly, that it was a wonder that Harry was able to see it at all.

"Why are you dressed like a slob, Harry? You look like a dragon's balls."

This time it was Harry's turn to smile.

"I haven't changed since I last saw you, that's why. Because, apparently, I'm crazy. Now go ahead. Fix me."

Dr. Miller moved a piece on the board, and Harry quickly moved one of his own in response.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Harry furrowed his brow.

"You said that I wasn't unfixable."

"What I mean is that I can't wave my wand and make it all better. If that were possible, then I'm positive that a man of your considerable talents would be able to learn the spell and fix yourself." The therapist moved another piece and again, Harry quickly responded. "You are sweaty. Would you like to talk about that?"

"No."

"Have you played chess with Ron?"

"No."

"Would you like to leave?"

"No."

At this, Dr. Miller raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And why is that? Surely it's not this game of chess. I'll have you beat in four more moves." Harry scoffed and began to reset the pieces. Miller helped. Once they were finished and Dr. Miller had moved the first piece, he spoke again. "If you refuse to talk, I'm afraid that I will not be able to help you."

Harry sighed laboriously and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the game.

"I had an... episode." He waited, but Dr. Miller said nothing. "I was startled by an alarm and I…" He did not want to mention that he had seem Voldemort. He didn't want to be shipped off to the mental ward at St. Mungo's. "I, uh, thought there was an intruder, but it was just my reflection in the mirror. I shot a spell at it and a piece of glass cut me." He stopped talking and waited for Dr. Miller to comment, but the man said nothing. He simply looked at Harry. "Er… and I guess I'm sweaty from sleeping too much?"

This time Dr. Miller responded.

"You are sweaty from sleeping too much?"

"Yeah."

"I know that you are a better liar than that."

Harry was taken aback.

"What? Why would you know that?"

Dr. Miller leaned back into his chair, mirroring Harry's position, and cleared his throat before answering.

"I've read about you in the paper, as everyone has, and how you deceived many to win the war. You were able to get into Gringotts."

"Oh. Well, I didn't lie to do that. I just said that for the press. You can't say anything that I say in here, right?"

"That's correct, Harry."

He paused before continuing with the truth about his Gringotts story. Dr. Miller crossed his legs in a way that Harry could only describe as poised. It was a strange thing to think of a man. All the men he knew were like him…then again, he was an Auror. Their finesse came with casting spells, not with sitting.

"I cast an Imperius curse. And you can't have me arrested for that. The minister already knows."

Dr. Miller chuckled.

"I wouldn't dream of trying to arrest you, Harry. After all, what Auror in their right mind would agree to a request like that? The man who brings you in for questioning would be risking his career and reputation."

Harry leaned forward again, calm now, and moved his knight carefully.

"You know I've never liked the attention or the treatment that I get. I'm not special and I'm definitely not perfect."

"No man is infallible, Harry, not even you. But sadly, you are special. It might simply be because of that scar on your forehead and because of the attentions of a now-dead madman, but you are special. You bring hope into millions of lives by simply existing."

"I don't want that!" Harry stood up briskly. "I don't want to play anymore."

Dr. Miller frowned, but stood up as well.

"Would you like to go home? We still have forty minutes left, but-"

"I- No. No, I don't want to go home. But I don't want to be in this stupid room. It's too posh. Everything here is too posh."

"Why don't you want to go home?"

Harry walked to Dr. Miller's desk and sat down in his desk chair before standing up again and leaning against the door.

"I just don't."

"Are you not going home at all tonight?"

"I'll go when it's time to go."

"Alright." Dr. Miller sat down again and moved a chess piece. "Would you like to play in silence for a while?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, but soon moved to continue playing. Within five minutes, he had lost, and his therapist was setting up the board once again.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Mille-"

"No. Who are you underneath the glamour? I'm spilling my guts to someone that I don't even know."

"You aren't spilling anything, Harry. In fact, you are making my job horribly difficult. You won't even tell me about the episode you had and that you are afraid to go home because you are either afraid to confront something that you did, or because there is someone waiting there that you do not want to see. As I've said before, I can't help you if you don't talk. All that I can do is speculate."

Harry gaped. He hasn't been so surprised in a very long time. In fact, he hadn't felt much of anything but sadness and fear and emptiness in a very long time.

"How…" Dr. Miller didn't say anything. He simply looked into his eyes. "How did you know about... er...?"

"Harry… I told you that I'm not just a well-meaning man with a degree. I've been through what you are experiencing. I've experienced the fear I saw in your eyes when you came out of the floo today…and the shame. Nobody becomes that afraid by simply being startled awake unless, of course, they see something more. And with your war background and your more than traumatic past, it would not be surprising to find out that you were having flashbacks, nightmares, and confusing inanimate objects, such as mirrors, with dangerous foes. You attacked something that for you, in that moment, was very real. That's how you got hurt. Unfortunately, you won't tell me exactly what happened, and I can't help if I only have my speculations. I want to help you, Harry. I want you to feel better, even if it's only a little for now. But more than all of that, I want you to have someone in your life that understands that what you are experiencing is normal."

Harry took in a deep breath, overwhelmed. He moved a chess piece, and Dr. Miller moved one of his own. They continued like that in silence until a large clock on the wall played a soothing melody and Harry noticed their time was up. He looked up at Dr. Miller, but the man simply took Harry's king and then began to set up the board once again.

Somehow, this made Harry feel warm inside.

The two men played late into the night, until Harry finally told Dr. Miller everything he had seen. He told him about Voldemort, about his friends falling around him, about the fear he had felt… and then he told him about Ron and the shame that he still couldn't shake.

"If I had struck him with that spell…"

"But you didn't." Harry said nothing. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to put up wards against your friends for the time being. It doesn't seem like their sudden intrusions are helping you much."

Harry agreed, but he still didn't want to leave. He looked up at the clock and saw that it was past midnight.

"I don't suppose you have such long meetings with all your clients?"

He expected Dr. Miller to smile, but the man showed no emotion in response to his comment. Harry coughed awkwardly, but still could not force himself to get up and leave. He had not felt so awake in weeks and the thought of going back home filled him with dread and anxiety.

"Why are you still here, Harry?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

Harry looked into the man's eyes and wondered why he continued to lie to him. So far, he had felt the best when he had been honest.

"I'm afraid to go home. I feel better right now, and I don't want to go back to dirty sheets and an empty fridge."

Dr. Miller's face softened.

"Is there any place where you might feel comfortable? Perhaps somewhere that is not quite so posh as this?" Dr. Miller smirked and Harry felt himself roll his eyes.

"No. I'm afraid not. But I can go home. It's late."

"I'm sorry, Harry. We've already crossed a bit of a professional line by staying here so late. I should treat all my patients equally." Then why did you give me so much extra time, Harry wondered, but he did not dare ask. He sensed that his therapist would not welcome that question, and he did not want to sour the relationship he seemed to be building with the man, no matter how one-sided and artificial it may be. Harry was starting to realize that he needed this one-sided friendship…or rather, professional partnership. "However, I'm afraid that if you go home now, it will only hurt you in the long run. I know of a place where my clients stay. I have a contract with them so that I always have a room available. Go to the Red Dragon Hotel and tell them that Dr. Miller sent you and that if they have any questions, to call me. Please stay there tonight, have a bath, buy some clothes in the early morning while there are few people out and-"

Harry was feeling more and more overwhelmed as the doctor spoke. Shopping? Going outside? Waking up early?

"I… I-"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I forgot myself. Go to the hotel and enjoy yourself as you see fit. I will see you on Monday."

"Tomorrow."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Tomorrow. Same time."

Harry smiled softly and went off to The Red Dragon Hotel. Perhaps he would take a bath after all.